THE CITIZEN

“They’ve left,” Tan Vee Bun tells me, “Jack and Rose have left.”

“Left? What do you mean?”

“Gone. No longer in the game.”

A pause.

“They migrated to Perth.”

“In Australia?” I reply back, incredulous. 

“Where else?” he shrugs. 

Robert Sebastian Cheong lets out a soft, sardonic chuckle. 

“It’s just us now,” Tan Vee Bun continues, gesturing to me and to Robert Sebastian Cheong, who reaches out and lays an arm on his shoulder. A completely unnecessary show of possession. 

I feel my brain pulling me into a world of homophobia. I can already feel myself making the presumptions of privilege. Why in the world would Robert Sebastian Cheong even be thinking about being possessive in front of me? Maybe he just likes laying his hands on Tan Vee Bun? But why do they have to do it in front of me? Damn it, Li Jia Sen, don’t us heterosexuals stick our sexuality in front of them all the time too? 

I look up and realise that Tan Vee Bun, too, has taken off his shirt. He’s resting his head on Robert Sebastian Cheong’s bare shoulder, his hand caressing his thigh. 

“So, we have no allies, no real home, and no plan?” I whisper, my voice betraying my frustration.

The couple in front of me balks at my mention of ‘no real home’. Their bodies stiffen, “this is a real home,” protests Robert Sebastian Cheong. He stands up, causing Tan Vee Bun to awkwardly stand up as well. His lower lip starts to quiver and his eyes oscillate from teary to rage to tears again. 

What have I done? I have spoiled a beautiful sight. I raise my hands in protest and begin to apologise, which fortunately deflates the situation enough so that he sits down again. Meanwhile, Tan Vee Bun has moved to the kitchen, where he pours himself a beer. 

“I picked up something from the bunker at Bukit Brown”

Finally, some good news. I don’t say this out loud. 

“It’s a name card for a shipping company at Geylang,” he continues, “but the thing is, the shipping company only ships one thing.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“Mantou.”

“Bread? Chinese Steamed Buns?” I ask, “what’s the significance of that?”

“It’s a staple,” he replies, “but is also rumoured to be significant ingredient in the manipulation of 八字.”

“But why?”

“It’s a staple.” 

Robert Sebastian Cheong has gone back to his vape. The room smells of raspberries. He cuts in. 

“Our next best bet is to investigate the office… see what it turns up. It could give us our next best lead to unravelling the mess we’re in. The mess Singapore is in.”

He says that with such conviction that I believe him. Robert Sebastian Cheong has been in harmony with me and Tan Vee Bun and Lee Kuan Yew the entire time. I smile at him. 

“As investigative journalists of our calibre, we are the best equipped to infiltrate this pyramid scheme of evil together.”

And now I’m his friend? Maybe I was always his friend. I tell myself to relax and accept the beer Tan Vee Bun is extending to me. Outside, the crickets have started and the night rolls its way across the jungle.