The Wrong Wong

By Patrick Leong

The unthinkable is about to erupt in a small sleepy town in New Hampshire.
James Wongvideo game extraordinaire and unrelenting prankster, went back to his hometown to attend a high school friends funeral. While there, due to a case of mistaken identity, he was asked to serve as the towns temporary doctor. Unable to reject the idea of such a delicious ruse, not to mention the high daily pay and the girl of his dream right there in town, he gladly accepted the position.
There is only one problem: hes not a real doctor.
Wong is consumed by all the intricacies of a day-to-day medical practice. He has discovered the fabrics and the laces of the interpersonal emotions which he has so overlooked over the years. Among friends and foes from his youthful years, hes pulling off the scam seamlessly. Just when he settles into that delicate role of a great healer in town, disaster strikes.
FBI Special Agent Harry Bernard knows all about Wongs false identity. And to absolve such an offense, Wong is pressured into checking out a potential al-Qaeda terrorist in town. Antar Hannan is coming to the clinic as a first time patient. Wong will need to somehow look for a hidden scar to confirm one of the worlds most wanted terrorists.
During the investigation, an extremely sinister plot is uncovered. Aside from a personal vendetta, Antar is planning to assassinate the Democratic Presidential nominee so as to incite civil unrest in the United States.
In the end, Wong is being hunted by both the towns overzealous sheriff, and the ruthless terrorist, Antar Hannan. The seemingly benign hoax is now crashing down on Wong. Will he get to live another day?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481739405

Book preview

THE

WRONG

WONG

PATRICK LEONG

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AuthorHouse™

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© 2013 by Patrick Leong. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   05/08/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-3939-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-3940-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013906555

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

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Epilogue

Afterword

About the Author

This one is for Ernie Lozeau, William Rolke, Ivar Weberg, Craig James, C. William Hagblom, Alex Hujsak, and Robert Durfee—a league of gentlemen—James Wong would have much to learn from them.

Prologue

The two paramedics who rushed onto the scene were annoyed by the crowd hovering over the victim. The Toronto sky was cloudless. Tendrils of air were visible like steam rising from a hot stove. It was by far the hottest day of the summer. Fortunately the humidity was low. Nonetheless, it was probably another victim suffering from a mild case of heat exhaustion.

The pair of seasoned rescuers was mildly surprised by the lack of intervention. Someone should have already assessed the damsel in distress. Judging by the size of the gathering, there had to be a nurse or a doctor there. People were just standing around gawking at the unconscious woman. Apparently a Good Samaritan was nowhere to be found that morning.

The first paramedic who took charge was in his forties. At least fifty pounds over his ideal weight, his jowly cheeks with rosy color reminded everyone of Santa. Even though it was in the middle of the summer, Christmas spirit sprung upon his arrival. To the shock of everyone, however, his appearance totally belied his demeanor.

Short of shoving the crowd aside, he demanded them to step back with a commanding voice.

If you are not here to help, then would you all please stand back? He looked up briefly with a laser-beam stare. There was nothing gentle or jolly about him. He was all business.

His partner was following right behind him. This second rescuer was hauling loads of equipment. The defibrillator and the med boxes were simply too much of a burden on Jowly Cheeks. This man was in his late twenties. Donning a pair of sunglasses, he walked haughtily as if he were a celebrity.

Although it was his first call and first day on the job, his confidence was no less than that of his partner, Jowly Cheeks. His stride onto the scene coincided with the breaking up of the crowd; he was almost reenacting Moses parting the Red Sea. An oldie was crooning in his head. Rather than Secret Agent Man, he had changed it to Secret Asian Man.

What do we have? He asked Jowly as he dropped the equipment on the ground precariously.

We’ve got one hot chick with no color, Jowly proceeded to check the victim’s breathing and other vitals.

Hot as in hyperthermia-hot or hot as in Jessica Alba-hot?

Look for yourself, you tell me. Jowly looked up and decided the good citizens of Toronto needed to step further back. The woman on the ground had a stable set of vitals. Perhaps she just required some better quality of air. Crowd control suddenly became his main objective for the moment.

Secret Asian Man kneeled down next to the woman. Just one look and his heart took off; his breathing no longer an automatic process. He thought the woman in front of him was merely a mirage. It can’t be her!

He made a cursory survey and found no obvious signs of trauma. A faint florid and pleasant scent emanated from the woman. He hadn’t been this close physically to a woman for quite some time. Despite the pale face, she was unquestionably attractive. He was not at all surprised by his own reaction. His thoughts drifted back to Medford, NH. It was another lifetime ago.

What happened? Jessica Alba-hot was waking up. Her eyes slowly gaining focus. Even though the man’s face was partially hidden by his sunglasses, the familiar handsome features were all there. She tried not to show any obvious emotion. They were still in the open. The likelihood of someone of significance watching them was nil. She’d scanned her surrounding with professional efficiency. To the ordinary citizens of Toronto, she was still just waking up from a fainting spell. Who are you? She asked, while continued to feign a look of bewilderment.

The paramedic couldn’t restrain himself, whatever alias he had been using for the past year was dismissed in a flash. Wong, James Wong.

Jowly heard the response. He turned away from the crowd and scowled at his partner, What’s with the new name? No, please no. Not another James Bond wannabe!

Are you a doctor? A rather unexpected question considering the woman had been supposedly unconscious for the last five minutes. She was mustering back some color. The ghastly white was giving way to a pinkish hue, the face getting prettier by the minute.

James Wong was not caught off guard by the question. He was certain an esoteric answer existed somewhere, but he also knew for the moment he had no good answer for her. He wished he could come up with something funny or meaningful for the reply.

Are you a doctor? She asked again.

Wong gazed into an abyss that no one else could see. The smile on his face was easily discernible, but it was a bittersweet smile mixed with regret and mischief. I guess I was. I was a doctor once upon a time.

The woman stood up on her own effortlessly. James Wong was gone. Physically he was still there, but his mind was gone. At that moment, he cared not about anything but the woman next to him. He grabbed her hand and started walking away from the scene.

Jowly Cheeks didn’t know what to make of it. Hey, where are you going? It’s your first day on the job and you’re walking out on me?

James Wong ignored the questions. He and Jessica Alba-hot were in a world of their own. No one and nothing was going to stop them.

12 months earlier

1

Boston, glory days again.

The Celtics were going back to the NBA final after two decades of mediocrity. James Wong was too young to remember those Larry Bird years. With all the excitement in Bean town, that usually translated into more calls for the ambulance crew.

He and his fellow paramedic, Vinny Calistino had been a team for the past year and a half. They hit it off right from the get go. Practical jokes and pranks were on their everyday itineraries. A healthy dose of laughter always found its way between the two troublemakers. No mercy. Nothing was off limit. And no one was exempted.

Given the diversity of the ethnic groups in Boston, they had an endless list of targets to poke fun of. Their own heritage was no deterrence to any self-deprecating remarks. In fact, Chinese and Italian jokes were typically on their top ten hit parade.

Did you know throughout all those losing Celtic seasons, Red Auerbach was so desperate looking for a competent coach that he was actually looking into getting someone from overseas? Wong had on his serious-game face.

Where? Like China? Ha! Vinny snorted.

Yeah, how’d you know? Wong asked in mock surprise.

Right, you mean to tell me, we were so desperate for a win that we looked into China to get ourselves some totally unknown name. Vinny played along with the charade, knowing the punch line was about to come.

Absolutely.

What was the name of this coach?

Win Won Soon.

Vinny roared out in laughter. Ah, that was awful!

They were in the vicinity of Copley Square, just cruising about looking for a café. Another cup of Joe for the late morning would be nice. Then perhaps hitting a local arcade or browsing through a Best Buy. Got to keep up with the latest videogames available. Wong usually put in an eight-hour day playing various games once he was off from work.

Their job was similar to cops and firefighters in certain respect. Any down time was precious time. The next disaster could be just around the corner.

After Wong’s joke, naturally, it was Vinny’s turn.

So why can’t a Chinese couple have a white baby?

Wong thought about it for no more than a second, and then answered, Because two Wongs don’t make it white.

They had just left the comfort of their ambulance to get some coffee. A Starbucks was a block away. Walking was always a welcoming relief when they sat most of the time. Suddenly, their two-way radio was squawking some unintelligible noise.

Here we go, Wong said excitedly.

2

An unknown subject was down about two blocks north of Boylston. With the chaotic pattern of traffic at the moment, they decided to grab their equipment and head to the scene by foot.

Perfect timing, Vinny commented sarcastically.

Never fails. Every time we want to do something, a call always comes in. Probably another wino or druggie going into withdrawal…

Their disdain for the call, however, did not keep their pace down. That rush of adrenaline when a call came in always manages to pump them up.

Out of habit, Wong stowed away his photo ID off the lanyard into his breast pocket. Everything gets tangle up in an emergency. He had complained numerous times to the department. A simple ID snapped onto a shirt or jacket was easy enough. A strap or a cord was clumsy. Having things dangling around was a hazard in any given emergency.

An eerie scene came into view when they arrived. Strange how no one else was around. Either the victim had just gone down and no one had seen her, or nobody else cared enough to stop. But then who had made the call? They both registered the same puzzling thoughts on their face. Not one word was uttered. Total concentration necessitated a brief silence as they both tried to reconnoiter the situation.

A girl no older than sixteen sprawled on the cobbled street motionlessly. Her fetal position gave no indication of any trauma. There was no debris around. Her clothing was in proper order. No blood stain or odor of any kind was detected.

Wong rolled the victim over onto her back gently. He then established her airway by lifting her jaw up. Her breathing was either nonexistent or was extremely shallow.

BP is 122 over 70. Pulse is slightly up at about 110. Vinny shouted out the numbers at Wong. Is she breathing?

Not sure, Wong replied. Get a pulse ox on her. I can’t really tell. Her color is good though. He listened to her heart and lungs with his stethoscope while Vinny attached a little clip to the girl’s index finger.

Several bystanders finally showed up. They kept their distance though.

Not much air in or out, do we need to tube her? You think she’s got a pneumo? Wong asked his buddy.

Hold on. Vinny waited another two seconds. O2 sat is 99%. She’s fine.

Hmm, Wong contemplated briefly. Let’s get a line in. We should at least give her some glucose.

Okay, Vinny started digging into his box. You didn’t find anything?

She looks fine.

All right. We’ll give her some glucose and transport her.

Vinny rubbed the girl’s forearm with alcohol and Betadine. He then applied a tourniquet around the arm. Just before he was ready to insert the needle into the girl, she stirred and groaned. The guttural sound she made was unnatural from such a young girl. Vinny and Wong were both startled.

Are you okay? Vinny asked the young girl. Are you having any pain?

The girl rubbed her eyes as if she had just woken up from sleep. Her attempt to sit up failed quickly as she swerved into Wong’s arms. A look of confusion registered on her face.

Who are you? The girl was a picture of innocence, her doleful eyes searching deep into Wong’s face.

Wong, James Wong. He slowly laid her back down. I am a paramedic. My partner here is Vinny. Do you remember what happened? Did someone attack you? Do you remember passing out?

She shook her head. Vinny grabbed her arm again. An IV was needed. Even though she seemed to be coming around, standard protocol couldn’t be ignored.

No! No needle!

Okay, okay. Calm down. Can you tell us how you are feeling? Wong asked.

Just a little weak and dizzy.

Wong conducted a hasty skeletal muscular examination. She did not complain of any pain or the slightest discomfort.

We’ll need to transport you to the hospital, he explained. They’ll need to run some test to make sure you are okay.

Do you have a name? We’ll need to contact your parents as well. Vinny advised the girl.

She hesitated a bit, I don’t remember anything. I…

Don’t worry about it. Let’s get you to the hospital first. Wong realized they weren’t getting anywhere with her identity. Best to get going and let the real professionals take care of her. Can you try getting up now? If not, we’ll need to strap you onto the stretcher.

By then, Vinny had left for the ambulance.

On the way to Mass General, Vinny was behind the wheel and Wong sat in the back with their Jane Doe. She was becoming more alert, though still fuzzy on the details of what happened. Parade of thoughts ran through Wong’s head. Perhaps another run away teen, another young addict? He didn’t find any needle tracks earlier. Except for a little tattoo of a rose on her right deltoid area, there was no disturbing finding. Another medical mystery he could care less.

The city was full of mishaps and tragedies. In the past ten years since he’d been there, he’d seen more than he cared to remember. But then he was determined to leave the small-town life behind. Once he graduated from Medford High, he couldn’t wait to leave New Hampshire.

The girl was now able to sit up without getting lightheaded. Since she was stable, Vinny did not bother to turn on the siren. They stopped at a red light at the intersection of Cambridge and Grove. They were almost at the hospital.

That’s when the unimaginable happened.

3

The youthful Jane Doe bolted up without a hint of distress. She opened the backdoor and jumped out. It all happened so quickly that Wong had no idea of what was going on. She stood there on the street momentarily and flashed a huge grin on that seemingly innocent face of hers.

What the hell’s going on? Vinny turned around and tried to figure out what had just transpired. Wong was totally dumbfounded. His usual cool was gone. He stood up halfway inside the ambulance and couldn’t decide to go after the girl, or simply wait for an explanation.

The young girl was suddenly a picture of health. The light had turned green, and traffic started backing up behind them. Ambulance or not, the Boston commuters were not shy in expressing their impatience. Horns started blaring at them. Yet the girl was in no hurry to move. The two fools deserved an explanation. They were literally taken for a ride.

Thanks for the ride, suckers!

The initial dubious look on Wong’s face must have further augmented the girl’s delight. Her menacing laugh in return struck him right to his gut. His anger completely shut him down. His mouth was open, but not one word came out. All the four-letter words had automatically loaded up on the tip of his tongue, yet not one single expletive was uttered. He was simply caught completely off guard by such a ruse. The only gesture he managed was flipping his middle finger at the juvenile.

Then out of nowhere, she whipped out her cell phone and snapped a photo of him. He felt like a total fool. It was as though he was frozen in his gesture. With his left hand holding up his right elbow, his right middle finger was still flipping up at the girl. Perhaps the longer he stayed in such a pose, the more harm he thought he could inflict on her.

The last image of the girl was her returning of his gesture: giving him the middle finger.

Vinny climbed into the back of the ambulance. He too was in shock. Whatever moral support he was trying to provide, it didn’t make Wong feel any better. The girl was long gone by the time the two fools regained their composure. Nothing made any sense, no one would need a ride that bad.

Let’s go get that coffee now, Vinny suggested.

After a moment of silence, Wong said, Man, this would never happen back home in Medford.

Hey, you are the one who kept telling me you couldn’t wait to get out of there.

Wong nodded in agreement. True, but you are from south Boston. You wouldn’t understand.

Come on. You’ve been here, what? Ten years? I have never heard you talk about going back. Not even for a visit. There’s nothing there, remember?

I’m just saying something like this would never happen back home, that’s all.

And you’ll never see a farmer crossing the street with his herd of cattle here. Come on, let’s get that cup of coffee.

They deserted the ambulance right there on the road. The blinkers were left on, maybe that would minimize their chance of getting a parking ticket. At that moment, they simply didn’t care.

4

The rest of the shift was uneventful. Wong and Vinny plotted a plausible explanation for what happened earlier. They had to file a written report on all the cases daily. In this instance, no actual transport was made. There were just too many debatable issues. The subject was a minor. No identification was documented. They never made it to the hospital. And obviously the disposition of the case was also in limbo.

The guys at the department would have a field day if they knew what really happened. Normally, Vinny and Wong were the ones who dished out all the jokes. Being on the receiving end of it did not play well at all.

Wong got home that evening at around 7 p.m. First thing he did was turning on his 360. That was as routine as brushing his teeth in the morning. He had checked out the latest videogames at Best Buy right after work. Halo 3 had been out since last September and he had yet to add that to his collections. He was definitely a gamer. What little savings he had were used mostly to support his videogame hobby.

Nothing beats the highs of rising up to the challenges of The Mission. These are not simply some shooting games as most people would assume. It requires hand, eye, and mind coordination. Not to mention sustaining the one hundred percent intensity at all times. No other player takes the games as seriously as he does.

Just as he sat down to begin his nightly ritual—

strategically placing a bottle of Tsingtao on the coffee table to his right, cracking his knuckles, flexing and twisting his neck before the start of gunfight—the stupid phone rang.

He had started to get up, then decided against it. Go to hell! He yelled across the room as if the caller could hear him. Nothing was going to interrupt his mission. Technically he hadn’t really started yet. But it was all about commitment and dedication. If it was something important, whoever it was would leave a message.

He took a swig of his beer while his game was loading. He was about to choose the weapon for the evening when the voice of a woman erupted on his answering machine.

Jimmy, this is Mrs. Pavli again. I know I had called earlier, but I really do need to talk to you. Please call me back as soon as you can. Thank you… thank you.

The distress in the woman’s tone was obvious. Without actually seeing her, Wong could picture a little old lady with her tremulous hand, barely holding on to the phone, and with all her strength, trying hard to speak clearly to the answering machine. At least she sounded like she still had all her teeth.

Who the hell is she? He had a hunch, but refused to give in to such a thought. It couldn’t be the Mrs. Pavli. No way. He couldn’t remember ever being addressed to as ‘Jimmy.’ Is this another joke? He had had enough of pranks for one day. Maybe it was Vinny. Maybe he had coaxed his mom to the stunt, but then there was not a trace of her usual heavy Italian accent. Staging a prank was to Vinny Calistino what Oxycontin was to a drug addict. Vinny would gladly sell his mom’s soul to the devil just for a good laugh. That would be his way of dealing with what they went through that day.

The vexing message defeated his desire, at least for the moment, of continuing on with his game night. Curiosity, of course, got the better of him. Normally, nothing could distract him from his videogames. He thought about the woman’s muddy babble and realized there must be another message from earlier. He got up and went to check his answering machine.

Oh, hello. This is Mrs. Pavli, Ghita Pavli, Nick’s mom… I hope you remember Nick. You must, you two were best buddies back in high school. I know you guys haven’t been in touch for a long time… I, I need your help. Nick’s dying. Please call me back when you have a chance… She rattled off a series of numbers, followed by some snivels.

James Wong sat down in his chair. He blew air out through his pursed lips. In an instant, it was all clear to him. Those bitter times from high school came crashing down on him like pebbles in a hailstorm.

It was the Mrs. Pavli.

Nick can rot in hell for all I care.

Nicholas Pavli had been his best friend for an entire month at the start of his freshman year in high school. It was somewhat of a mismatch. Nick was more of the studious type, whereas Wong was a typical loafer. Perhaps it was Wong’s sense of humor that drew Nick to him. The unceremonious and impromptu one-liners were a direct reflection of Wong’s quick wit and brilliance. He always had an answer to everything. He may not be right, but whatever he said always goaded everyone a good laugh. He was the proverbial class clown.

With his parents working all the time, Wong was on autopilot and ended up spending many evenings at Nick’s house. Soon the Pavli’s home became an oasis of comfort for Wong. Ghita Pavli had an endless supply of food. She could put on a full meal complete with appetizer and dessert at the drop of a hat. It was a wonder that Nick wasn’t overweight.

Then entered the second James Wong. Nick literally changed overnight.

The new James Wong had transferred from St. Thomas, a private catholic school in Medford. The specific reason for the transfer was never revealed, though rumors abounded among the students. His father had lost a fortune on Wall Street and so the family could no longer afford a private school. His father had made some bad investment overseas and the end result was the same. Another obvious erroneous suggestion was that the boy’s grades were not up to par. That one made no sense at all since all his classes were either in the honor or AP category.

The most outrageous rumor was that he was too Chinese. Because he couldn’t get used to any of the American food, everyday he would bring in his own food. From fermented salty fish to his stinky tofu, the exotic dishes were a complete novelty to his fellow students and faculties. The daily assault to their nostrils was just too much. The nuns couldn’t tolerate the smell anymore. Even the regional archbishop got in on the debate whether it was enough ground for dismissal of the student. So that was the reason he got kicked out of the catholic school. That story, of course, was fabricated by the class joker of Medford High.

The new James Wong turned out to be the smartest and the best student ever came out of Medford High. His class participation on the first day catapulted him to the top of the entire school overnight. Teachers couldn’t stop praising how intelligent and mature he was. Students thought he was a genius. Nick was among one of the first who had jumped on the bandwagon. Soon Nick and the new James Wong formed their own little study group and became the nucleus of the school’s math club and debate team.

The old James Wong was left out of that coterie of the so-called elites. It was easy to assume everyone would be comparing the two Wongs given their exact same name and ethnic background. Yet nothing was surfacing in the weeks to come. It was as if the old James simply ceased to exist. Embittered by such a mass betrayal, he transformed into an invisible person. Somewhere along at that time, videogames became his lifelong companion.

If no one else bothered to observe the differences between the two Wongs, then the jilted Wong was making all the comparisons by himself. He was consumed by the inexplicable behavior of everyone. How was it possible that in such a short time, everyone would be so taken by this newcomer? Sometimes even with the explanations staring right at your face, the truth was still hard to accept.

The new Wong had it all. Close to six feet tall, he was among the tallest in their class. He was on the varsity basketball team, and supposedly taking the number one spot on the tennis team in the spring. To this date, he remained the only freshman to ever play on the varsity basketball team and be the number one player on the tennis team. He went on and continued to claim that number one spot for his remaining years at Medford High. By the time they graduated, his academic and athletic achievements were unprecedented. This James Wong was the archetype of a perfect student. He was the measuring stick for all the subsequent students for years to come.

The jilted Wong was a prime example of a ‘wasted mind.’ He had been told by many that he was smart but needed to work harder. It was the same old story throughout his school years. He had no guidance from his parents. His father was always working somewhere out of state. His mother suffered from a case of dysthymia and had done nothing forever.

Because of his consistent shorter stature comparing to all his peers in those early years, he was sent to see multiple specialists. Eventually the diagnosis of growth delay was made. For whatever reason, he was delayed by about four years. What it meant was if everyone else stopped growing at sixteen, he would continue to grow until he was twenty. He would eventually reach a ‘normal’ height. But in the meantime, he was four years behind all his peers in terms of height and weight.

He thought about his physical appearance and his academic achievement, or more accurately, the lack of it. The differences between him and the new Wong were like day and night. The last he heard, the other Wong went on an accelerated program and now became a big-shot physician right here in Boston. Meanwhile he, a lowly paramedic, was serving as a chauffeur, giving free rides to young girls.

He had never been able to get an explanation out of Nicolas Pavli about their fallout. Perhaps the guy just couldn’t handle two Chinamen at one time. He was much more ‘American’ than the other Wong. He was what they called a banana; yellow on the outside but white on the inside. The other Wong was not even born in this country. Maybe it was much deeper than what he could reason.

Although not from the lack of trying on his part, he had not spoken to Nick since then. They went on their separate paths for the remainder of their high school years. And the other Wong became Nick’s best buddy.

The messages left by Mrs. Pavli deluged him with mixed emotions. Nick had died long ago as far as Wong was concerned. It was just a stupid friendship from childhood. It would be interesting to find out what happened between Nick and the other Wong. It sounded like the two hadn’t been in touch for years.

He also felt a sense of atonement. Nick was dying and now looking for forgiveness. Sins of the past were haunting the guy. What better way to go than to first make amends with his friends and enemies. The most curious part was why the mother ended up calling here and not the other Wong. Or perhaps she did. Perhaps she was calling everyone from those early days.

He was completely off-kilter for the remainder of the night. His war paths were just a blur on the TV screen. His aims were off. The timing was out of sync. His friends commented about his lack of focusing through his headset, but all their chattering went by him like water running through a sieve.

Hey James, what’s Wong?

Normally he would have laughed, but this time the joke didn’t even register.

5

It took some persuasion by Vinny, but not much.

The decision to call Mrs. Pavli was vacillating on Wong’s mind all night long. Curiosity played a vital role in his decision to call. As much as he tried rejecting the pay-back factor, he wondered if getting himself involved was indeed an act of vengeance.

The next morning, he told Vinny all about the calls. Vinny being Vinny was no surprise in his encouragement to make the call.

You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

Wong thought of all the possibilities and played out all the scenarios in his head. A roguish smile surfaced on his face for the first time that morning. You’re right. It would be fun to see everyone at the funeral.

You are nasty. The guy’s not dead yet. Maybe she’s looking for a bone marrow donor for her son. Maybe Nick wants to redeem himself before moving on.

I thought of that. Well, he isn’t getting any forgiveness from this guy. Wong poked his finger at his own chest. I wonder if his mom wants me to provide the eulogy.

Dude, you are so fixated on death. I told you, Nick’s not dead yet.

After their mid-morning coffee run, they decided to make the call together. Wong put on the