The Riot Act Page 11

  After Elvis was satisfied with Sharon’s draft of her press release, he turned to ask Yu Chin for an update. The latter had met the police commissioner earlier in the day for a briefing.

  “I have good news,” Yu Chin beamed as he tapped on his phone to extract a photo from the album. “This is the STAR team member who rescued Jessica Tan Jia Lin. Look at him. He could easily pass off as a Korean pop star!”

  “What’s the good news again?” Sharon frowned, not quite following.

  “Sorry dear, I shouldn’t be jumping ahead,” Yu Chin grinned. “Elvis has decided that we are going to make this STAR team member our poster boy in Jalan Besar. We will come up with a few hundred copies of a life-size cardboard standee of this handsome bugger and display them all over the constituency. He will strike a pose to reassure residents that the law enforcement officers are omnipresent and dedicated to their duty.”

  “The frequency of police patrols at Jalan Besar constituency has been stepped up since the riot,” Elvis explained. “But we need to put a face to our law enforcement team and this is an excellent one to front our efforts. He is going to set many hearts aflutter!”

  Elvis and Yu Chin exchanged gleeful glances, as though they were sharing a fraternity joke. Sharon took over the mobile phone and studied the photo. They were right. This STAR team member was an Adonis indeed.

  “Anything else from the police commissioner?” Elvis asked as he finished off the mango pudding that Yu Chin had ordered for him.

  “Yes. One of the rioters apparently made a video recording of a ruckus on the bus the night of the riot,” Yu Chin reported. “It appears that there was an undercover policewoman who had been trying to apprehend the victim, right before the driver chased him out of the vehicle and ran him over. But the strange thing is, the police department has no information at all on the identity of that undercover policewoman. It would appear that she is an imposter.”

  “This is weird,” Sharon remarked out loud before she caught herself. It was a remark without a purpose.

  “They have a video recording. Surely they can ID the imposter?” Elvis raised a brow.

  Yu Chin shook his head. “The video clip was shaky and blurry. There’s no way that they can ID the imposter. But the police suspect that the imposter may be the same mysterious girl who made a report about someone taking an upskirt photo of her the same night.”

  “Couldn’t they trace the call?” Elvis frowned.

  Once again Yu Chin shook his head. “They did. But the young man whom the phone number was registered under claimed that he had lost the mobile phone a few days earlier. So it remains a mystery.”

  For a minute Elvis held his chin, lost in thought. Yu Chin stood up and announced that he would go settle the bill for dinner. After Yu Chin left, Sharon looked over at Elvis and said, “There is no point worrying. We should leave the tracking of the girl to the police. That’s their job, isn’t it? Besides, the girl is an unknown factor. It may not even be a good idea to track her down too fast.”

  Elvis curled the corner of his lips in a smirk of approval.

  “Good point.”

  Part Three

  Lacerating Tongues

  Chapter 7

  This was not the first time Hashwini had entertained the fantasy of picking up the ashtray next to the roulette wheel, smacking it down hard onto the Beast’s temple and then admiring the sight of blood dripping down his face onto the colonnades of betting chips.

  All the croupiers agreed that the Beast was a nightmare. If Teddy Toy Boy epitomised the angelic high roller at one end of the spectrum where celestial harps played, the Beast stood at the opposite end where he presided over purgatory and made croupiers cross a bridge of knives that stretched over snake pits and fiery rivers.

  The first time Hashwini had dealt roulette for the Beast, he had dipped her into a cauldron of boiling hot oil and scarred her badly. It was really her fault. She was careless enough to chortle aloud when she heard him repeatedly chant, “Give me bigly money. I want bigly money, bigly win!”

  The Beast looked up from the ball spinning rapidly around the ball track and glared at Hashwini. “What is so funny?”

  “I think you meant to say ‘big money, big win’,” Hashwini smiled politely.

  “No, I said ‘bigly’.” The Beast maintained his glare.

  “Oh I see. I am sorry.” Hashwini became alarmed. She glanced at the pit supervisor for help but the latter pretended to be chatting with a croupier from the adjacent roulette table.

  “You think my English is no good because I am from China?” the Beast pressed.

  “Of course not.” Hashwini began to panic. “It’s just that I have never heard the word used here in Singapore.”

  “Sure, you have,” the Beast proclaimed. He pointed at the humongous diamond ring he was wearing and said, “This ring is not small but…”

  Hashwini saw his outstretched palm pointed at her and realised in dismay that the Beast wanted her to complete the sentence.

  “Big.”

  The word came out of her mouth in a timid whisper. She knew it was the wrong answer but she simply could not bring herself to utter the mutated, bastardised word.

  The Beast shook his head and repeated himself. “This ring is not small but…”

  Hashwini felt as though she were being pressed up against a wall by a hideous, malicious three-headed beast that threatened to tear her head off if she did not comply. She swallowed her pride and capitulated, “Bigly.”

  At her utterance the ball dropped into the pockets, bounced thrice and landed on the number “7”. There was a monolith of betting chips sitting on single bet “7” and an additional obelisk of smaller stature straddling the split bet between “7” and “10”. The Beast yelped in delight and clapped his hands joyfully. The pit supervisor and the other croupier cheered.

  “What do you call this?” The Beast swivelled around and beamed at Hashwini.

  “A good win,” Hashwini struggled to give him the word he wanted but simply could not do it. It went against everything she believed in to utter such an abomination to the English language.

  The Beast shook his head but maintained his wide beam. He tapped on the roulette table and said, “This table is not small but…”

  Hashwini could feel the noxious, sulfuric breath of the three-headed beast burning down her neck.

  “Bigly.”

  “Good. So the win is a...”

  “Bigly win.”

  “Good girl.”

  That was the first time Hashwini had entertained the fantasy of smacking the ashtray onto the Beast’s temple and watching pretty ribbons of blood streak down his face out of that bigly hole.

  When Hashwini grumbled about the encounter to Euu Ki, the latter shrugged and said, “The Beast is easy to handle. Just keep stroking his ego. He likes that.”

  “His bigly ego,” Hashwini hissed. “What I can’t stand is his awful English. It burns my ear!”

  “Sweetie, you saw that humongous diamond ring he wears, yes? No one else in the VIP lounge has anything even half as big. He is the Lord of the Rings. He dictates the rules of grammar and spelling. Screw the Oxford Dictionary.”

  “And what is with all those pretty China girls hanging on to him? Don’t they have any pride?” Hashwini was not done venting her disgruntlement. “He goes through them like tear-away calendars; one new girl each month!”

  Euu Ki waited till the last zombie was decimated by a pea shooter before he looked up from his game of Plants vs Zombies on his tablet and glared at Hashwini.

  “What?” Hashwini returned the glare.

  “You are such a snob!”

  “Now, where did that come from?”

  “You think you’re better than those China girls who sponge off their sugar daddies.”

  “At least I work hard for my money. I stand on my heels eight to twelve hours a day dealing table games. I don’t sponge off anyone.”

  “That is your choice,” Euu Ki said.
“But those China girls chose differently, to enjoy a lifestyle of spas, shopping and fine dining while you sit on your high horse and nurse your sore feet from standing all day long. But heh, at least you got your bigly self-pride.”

  “Shut up!”

  Euu Ki’s analysis left an imprint. Hashwini found herself looking at the string of China girls who accompanied the Beast to the casino in a different light. She now saw them as smart young women who engineered a lifestyle for themselves they could not have otherwise afforded. If nothing else, she admired them for their incredible threshold of tolerance. Anyone who could tolerate the abusive behaviour and noxious personality of the Beast deserved her respect.

  Hashwini herself could not. Every time she dealt roulette for the Beast, she prayed that he would soar high on a winning streak; that was her only chance of escaping his verbal abuse. But it appeared that today was not one of her lucky days. For five consecutive spins the Beast had bet heavily on the zero sector but the ball refused to comply. Hashwini did not understand the volley of Chinese expletives hurled at her but the ferocious scowl on his face was clear indication that the Beast was fast approaching the point of meltdown.

  “I will give you one more chance!” the Beast spit as he threw two $10,000 chips onto the table. “You better spin me a good one or I will make you lick my balls.”

  Hashwini flushed. She looked down as she swept the heap of betting chips into the sorter so that no one could see the fury in her eyes. She wished she could grab the ashtray and indulge in her bloodiest fantasy. The pit supervisor must have sensed her anger, for she casually informed the Beast that the swing croupier would be arriving to relieve Hashwini for her break any time now and that he might want to consider continuing his game at the adjacent roulette table. The Beast took her advice, but not before pointing a finger at Hashwini and hissing, “Nasty woman!”

  Back at the staff lounge, Hashwini took Jingxuan hostage and poured out a diatribe of grievances. There was no justice in a world where a monster like the Beast could trample on people just because he was filthy rich. Who did he think he was?

  Hashwini halted when she realised Jingxuan wasn’t paying her much attention. The latter was scrolling through some website on an iPad. Although croupiers were not allowed to bring their gadgets to the gaming area, the pit managers were not overly strict with the croupiers at the VIP staff lounge.

  “What are you reading?”

  “Just a local blogger,” Jingxuan shrugged.

  Hashwini felt her heart skip a beat. “Which one?”

  “Daxue. Do you know her?”

  Had anyone mentioned Daxue before the Little India riot, Hashwini would have drawn a blank. But at this moment, Hashwini knew everything there was to know about this local blogger. She knew because she had engaged Daxue in a belligerent blog war over the past two months.

  Prior to the launch of Hashwini’s new blog, Confessions of a Teenage Rape Victim, Euu Ki had drawn up a marketing plan in his capacity as creative director. He made a list of local bloggers in descending order of popularity, studied their blog themes and content, and shortlisted five of them.

  “These five are bold and controversial bloggers who have been posting about the Little India riot. They have adopted a sympathetic stance towards the migrant workers. So we are going to challenge them by taking up the opposite viewpoint,” Euu Ki had strategised.

  “Doesn’t that make me the xenophobic bitch?” Hashwini became alarmed.

  “We can always clean up our image down the road. The focus here is to jumpstart reader interest in Teen RV.” Euu Ki waved off her concern. “By the way, this is our blog, not yours alone, so please be reminded to drop the term ‘me’ before I bitch slap you.”

  “Bitch!” Hashwini retaliated, but she had to admit she liked the way “Teen RV” rolled off his tongue like it was already a popular online reference.

  Teen RV launched a series of simultaneous attacks on the five targeted bloggers. She accused them of being blind to the reality that Singaporeans had been displaced by the excessive influx of migrant workers over the past decade. Living spaces had shrunk, jobs had been stolen, but salaries had remained depressed. The Little India riot was the siren that should have woken up every Singaporean to the new and ugly reality. It was now unsafe to walk the streets of their own country. Witness the silence of the young Singaporean woman who was attacked by a migrant worker during the riot. Everyone who caught her interview clip had seen the bruise marks on her wrist. Yet she was too afraid to speak up. She had to lie through her teeth to hide the fact that she had been assaulted in that ambulance. This was the reality facing Singaporeans now. Perhaps the MP of Jalan Besar constituency was right. It was time to fence up certain spaces where the migrant workers could drink themselves to inebriety without endangering the safety of the locals.

  The Tornado was the first among the five to respond. It was true that the massive influx of migrant workers over the last few years had led to the destabilising of society. The Tornado could understand the general frustration of the locals. But it was wrong to pin the blame on the migrant workers. They were fathers and sons who had left their families behind in search of a better paying job in our country. Some of them were ripped off by unscrupulous agents. Some of them had their pay withheld by dishonest employers. The migrant workers were the vulnerable. The Little India riot was their scream of desperation. And now the politicians who had mismanaged immigration policies wanted everyone to believe that the migrant worker community was ungrateful for their generosity and disrespectful of the law. If Teen RV and her followers chose to believe the politicians’ rhetoric, they would be as guilty as the protectionists who had turned away boatfuls of refugees and sent them back to sea to an almost certain death.

  “But I kind of agree with The Tornado.” Hashwini had protested when Euu Ki instructed her to draft a rebuttal. “I don’t think it is right to blame the riot entirely on the migrant workers.”

  “Look at it this way, darling.” Euu Ki snapped his fingers and swirled his head diva style. “What is online is drama and you are playing the bitch. You want to play your role in such a way that the readers root for you because you make things interesting. Most people go online with their minds already made up. They just want to read what reinforces what they already believe. Many of them are embittered losers looking for someone who can bitch about life in style. That is what Teen RV aspires to become. The Royal Bitch.”

  Although Hashwini had her reservations, the dramatic jump in viewership figures for Teen RV was indisputable. Readers who followed the heated exchange on The Tornado had traced the bread crumbs back to Teen RV. Hashwini was ecstatic that the few articles she uploaded were now read by up to a thousand people. She did not know who these people were, but the fact that they had spent up to three or four minutes of their time reading what she wrote had validated her effort and spurred her on. She now wrote with a definitive audience in mind. These readers felt short-changed by the system. Her purpose and mission was to be their voice.

  The Tornado must have realised that Teen RV was merely reader-baiting, for she quickly withdrew from the battlefield. Luckily for Teen RV, Daxue hopped into the ring and engaged in instant combat. Unlike The Tornado, which prided itself as a sociopolitical blog harbouring serious intent, Daxue wrote a lifestyle blog that was both savvy enough to provide interesting content and astute enough to employ effective gimmicks. The combat took on a different flavour. Daxue defended her stance with intelligent arguments but rigged them up with fangs and claws that tore into her opponent’s flesh and drew blood. She initiated a poll for her readers to rate Teen RV on how dumb, devious or demonic a bitch she was. That poll alone drew massive traffic to Teen RV.

  “Now this is a star blogger who knows how to play the game!” Euu Ki screeched in ecstasy. “Let’s return her the favour.”

  Euu Ki put his amazing Photoshop skills to good use. He picked from Daxue’s collection of photos in her blog, doctored them then posted them onlin
e as a poll for readers to pick their favourite. There was Daxue working the twerk as Nicki Minaj, dancing Gangnam style à la Psy and straddling the wrecking ball as Miley Cyrus. Hashwini had thought some of them were too risqué, but the readers loved it. They even wrote in to request for more.

  Viewership continued to climb as Teen RV and Daxue battled it out. Hashwini came to learn that this was a game with no losers. Like in a choreographed wrestling match, the objective was not to floor the opponent but to entertain the spectators. Despite the satisfaction of watching Teen RV build up a substantial fan base quickly, Hashwini felt uneasy. Her blog readers were faceless digits on the view counter. She had no idea who they were in real life.

  Until now. If Jingxuan followed Daxue, she had to know Teen RV.

  “Any interesting postings lately?” Hashwini casually asked. “I have been too busy to follow this blog.”

  “There is an ongoing blog war with this other blogger called Teen RV on the issue of migrant workers.” Jingxuan made a face. “Been dragging on for too long though; it’s getting stale.”

  “Really?” Hashwini felt pinched. “Why?”

  “You have the usual bleeding hearts lamenting that the locals were prejudiced against the migrant workers. Then you have the other gang claiming that these foreigners are stealing their jobs and ought to be kicked out of Singapore. This plate of rice has been fried too many times. It’s boring.”

  “Don’t you feel offended?” Hashwini frowned. “I mean, you are a foreigner working in Singapore.”

  “Not really,” Jingxuan shrugged.

  “But why? Some of the comments are so disrespectful!”

  “In China, respect is not a given. You have to earn it. If you make something of yourself professionally or earn a tonne of money, people will naturally give you respect. But if you can’t or do nothing to improve your lot, why would you deserve respect?”