Ch. 69 – Loudspeaker

Derick, Sally, and Tony walked back towards the barbershop’s entrance. Derrick’s shoulder ached with the strain of supporting Tony’s weight as Tony was slung between the two of them. But the pressure gradually eased off as Tony started walking on his own.

“I know you have your doubts about if Xian is worth his salt,” Tony said. “But if you watch, you’ll understand. Xian’s going to grab the mic some time tonight, and he’ll show the room what he’s made of. Just wait till then.”

“If you say so, Tony,” Derrick said. If Xian was the real deal, and what he promised about getting the Leopards out of Chinatown was true, Derrick would gladly eat his words. He grabbed the barbershop front door’s handle and pulled, and no one fell out this time. The crowd was in a lull—albeit likely a temporary one, and with the crowd’s frenzied activity no longer drawing their attention, the features of barbershop itself stood out.

The place was run down, but it wasn’t exactly dirty, besides the locks of hair on the ground. One of the ceiling lights ahead was not lit, and it had a paper sign taped to the light, clearly marking it for replacement. As men parted to let them come through—no longer acting like a bunch of teenagers at a mosh pit—Derrick, Sally, and Tony came closer to the broken ceiling light. It was clear that the sign was written in a woman’s neat handwriting. There was a cute little drawing on the note on the light, with a cartoon character sporting a messed-up haircut and a frown, as if the woman who’d drawn it was resigned to the fact that the light wouldn’t be replaced anytime soon.

Xian still stood next to the barber chairs, his face peeking out from amid the audience members, whose heads resembled a forest of black hair. Some men’s hair was slicked back with gel, and other’s was tousled, or clumped with sweat. from the middle of the crowd, now that things were settled down. Xian kept cutting away at his customers’ hair, and pocketing their cash, but he kept an eye on the stage, upon which another man stepped forward, microphone in hand.

The man had a half-shaven mustache, thicker on the right than on the left, and he sniffled, the sound amplified by the loudspeaker as he held it up to his mouth.

The loudspeaker screeched as he trailed off.

The room erupted in applause and laughter, and the man on stage held up the loudspeaker, as if he was some twentieth century huntsman raising the head of a large game animal—a Leopard, maybe—to show off for his buddies. Men clapped his shoulder as he climbed down off the stage, making room for the next man, but before he could step up, Xian approached from the other side of the stage. The other man sprinted up the stairs, nodded at Xian and handed him the loudspeaker, and then sprinted back down, and the room’s chatter died down.

The little space around the barber chairs had closed up again, and a few men were standing on the chairs, to get a better look at the stage.

Xian held the loudspeaker up to his lips, and his voice came out smooth, strong, and steady. There wasn’t a single crackle as he spoke, unlike the voice of the other men, whose screaming had popped and crackled through the loudspeaker.

The hair on Derrick’s neck stuck straight up as the men next to him whooped and clapped, joining the crowd around them. Tony rubbed his eyes, but continued to look up at Xian, a smirk on his lips. Sally huddled between Tony and Derrick, keeping away from the crowd around her.

Xian said.

A push from behind tipped Derrick forward, and he whirled around, only to find a glasses-wearing old uncle who was yelling and pushing with the rest of the crowd.

Xian chanted, pointing down at the crowd. He gestured at himself. His fiery gaze swiveled towards Derrick, Tony, and Sally, and he gestured in their general direction. Tony nodded.

Boos sounded throughout the room.

Xian called out.

the crowded responded, in a rumbling roar.

Xian called again.

the crowd roared again.

Xian clapped along with the crowd, and then held up a hand until silence once again returned.

The crowd grew quieted down for a moment, but a few murmurs still went along at full volume.

Xian met eyes with a few men in the crowd, one at a time, as if he were waiting for them to say something, and the last few murmurs died down.

The murmurs resurfaced, and grew louder.

Xian held up three fingers.

The room broke into whispers. A man in a bright yellow shirt yelled out.

Xian said. —Xian pointed his thumb behind him—

Xian said, to some laughs.

Xian said, holding his arms out.

Xian yelled, his voice ramping up louder and louder in the speakerphone.

Having private security prowling the streets instead of the Leopards? It’d be like trading out one set of goons for another. But at least private security didn’t go out of their way to bash your head in . . . usually.

The crowd broke into thunderous applause.

“Is this really going to work?” Derrick asked Tony, yelling into his ear.

“Who knows?” Tony said. “But at this point, it feels like our only hope. No one is coming to save us.” Tony grunted and started walking into the crowd.

“Where are you going?” Derrick asked.

Tony grinned. “I’m off to do some of my own networking,” he said. “We’ve got a whole crowd of businessmen here: suppliers and customers both. I’ve let our connections slip over the past years, and now’s a good chance to claw some of them back.”