Blinded by
Communists

>> Moiliili

Su Lik cried and cried after her Lu Wi, Lu Wai left.

She cried because he was he first man to whom she had ever given herself, and he'd walked out.

She cried because her dreams of being Mrs. Lu Wi, Lu Wai were gone.

She cried because he was choosing to remain loyal to the Motherland and to his dream of being a Te-Wu agent.

She cried because she wanted him to love freedom and independence as much as she had come to love it while living in America.

Su Lik cried and cried, but she did not cry herself to sleep.

The crying stopped when she recalled what Lu Wi had said about a new living buddha, a little girl. He had noticed that she was glowing, followed her home. His words rang in her ears, and in her heart: "Beijing will not like. Will want her gone. I must do."

He intended to kill a child on behalf of the Motherland.

Su Lik couldn't let it happen to the girl and her family.

She couldn't let it happen for the sake of her own conscience.

Mostly, she couldn't let it happen to the man she loved. He was a good man. Or at least there was a good man inside if she could just open his eyes from the blindness the Communists had caused.

Su Lik reached for the phone, thought better of it, and replaced it.

But she did need to make a call. She just didn't want it traced here -- not only because of the American authorities, but because she still feared the long, cruel arms of the Chinese secret police.

So she grabbed some change, walked a couple of blocks over to McCully and the pay phone beside the little store. She dialed 911, told the guy who answered that she needed police and that it was an emergency.

Ten minutes later she was speaking to a real person.

Hey, the system was working better.

Unfortunately, Gwen Roselovich was off for the night, and the dispatcher who Su Lik got was having a hard time understanding her heavily accented English, which was complicated by the fact that the most pertinent words she used were not English words: Te-Wu, Lu Wi, Lama Jey Tsong Khapa. When she refused to give her name, he suggested she call CrimeStoppers' anonymous tip line.

"No, you tell," she said and ended the call. She quickly wiped her prints from the phone and returned home.

Instead of calling CrimeStoppers, he just put the report in Gwen's tray.

Early the next morning at her desk, going over the report, Gwen swore softly.

Her first call was to Leitha DeCaires at CrimeStoppers.

The second was to the home of officer Quinn Ah Sun.