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him on the phone?” I said, not meaning to whine.
    â€œJing-nan!” Whistle chided. “He’s all the family you’ve got! You know what time of year it is! You have to see him in person!”
    I licked my lips. “Is he in trouble?”
    â€œOf course not. Now, let’s go. Put on some clothes and shoes, not sandals.” I heard a loud hocking sound echo in the bathroom, followed by the toilet flushing.
    I can’t pretend to understand how families work in other cultures. I know American kids can’t wait to move out of the house and that they see their grandparents only a handful of times a year. In Taiwan we live in the family house basically until we’re married. You see your grandparents every day because grandma cooks for the entire family and grandpa’s parked on his favorite chair by the window, reading newspapers and eating roasted melon seeds, piling the shells on an already-read section. Your aunts and uncles and their kids are probably living in another room or in an adjacent apartment where the adjoining door is never locked.
    I remember in one of the Godfather films someone says to keep your friends close but your enemies closer. In Taiwan we keep our family even closer than our enemies.
    Just hearing about my uncle brought up these feelings of familial ties and the inherent duties. He might indeed be no good but that wasn’t a reason not to hear and obey him. We shared the same name, blood, and fate. It was actually strange for us not to be in touch and our reunion was timely considering the Mid-Autumn Festival.
    Whistle and Gao brought me to their Infiniti SUV, which was parked around the corner in the shadows. It was customized with tinted windows. I took a seat in the back. Whistle got behind the wheel and Gao heaved himself into the shotgun seat. He wasn’t armed with a shotgun, though. He was armed with a handgun that he checked before stashing it somewhere under his seat.
    Yep, I thought, these guys sure know my uncle.
    My neighborhood is never completely quiet at night, but all I could hear inside the car was Whistle making faint slobbering sounds as he chewed gum. He was probably banned from chewing betel nut (and spitting out the juice) while inside the SUV.
    I noticed that the tint seal was bubbling in a few places. I tapped my finger to a double bubble. The glass was unusually thick—more than two inches.
    Bulletproof.
    Just a few months ago I would have been scared out of my mind being in the company of armed criminals. A lot has changed since. I’ve been beat up, shot at, and I even whacked some guy in the head with the butt of a gun. It sounds like a video game but in real life, fighting is exhausting and you feel bad about the people you hurt—even the bad people. Once you experience something like that, it’s easier to remain calm in times of distress.
    Then again, I wasn’t being kidnapped. Presumably these two guys were my uncle’s henchmen, and presumably my uncle wished me well. I hadn’t seen him in a long time, but I had good memories of him, despite my father’s misgivings. “Younger Uncle” was how I was taught to address him, but his friends and people in the neighborhood called him “Big Eye.” It was an odd little nickname, because he didn’t have big eyes at all. In fact his eyes were often narrowed and shifty.
    Come to think of it, he had a pretty mean-looking face. Yet my uncle was also very generous with me and laughed easily and louder than anybody else. He had given me candy and chocolate. The night before he took off, he asked me if I had what it took to be a man. I said I did, and he let me try cigarettes and beer, turning me off to smoking and drinking for years. Could that have been the plan?
    I looked out the bubbly dark windows and watched streetlights and buildings whip through my dark reflection.
    Way too late to call or text Nancy. I probably wasn’t in danger, but