No Going Back

by Sheena Kamal

  Securing my wide-brimmed sun hat on my head, I walk out of the bar, leaving Brazuca staring after me with a look of absolute amazement on his face and a big red mark stamped across his cheek.

  34

  Several minutes have passed, and Brazuca still feels the sting. Unconsciously, his hand goes to his cheek, reddened beneath a day’s worth of stubble by her slap and the onset of a mild sunburn. He finishes the mango juice Nora left behind and picks up the newspaper on the table.

  Then there’s a hand on his shoulder and one of the beefed-up guys from the bar puts a beer down in front of him. “Alright, mate?” the guy asks.

  “Fuck,” says Brazuca.

  The guy laughs. “Tough luck.”

  “Guess everyone saw that.”

  “Heard it, too. Good arm on that woman.”

  Brazuca nods. “She has violent tendencies.” An understatement. They have no idea what Nora’s capable of if she’s properly threatened. He’s never met a more aggressive woman in his life.

  “I’m Max,” says the guy. “Come join us.”

  Brazuca follows him to the bar, where a ragtag group of ex-military types are grinning at him over the tops of their beers. They stand out. They’re all white, and Brazuca has already noted their accents range from British to Australian to South African. He thinks there is a Canadian among them, skulking near the back.

  Max, clearly a Brit, looks at the others. “He smell like pussy to you?”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with that,” says one. The Canadian, maybe.

  “Sit down, mate,” the man behind the bar says, in a thick Australian accent. “These guys are just giving you a rough time.”

  “I’m in the shit now,” says Brazuca, reaching into his shirt pocket for a cigarette and discovering his shirt has been buttoned up wrong. And he’s out of cigarettes. He curses soundly.

  This gets him a fresh round of ribbing. Max finishes his beer in one gulp and calls for another. “Boyo, you were in the shit the minute you walked in here. Your lady was just waiting for an opportunity to lay into you.”

  “You could tell she sat here just working up to it,” says one of Brazuca’s new friends. “Got madder by the minute. I thought it was that damn monkey noise, but it turned out to be a whole different kind of monkey business that got her riled up.”

  “What happened?” asks the barman. “I’m Connor, by the way. This is my place.”

  They shake hands. “We were on the Gili Islands for a bit, Gili T, and she decided to come into Lombok a little early. I was supposed to meet her last night. May have gotten a little bit carried away.”

  The barman and Max exchange a look that says they know exactly how he must have gotten carried away. Gili Trawangan is the largest of the Gilis and is known to be something of a party island. There are a lot of different kinds of trouble a person can get into there, if he’s so inclined.

  “Since you done fucked up, might as well enjoy yourself,” says Max. He calls for another round. Then looks at Brazuca’s beer, which he hasn’t touched since he joined them. “You gonna drink that?”

  Brazuca shakes his head. He’s been traveling for days now and probably looks as rough as he feels. “Better not, man. Coming down off something.” He gives them a sheepish look and lets them draw their own conclusions.

  “Did she say he smells like pussy or he is a pussy?” Max asks.

  This is going to be a long afternoon, Brazuca thinks. He’s not going to find allies in his sobriety here.

  He orders a strong cup of coffee and enough food for the table. Then he’s back in everyone’s good graces.

  35

  “Well?” I ask, the moment Brazuca walks into the hotel room.

  It’s been several hours since I hit him at the bar. I got rid of the sundress the moment I returned to the king suite we’re sharing and am in a pair of cutoff shorts and a T-shirt. Even with the AC on, it’s still too hot.

  “Hang on,” he says, and disappears into the bathroom. Ten minutes later he emerges, freshly showered and in a change of clothes. Still unshaven, though. He passes a comb through his damp hair and looks out the window. Spread out in front of him is a view Lam has paid good money for. The ocean, peppered with colorful fishing boats, sparkles as the sun sets. Couples lay tangled underneath resort awnings, some in bathing suits and others in evening wear. It’s a far cry from the little mining town I’d scootered into this afternoon, the one with the bar.

  The reason we’re sharing is because Lam found it amusing that Brazuca decided to join us last minute on the flight. He hadn’t bothered to call ahead and make arrangements for another room. On the plane, Brazuca and I fell into the routine of two people who’d rather not be on a trip together. Lam laughingly said it seemed natural for us to continue the ruse. For all intents and purposes, we’re a couple giving it our last shot but failing. There’s enough history between us to sell this.

  “That slap was a good move,” Brazuca tells me, without turning from the window.

  “I was inspired.”

  “Hell of an inspiration. But it was the right instinct. They would never have talked to me with you there, and it made them sympathetic to me. They’re actually not bad once you get to know them a little.”

  “And what did they have to say?”

  “You were right, they’re part of the security detail at the mine.”

  Ex-military types in a flock like that . . . it seemed obvious that they were blowing off steam after work. Especially given the proximity of the mining village that Nebula supports, now that they’ve taken over the mine there. “And?”

  I can tell he’s enjoying stringing me along.

  “Let’s go find Lam,” he says, grinning. “He should hear this, too.”

  Lam is in the private bungalow with its separate suite of rooms on the hotel property. Right off the beach. How he managed to swing this on such short notice is beyond me, but it’s possible a minor sheikh or two have been kicked out to make room for him.

  His bodyguard is there, out by the pool with Lam and a woman I haven’t seen before. She’s tall, fat, and more beautiful than any person has the right to be. She has the hair of a model in a shampoo commercial, long and glossy, even with all this salty sea air. Her and Lam match in a way I can’t explain. When he sees us coming, he sends her away with a kiss on the cheek.

  “A bit young, don’t you think?” I say.

  Lam shrugs. “Legal.”

  “You didn’t want to introduce us?”

  “She didn’t want to be introduced. Her oil baron daddy is looking for her, and she wants to keep a low profile.” This makes sense. The woman looked to be in her early twenties. Also looked like money in that indefinable way that some people do. The way that Lam does. It also makes sense that within a day of being here, he would already be mingling with the heiresses of the island.

  He checks to make sure Ivan’s out of earshot and lowers his voice. “So what did your little trip into town tell you?”

  I wonder what Ivan would think of all this if he knew what we were saying. Brazuca and Lam got into a bitter fight about keeping him in the dark when we arrived at the hotel. I don’t care either way, but Brazuca has a point. If we’re stuck with him, might as well use him. But Lam doesn’t want him reporting the particulars of our trip to his father. It’s why he brought only one bodyguard with him and not a horde of them, like he should have.

  I understand his thinking. Nobody has ever particularly cared where I go or what I do, but I’d imagine it would get irritating if all of a sudden someone did.

  Brazuca takes a seat on the lounger beside Lam while I remain standing. It’s cool enough now that I can bear being outdoors without a frozen drink in my hand.

  “Nora found a bar where some of the private security team for the mine hang out. They had some interesting things to say. There’s been some petty local gang activity. There was also an earthquake and some pretty bad landslides a few days before we got here. People are on edge.”

&
nbsp; “Okay,” says Lam, somewhat impatiently. “And Dao?”

  Brazuca smiles, but there’s no warmth to it. Lam doesn’t notice or doesn’t particularly care. “They talked about the head of security at the mine. A big Chinese bloke, ex–British military. He’s been on their asses for about a year. Everyone hates him. The security teams because he won’t fraternize with them and some of them think he’s a gangster. The workers because he’s tough on them. The villagers because he’s Chinese, but from Vietnam. Some just don’t like his face.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “No. Apparently he’s been laying low because of some dustup with a protester.”

  I stare at Brazuca. “Chinese from Vietnam?”

  “There’s a sizable ethnic Chinese population spread across Southeast Asia, Vietnam included,” Lam explains. “During the Vietnam War, many Vietnamese fled and ended up in refugee camps. Some of them made it to Hong Kong.”

  “Then, for Dao, the UK,” I say. “And then wherever the Zhangs needed him to be. Which may be why Dao seems like a ghost. He’s moved around.”

  Brazuca looks at me. “We need Simone.”

  “She’s in rehab. But I think it’s one of those facilities where patients can bring their computers. She took her laptop with her when I dropped her off at the ferry.”

  He thinks about it for a moment. “If it’s the Gulf Island facility she stayed at a few years ago, then yes. They allow phones and laptops.”

  “Who’s Simone?” asks Lam.

  “Cyber expert,” Brazuca says.

  Lam frowns. “An addict, though? I can find you someone else. I’ve got a guy.”

  “I’m sure you do. But I like my guy so I’m going with her,” I say.

  He doesn’t like my tone. Maybe it’s disrespectful, but I couldn’t care less. “You know what your problem is?” Lam says. “You hate the rich.”

  “I eat the rich.”

  “Come take a bite.” He opens his arms. I’m perversely tempted. He’s lost weight, but there are still quite a few prime cuts left on him.

  “Alright, kids. Let’s stay focused.” Brazuca gives me a quelling look, as though I’m the problem. Or maybe he thinks it’s sexual tension, and the idea of me and Lam makes him as uncomfortable as it does me.

  I turn away. When I chew Lam up, he won’t even feel it. Problem is—and this is the real issue—I’m not sure if I have more to gain by keeping him whole.

  “Do whatever you want,” I say, reaching for my phone. “Ex–British military via Hong Kong? Ethnic Chinese from Vietnam? This is all information that we haven’t had before. I’m going to talk to Simone.”

  “Let us know what she finds,” says Brazuca.

  I walk down to the ocean to make the call. Simone answers on the first ring and listens to the updates. “What took you so long to bring me in?” she asks.

  36

  Lam insists on paying for Simone’s services because “it keeps people honest.”

  “I’m not above taking a rich guy’s money,” she says, when I broach the assignment with her. “Is he cute?”

  “He’s Bernard Lam.” Before we left for Lombok I had told her I was working with someone to find Dao, but I didn’t tell her who it was until now.

  She recognizes the name immediately. “Well, in that case, I wouldn’t mind taking a lot of his money. He’s got a billion or so to spare.”

  “His daddy does, anyway.”

  “Oh, it’s all the same to these people. As much as I love to do free work for you, Nora, I enjoy being paid even more.” Ouch. She says this without bite, though, so I know it’s not personal. “If it’s going to help you find Dao and figure out why the hell he’s got such a hard-on for you, then I’m all for it. What you’ve given here is enough for me to get a start, anyway. I’ve got some contacts in the security world I can tap now that we know he’s working for Michael Acosta. I’ll get back to you soon.”

  While we wait, Brazuca makes one trip back to the Australian’s bar to see what else he can find out. I drive my rented scooter toward the mine but turn around just inside the village on the outskirts of the mine property. Things begin to look too industrial, and a tourist on a scooter stands out here. There are more than a few hostile glances thrown my way, at my baseball cap and aviator shades. A few curious ones at the smutty novel I pull out while ostensibly searching for my island map, both courtesy of the hotel lobby. The map is still crisp, but the novel is water stained and dog-eared. As far as disguises go, a sex-obsessed tourist with a poor sense of direction is about as effective as one can get overseas, but I’m still uneasy here in Lombok.

  But it’s not like I can leave. Dao is so close I can feel him. If this island is where we put our past to rest, so be it.

  On my way back to the hotel, I stop at a roadside restaurant that looks more like a hut. Order a plate of steamed vegetables and tofu covered in a fragrant peanut sauce. Wash it down with a glass of papaya juice. The meal is a hundred times better than the hotel version I had last night. This is the healthiest food I’ve eaten maybe in my entire life. I can feel my body healing. Feel it getting stronger. I could get used to living like this. Bringing my dog on my private plane for a bit of fun in the sun. My skin has turned a dark brown from all this sun exposure, but at least I’m doing better than Brazuca, who has taken on the appearance of a man being boiled slowly but can’t seem to crawl out of the pot.

  “You like the gado gado?” the chef asks, as he clears my dishes. He’s the chef, the waiter, the busboy, and the host.

  “It was delicious.”

  “Thank you. You go back to your hotel before it gets dark?”

  “On my way back now.”

  “Good. That is good. Be safe.”

  “It’s not safe after dark?”

  He hesitates a moment, his round face holding something back. “Nowhere is safe after dark.”

  Truth.

  The reports from Simone and Lam’s cyber guy come in. We meet up that evening to go over them, Brazuca and Lam reeking of zinc oxide from their sunscreen. Ivan isn’t in sight, but we know he must be around.

  Dusk hangs in the air. The sun on its way out reluctantly, leaving tendrils of pink and orange behind. Our faces are lit by paper lanterns strung over the back patio. Lam’s sobriety matches mine and Brazuca’s, for once, but his face is flush with some emotion. Excitement, maybe. Our motives are unclear to one another, maybe even to ourselves, but we’ve come too far to go our separate ways. In all honesty, I might be in this for Lam’s private plane, but I’ve never made Lam any promises. Who knows what’s going on with Brazuca, except that he is most undoubtedly being paid—and paid well—to be here.

  The best I can figure out is that I want Dao because he’s hunting me. Lam wants Three Phoenix, which he thinks he can get through Dao. Brazuca is collecting a paycheck but wants this to be over so he can go back to healthy eating. Whatever our reasons, we are together now, outdoors on a warm night. In a shaky paradise.

  So we get into it, the legend of Dao.

  37

  David Tao was born in Vietnam. At the age of two, his widowed mother fled to a refugee camp in Hong Kong. She and her son were resettled not long after in East London. When he was eighteen, he signed up for military service and served with the British army’s peacekeeping force in Bosnia. Whatever he saw there must have put him off keeping peace for life because he left the military right after that. He found some work in private security and was assigned a detail for a high-profile diplomatic event. At that event there’d been a security threat to one of the VIPs. Dao was the man who identified it and managed to avert a crisis.

  Ray Zhang of Zhang-Wei Industries was the VIP.

  “That’s where they met,” I say.

  “He caught Ray Zhang’s eye,” Lam replies. “Poor school performance but he had a gift with languages. Military training, and he spoke English, Vietnamese, and Cantonese fluently.”

  “A good close protection officer is hard to find,” says Brazuca
. “He had the skills.”

  “It’s about loyalty, too. Ray Zhang and Dao were loyal to each other. Dao stayed with the Zhang family for years. He became head of their personal security detail and their fixer.”

  “What’s with his name, though?” I ask. “How did it become Dao?”

  Lam shrugs. “Maybe someone got it wrong once and it stuck. Maybe it’s a nickname. One of the meanings of Dao is a sword.”

  “Nice bit of orientalism there,” I say. “So he went into the military, not a gang.”

  Brazuca nods. “But it doesn’t mean he didn’t have dealings with organized crime. Ray Zhang was rumored to have some shady links. He gambled recreationally, too. It’s possible that Dao’s connections to Three Phoenix came through him.”

  Lam can’t contain his excitement. “I was unsure if his connection to Three Phoenix went deeper, but if his ties were to Zhang only, then we have a way in. He has no real loyalty to these people.”

  “What’s the way?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  “Money, of course. Do you think he wants to work for Acosta for the rest of his life? Jon here worked Clem’s case for me, even though he had reservations. Why did he do it, then? Because I offered him more money than he’d dreamed of.”

  Brazuca says nothing to this. He’s too busy contemplating the stars above us. You could almost believe it, that he’s this absorbed by the night sky. You could, if you didn’t see him pass a hand over his knee, the one on his bad leg, the gesture a familiar one to me. Back when we used to go to meetings together and there was that moment where we were asked who wanted to share, Brazuca would do this.

  It means he’s holding back.

  After a moment he turns to us. “I’ve been back to that Aussie bar. Most of the mine security, the foreigners, live in the village. But not Dao. Acosta has a villa he keeps on Lombok, and that’s where he stays.”