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She was dead. I flew all the way to China for a dead girl. She was my Fiance. And I killed her. Now I had to deal with the contempt of her family and friends.
It was 90 degrees here. It's rained for 6 days straight. Steam rose slowly from the streets like gods personal ashtray. Everywhere I went here I felt like some black explorer. Like I'm the first black man to walk this frontier.
I was at the Tang Ho Temple in Xi’an. Xi’an’s a large city and the beautiful capital of the Shaanxi Province in central China.
My name is Remy Dove. I’m a P.I. or private investigator. And I am having the worst week ever. My Chinese / American girlfriend Lisa Theresa died in a car accident 8 days ago.
She was killed when a car bomb exploded. It was my car. It was meant for me. They wanted my blood. Not hers. I’d be damned if wasn’t going to give them every hateful drop.
We were supposed to get married here today. Now today I stand alone in the crowd at this Taoist Temple. I steadied my mind by scrolling thru her Instagram Pictures.
She’d taken up Freehand creative drawing. She posted a lot of pictures of her art. Mostly sunsets and dragons. Lots of dragons.
An older Chinese man cleared his throat next to me. I looked at him. His eyes notion to me the taboo of having my phone out in here. I put my phone away.
Then I rejoined the rest of the room in the over-powering feeling of contempt for me being here. Imagine being hated by everyone in the room at your girlfriend's funeral. Especially her parents and no good High School sweetheart Bobby Young. Bobby was the leader of the local Chinese Triad. "The Dragon Wu".
I should have just sent the flowers and white envelope of money. Nobody wants me here. I can’t believe I’m about to fight at Lisa’s funeral.
White is the color of death in Chinese culture. The room was draped with fine white silk drapes and sashes. The room was cleaner than a surgeons hand. As if dust had never discovered this place.
The air smelled of fresh sweet pomegranates. This city’s huge export. Gold decorated the room in various places. Lining windows and the rails along the wall. Beautiful tapestry’s hung everywhere. This place was one of calm. Until today.
The casket is placed in the middle of a large round room. It sits in a sea of white chrysanthemums. These separated the body from the mourners. We all stood in the circle facing each other. All eyes had icy stares fixed on me. Especially Bobby Young and his maniac enforcer Artie Ming.
It was about 40 people there. Everybody wearing white which is the custom. All the women wear large pointy hoods. This is the custom used to hide their sorrow. It reminded me of a “White Party”, I went to at Diddy’s house back when I was doing private security.
A man in fancy robes said some words I didn’t understand. This signaled the official start of the ceremony. It wasn’t easy to follow. Not like the black churches I grew up in.
Suddenly I heard a discordant, ear piercing sound of the suona a traditional woodwind instrument. This was being played by one of the many priests. All dressed in loose-fitting robes with blue and lavender sashes.
Bobby Young stares me down the entire ceremony. Even during the traditional sword dance. Tiles are destroyed. Paper houses are burned. All the while Bobby glares. He was starting to piss me off. I’d had enough of this cocky piece of shit.