The Wrong Lead

The rain drove him inside the restaurant, just as he decided to give up the chase and go home. That fucking bastard is as slippery as an eel, Benito thought. He cast a furtive glance at the other patrons, and satisfied that they looked innocuous enough, found himself a seat with a view of both the entrance and the back door.


He has been chasing his latest lead through the streets of Quiapo, weaving from garbage-strewn alleys to fetid-smelling sidewalks. His pursuit was not made easier by the throngs of people still believing in miracles, congregating on Quiapo church every Friday. Miracles were for people who still believed, not people like him who have long given up. Maybe God finds people like him repulsive, that's why every prayer that he has ever uttered has not been answered.


His dark thoughts were interrupted by the waitress handing him the menu. “I'll just have a beer. No, on second thought, no beer, just your special Ramen, thanks.” He realized all the exercise he got from following the man made him famished. Two long years of searching, and this is the closest he got. He and Lorna are no longer even speaking to each other, unable to go beyond the pain of losing their only daughter. He doesn't even know where Lorna lived now. Truth to tell, their relationship has been breaking down ever since she found out just where he was getting the money to provide her the high life.


He was the best at what he did, but what he did was kill, and kill without leaving any clues. But all his skills at groundwork faded before the enormity of where to start looking for Didi and the why she was kidnapped.


The entrance of a man made him tense up but he was prevented from looking him over by the waitress delivering his order. He absentmindedly appreciated the steam from the soup as it was set down while he sneaked a peak at the newcomer. He felt slivers of ice slide down his spine when he saw it was the erstwhile vice-mayor, now Mayor Rudy Calimlim, a one-time client. Rudy slid down the opposite bench, and Benito could see his bodyguards waiting outside. “That could kill you,” he remarked, pointing at the bacon swimming in the soup. “Vice-Mayor! Este, Mayor, do you think this is a good idea?”


“I hear you're still looking for your kid. I have it on good authority that she is well, she's not being victimized by any crime ring, and whoever it is that has her, wants her to be happy.”


“She will be happy only with me, her father!”


“She was only two when you lost her, I don't think she will remember you anymore. If you know what's good for you, you will stop looking for her.”


“Or else, what?”


“Do you really want me to spell it out? I want you back in Laguna by tonight. I know you've amassed quite a nest egg, here's more, go find a new wife and build a nice life for yourself and move on.” He stood up and walked out without looking back. He left a thick brown envelope and if that was filled with new thousand peso bills, he guessed it would contain about 2.5 million pesos. 2.5 million pesos for his precious child. Fury filled him as he realized just where Lorna and his daughter was all this time.


He walked out of the restaurant and he knew he would go back to Laguna that night. What the Mayor forgot was that he was also a dangerous opponent and he has now given him additional ammunition. He turned left and was confronted with his second surprise of the night. Blood spattered the restaurant's window and quickly became pink as it mixed with the raindrops still sliding down toward the gutter.


“Why?,” he asked Lorna as she stood looking down dispassionately at him.



“I followed Rudy as I knew you would never leave us alone,” she quickly took the brown envelope he still clutched and quickly disappeared into the night.

Lost Childhood Restaurant

Great. The weather and now the décor match my mood. Perhaps the gods are punishing me for being a jealous and miserable chicken shit. I look at my friends and I see happy, shiny people and I wonder how come they get to be my friends.


“Are you sure this is the place?,” Lester asked. “Yeah, I think so, but they changed from Chinese to Japanese,” I said. “You think so?,” mocked Rigor, “we've traipsed all over Baguio looking for a restaurant where you ate 'the most delicious chicken curry' when you were five years old and that's the most sure you're going to get?” “Gimme a break! I was five years old as you said, and all I could remember is that we turned left from off of Session Road and you could immediately see the doorway and formica tabletops that looked like wood.” “I think they're real wood,” “whatever, let's just go in, I'm so hungry I could eat that St. Bernard we saw in Mines View.”


I looked around and I felt lost. This was The Restaurant, but not the restaurant of my childhood. Cheap formica, spoons and forks dunked in glasses with hot water, white plates at the ready with folded napkins at the center were all gone. It was replaced by those clean, austere lines favored by the Japanese. Now I would never get to taste that chicken curry ever again.


“Huy, you're looking glum again. You don't look pretty when you cry. Plus, it's not crying with you, it's more like a dog howling when he sees kamatayan,” Rigor ribbed. “Hoy, bakla, I'm just letting out all those negative feelings slash aura when I cry. What's the use of crying when I can't get rid of them?” Lester interjected with his favorite topic “you know what? Linda Goodman said to just take a shower to get rid of all the negative aura.” “Yeah, and she also said a lot of tosh about eating yellow foods, red foods at certain times and you will live forever, and the last I heard, she's dead,” I said. “She's not, she's still publishing those sign chorchor!” “Hello, the book says Linda Goodman's sign chorchor, she's not the author, she just started it.” Rigor said “people, before you discuss the Art of War, let's go order. They've got 'good fatty ramen here'.


Look! Bacon in a ramen! Bacon's one word that would prevent me from being a vegetarian. I'll order that. Sorry, moaning Ramona, I don't see chicken curry listed anywhere.” “Yeah, I knew as soon as I saw the décor, no need to rub it in, Mr. Rigor Mortis. I'll just have what you've ordered.” “Me too,” said Lester, “I think coming to Baguio so soon after your Dad... We should have gone to a different place, created a different set of memories.” I silently agreed with him. All the places we've gone to were different. I came here expecting to go back to a place where I was so happy with my Dad, thinking that maybe if I could see this place I could recapture part of that happiness. What is happiness anyway? What the fuck does “the world is my oyster” mean? All my dreams vanished because all my dreams were tied up with one person. All the cliches that people mutter to console me mean nothing in the end. If it were not for Lester and Rigor forcing me to go, I would have been content to curl up in my bed and just let sleep be my oblivion.


The ramen arrived and the waitress placed it just so that it looked like it was bathed in its own spotlight. The bracing steam enveloped us and the warmth of the soup killed the cold that the weather instilled. I took a sip and realised how famished I was.