My memoir - scene 4 : blah motorcycle ride

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The motorcycle ride was just the mean of transportation from one point to another. But I still mentioned this because it was nonetheless an unusual experience for a 12 year-old girl. That midnight, after closing of a business day, my mother's group of undercover cops friends gathered in her motel establishment. The cops were on hand to protect my mom and her business. In those days' Hong Kong, if you're in those "not so legal businesses", you had to choose either paying the cops or the bad guys to protect your businesses. My mom was street-smart enough to make friends with cops. That's how the gangs and the cops made money in those day by making troubles to the business properties or the cops came to knock on patrons' rooms to interrogate them. So it would make more sense to side with the cops if they were willing to be bribed.
I guessed there's no babysitter around and they all decided to go out to have a late night dinner. They carried me along. It had to be no school the next day. 'Cause I am sure that I was neither dragged out of bed while sleeping nor was I sleepy at all. I never remembered my mom ever enforced any bedtime curfew on me, you could have guessed; she's a night businesswoman.
We went to a seafood restaurant that they frequented. A popular Cantonese style seafood dish was and still is "white boiled shrimp" meaning while the shrimps are still swiming in the fish tank. The waiter nets them; throw them into the boiling water for 1 minute about or until they curled up and turned pinkish and were immediately put on your plate with heads and tails intact. You will be given a small dish of dipping sauce which consists of soy sauce, ground black pepper and hot cooking oil.
After washing our hands, we would begin using our left fingers to twist the head of each beautiful pinkish shrimp off by holding its tail with our right fingers (assuming we were right-handed). One live shrimp at a time (of course now everyone's dead), we would finish the whole plate, no matter how big the plate was (we'd never heard of cholestrole then). After finishing whatever other delicious seafood which were handed over to us, we were each given a hot hand towel by our waiter to cleanse our hands of soy sauce and our sins or whatever.
It was a peaceful eating experience, I remember no fussing, no messing around, no smoking, no drinking alcohol, no swearing. I guess it's because they were cops and usually when plain-clothed cops walked into an eatery, they would let the establishment know who they were.
Some hour later, time to split, I didn't know where my mom gone to but I know I was on the back of a motorcycle and one of her plain-clothed detective friends – a big and heavy 40ish man was at the wheel. I was without hemlet and neither had he. The the trip was blah and uneventful – just riding through no-traffic streets in the wee hours of the morning. No wind, no rain, no cars, just getting me from the restaurant back home. That was my motorcyle ride and that's the end of it.
(edited on 9-9-2012)


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