They both looked at the name and shook their heads, looking more lost than ever.
“General Coffman’s trial,” he tried to lead them.
They both kept shaking their heads.
“Coffman said he never met the guy he hired because…” he continued to lead them.
“Jackson Page!” Suren shouted out and pointed to the screen. Hunter’s eyes lit up as well.
“Yes!” Ken barked and clapped his hands together once. “Jackson Page. Coffman’s contact for the gun-for-hire and obviously not a coincidence.”
“They could never find him, though,” Suren remembered out loud. Ten years or not, she couldn’t believe she forgot his name.
“Nope, but no need now, because he’s dead. Death from trauma.”
“Ok,” Hunter spoke up. “So then what?”
“Then the second call came, about a year later. Same guy, Mariano said. He wanted to buy the memory again. Wanted to schedule another appointment and do it all over the phone. Mariano said he never heard of such a thing—someone buying a memory twice. But he figured he should talk to me about it. I told him to schedule it.”
Although she knew it didn’t lead anywhere, Suren wanted to get to the end. It hadn’t led Ken anywhere in six years, but she still wanted all of it. She wanted to know everything Ken knew. She felt if she had all of it, she somehow had more of Jin.
“And?” she yipped.
“And same exact thing. The guy networked-in and his vPort obtained the authentication key from my host. When Mariano notified me the payment went through, we completed the Veil. After I recovered, I did my legwork again, and it turned up the second name on the list, which I don’t expect either of you two to recognize. He is … or was … a plastic surgeon. A pretty shady plastic surgeon. I’m sure I don’t have to lead you all the way down that road, do I?”
“If I’m following all this,” Suren got up and paced the room, “the man who killed Jin is using Jin’s memory to eliminate anyone who can identify him?”
“You got it.”
“What about the third?” Hunter interjected and looked at Suren. “You said there was a third.”
“A third?” Ken perked up.
“Yeah. On the list Mariano gave me, there were three sales listed. Not two. Three. Three.”
“Hmmm, no there were definitely only two. I think Hunter and I would both remember,” Ken frowned and shook his head.
“I’d definitely fucking remember,” Hunter huffed.
Without saying anything, Suren left the office. Hunter and Ken looked at each other, and Hunter shrugged. When Suren returned, she was carrying her purse. She plopped onto the couch, placed her purse on her lap, and unzipped it. She pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Suren opened it, leaned forward, and tossed it face up onto Ken’s desk.
“Three.”
Ken looked down at the sheet of paper with the four names on it. When he got to the third name, his eyes widened.
“Holy shit! … Shit!” he cried out and went for his laptop. His hands vibrated.
Suren and Hunter scooted forward on the couch until they were on the edge. Ken’s excitement was magnetic; it drew them closer and closer to the desk. Ken fiddled with his laptop and turned it around. One of the videos he showed them earlier was paused on the screen. He held up Suren’s piece of paper, with a finger underneath the third name.
“That—” he pointed at the security guard who rushed into the elevator when Jin was discovered inside, “—is Royce Houze.”
16
WANTON
He didn’t know how long they stood there and stared at each other, but he suddenly remembered it was his turn to speak.
“Ms. Tsay, please,” he wailed, “puh—”
“Don’t you say my name. Don’t you dare say MY NAME,” she howled and released the last two words with such a force that her voice deepened by countless octaves, and he swore it shook the panes of glass in his door.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He lowered his head and looked down at her feet. He put one hand out in front of him, his palm facing her. “But please, please, puh—puh please.”
He was still staring at her feet when he saw her take a step forward, so he took a step back. She kept coming toward him, so he walked backwards and slowly raised his head to look at her, his arm still outstretched. She was pointing the gun at him, holding it with both hands.
“Do not speak to me, unless I ask a question. I have nothing to hear from the man who stole and sold my husband’s last memory,” she yelled while she walked forward. “The memory of his brain getting ripped in half. That man has no right to speak in the presence of the GREAT WIDOW TSAY.”
Her boom of a voice was unwavering in its dominance. She lifted one foot behind her and kicked the door closed. It slammed hard enough to knock everything in the room off of the walls. She ignored the sounds of crashing and glass breaking.
He didn’t know what to do. He had to make her understand, but every time he spoke she became more and more irate. He didn’t know what to do other than kneel down before her and kiss her feet. So, he did. Not because she was pointing a gun at him, but because the wrath and fury of the Great Widow Tsay could bring the strongest of men to their knees. Her presence was a flaming chariot, and her voice was a tornado.
As he went to touch her feet, she raised her right arm and swung down, bringing the butt of the gun into the side of his head. It sent him tumbling over as blood streamed down his cheek and forehead.
She spat in his face and hissed, “Don’t you ever fucking touch me, you piece of filth.” After she said the word ‘filth,’ she turned her head away from him and spat again, as if she decided he wasn’t even worthy of her spit.
“Puh … puh—” he tried to plead, but was too scared to form any words. He would’ve rather suffered at the hands of the rest of the world for what he did than have to face the Widow Tsay. He hoped she would pull the trigger. He almost begged her to pull it. Tears ran down his face.
“Oh,” she laughed manically. “Are those tears of fear or tears of guilt? Tears of shame? I can’t tell.” She walked around him and surveyed the room. She refused to sit on anything in that man’s home. She preferred to stand.
“This doesn’t look like the home of a man who earned one million dollars for the memory of the Great Jin Tsay,” she mocked him. “It looks like the home of a RAT!”
He was still lying upon the floor on his side, so she kicked him in the small of his back with the tip of her high heel. He groaned.
“Such a big man. Selling the memory of my dying, defenseless husband. Look at you, such a big man.” She crouched down next to him. Through her clenched jaw, she growled her words, which sent spittle flying from between her teeth. “Who do you think you are? Who the fuck are you? You’re nothing.”
She stood up, walked around to his head, and pointed the gun at his face. Still lying on his side, he looked up at her from the corner of his eye. Blood continued to stream down his face and pooled on the floor.
Unable to hold it in anymore, he finally let go. “Do it! Do it please! Please do it! I can’t take it. I can’t take it anymore. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to help. Just help. Please just kill me. I can’t do it myself. Please kill me. I killed the Great Jin Tsay. I deserve to die, please kill me! Puh—”
To shut him the fuck up, Suren shrieked and pulled the trigger.
As he begged her to kill him, she felt a twinge of disgust and something close to pity, although she would not let herself pity that creature. She lowered the gun slightly, and as she pulled the trigger the bullet missed his head by a little over an inch. It was enough to shut him up, and that was good enough for her. All she wanted was for him to shut up. She wished his shutting-up would last forever. However, what he said to her, what she heard, she could not let slide. She would make him explain.
After the ringing in her ears subsided and the rush from pulling the trigger wore
off, she kneeled down beside him and asked very clearly, very calmly, in her most usual Suren voice, “What do you mean you killed my Jin?”
He opened his eyes, which had been closed since Suren fired the gun. He was still unsure if she shot him. He looked up at her. Snot leaked from his nose and mixed with the blood. Tears streamed from his eyes and cascaded over the bridge of his nose.
“No one got my message. No one came. No one came for him. I had to do something. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to leave him. No one came. No one ever came.”
She stood up straight and tilted her head, looking off to the side from the corner of her eyes. She didn’t blink. The words were still sinking in. As she circled around him, headed nowhere in particular at first, he rambled on.
“I just wanted to help. I just wanted to help. He was a nice man. Nice to me. I just wanted to help.” By that point, he was reduced to sobs. Curled up on the floor—a puddled mess of blood, snot, tears and sweat—all Royce Houze could do was cry.
The clicking of her heels—coming toward him from a distance that didn’t make sense to his mind—caused him to regain consciousness. Somehow the Great Widow Tsay had the time to go to his kitchen, get a rag, wet it, and walk back over to him. She leaned down and patted his face with it. He didn’t know how long he was unconscious. How did she have time to do all that? He couldn’t tell if no time passed or if twenty minutes passed. He was more confused than he was scared.
She pressed the rag into the deep gash she gave him with the butt of the gun and asked, “What do you mean you sent a message?”
“Th—the memory. Th—the Veil. It was suh—supposed to be a muh—message. That Juh—Jin Ts—Tsay, Jin Tsay, was alive. That he was ah—alive. A message.”
“Shhhh,” she soothed him so he’d relax and could speak clearly. “Breathe, take breaths. A message how?”
“I—I,” he started to say and then took a deep breath so maybe he could get enough out before she beat him again. “I didn’t want to die. I knew what they did to him. I knew all about the thir—thir—thirteenth floor. I knew all that. I didn’t know who to tell. I had no one to tell. They would’ve killed me.”
“Shhhh,” she kept him going. “So the memory … you sent it out as a message. It was a signal?”
“Yeh,” he began and then started over after another deep breath. “Yes. I didn’t know what the memory would have in it, but I knew if I got it out there then at least … at least someone would know he was alive. Maybe they’d start looking. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t go to anyone. I didn’t want to die. Luh—look what they did to him.”
Suren flashed back to the conversations she and Ken had in those first few days. How they decided it was stupid of them to risk themselves. They knew what would happen to them. Is that what he was telling her? He was afraid, like they were?
“But you sold it for a million dollars. That’s how much you charged he said. No more, no less.”
He flinched as she pressed down too hard on the wound.
“Buh—because I thought, that way, that way only you … one of you, th—the Tsay Truh … truh … truh—” he was stuck.
“Trustees,” she finished for him.
“Yes, Tsay Truh—truh. Ugh. One of you. You would be the ones to get it. Could afford it. It had to cost a lot, you know?”
“A message? You’re telling me it was a message?”
“Swear on my life, ma’am. You can Veil me. Swear on my life. An—and when I heard bout what was happening to people, you … you know, ones that got hurt because they Veiled people luh—like … like Dr. Tsay … in his condition. People were getting hurt. Suh—so I called the store and I told them. I said it’s not safe, you can’t sell it. I offered him the money back. I barely spent it. I didn’t want it. But he wouldn’t take it. And no one came. No one ever came. He laid there in the hospital, and no one came. Wh—what could I do? I wuh—was a Vuh—Veilgrant.”
She put one arm underneath his hunched-over body and grabbed his elbow with her free hand. She pulled him up.
He straightened enough to sit with his legs crossed, but his body was still slouched over and he looked like a slump of a blob with no spine to speak of and no bones, either. His head hung down; the man was completely defeated. Still, he continued on.
“I swear I wanted to help. I used to see him every morning. He was a nice man. Always so excited. He was a happy man. I knew what happened to him. He was nothin’ but nice. Ever. To me. But,” he looked up at Suren with tears streaming from him so fast they dripped from his chin, “I’m one man. What could I do? What could I do? They’re an army. I’m … one man. One stupid, fat man. And a Veilgrant. A stupid, fat Veilgrant.”
Suren stood and took off her jacket. With one quick motion, she sat down in front of him, crossed her legs and draped the jacket over them, to modestly cover her.
She needed to go slowly and think about what he said. She had to think about all the words that came at her and think about what kind of man was seated in front of her. What was he saying? What had he truly done? What kind of man was he?
Not much earlier, she was ready, and willing, to put a bullet into that man’s head. Not much earlier at all. But now…
“You said,” she began but her voice cracked so she started over. “You said you killed the Great Jin Tsay. You said you killed my Jin.”
He looked at her; his eyes were filled more with shame than with tears. He shook his head back and forth. “I can’t tell it to you, not you … no … no … no … no … I can’t … no … no …” He repeated the word over and over, shaking his head. Finally, he lowered it and looked down into his lap. He kept shaking it, still repeating that one word.
She placed her hand on his knee and soothed him, “Shhh … It’s ok.” She held her voice steady despite the tremors that rattled her core. She knew what she was about to hear would be closure, but closure still felt like an end, like a death. “Shhh … you can tell me. Royce, look up at me,” she told him.
He looked up at her as she asked, and was still crying.
“Royce,” she whispered.
“Puh—please. Roy. Ms. Tsay,” he said and immediately flinched when he realized he said her name, after she told him not to. He winced and his expression changed to guilt and fear. He awaited his beating.
She rubbed his knee. “It’s ok, Roy. Just tell me. Tell me.”
He exhaled with relief and lowered his head again, unable to look at her and speak the words. He kept his head lowered and shook it as he spoke.
He talked softly. “I had quit. I had quit the hospital, the day … that day,” he started.
“I know,” she assured him. “You quit the day you took the memory. We saw you. That’s one of the ways we pieced it together. They told us what day you quit. So we went back. We watched. We saw you ride the elevator up. You were holding a pouch. Back when everyone used the Veil Collars, you had one with you. You got off on Jin’s floor. You left soon after. You never came back to work. That was the day you took the memory. The day you bottled up the message.”
“Yes ma’am. That was it. I knew I had to leave. It might not be safe.”
“And you never went back.”
“I went back ma’am,” he argued and glanced at her but barely held his gaze for a couple seconds. “I went back. I swear it. I went back. I visited him,” he counted on his stubby fingers, “four … five times, at least. I went back.”
“Tell me about the last time you went back, Roy.”
His eyes lowered again and he continued to shake his head, but he spoke. He spoke clearly. He almost spoke confidently. He spoke like a man who was saying what he had to say, so that he could finally get it said and get it out.
“Yes, I went back. It had been so long, you know? No one got my message. No one ever came. No one. The Great Jin Tsay was all laid up in the hospital, thrown away, while the world … well the world, it just went on, acting like they loved him. I tried. I tried calling people. Who
ever would listen. But who would listen to me? Who would listen to the crazy, fat Veilgrant man talking about the Great Jin Tsay laying in a hospital, where he worked on the 13th floor, the floor that doesn’t really exist?”
For the second time, Suren flashed back. She flashed to the times when she was the crazed woman, talking about her Jin and the 13th floor and the videos. Tears filled her eyes and she stayed them off.
“I understand, Roy. I do. And you can tell me what happened. I already know; I understand. But I have to hear it. I have to hear you say it. He was my Jin. I have to hear it.”
His eyes met hers. “I know you do … I know. It’s your right. It is.”
He lowered his head once again and continued, still unable to look at her and speak.
“I went up there, and I told him. I told him I tried. I told him I didn’t think anyone was ever going to come for him. I told him how much the world loved him. I told him about Veil. I told him about the Tsay Temple they built. And then” —without moving his head, he rolled his eyes up and gauged her reaction; they were both on the verge of crying; he quickly darted his eyes back down— “I told him about you. I brought a picture of you from a magazine with me. I placed it on his chest. And I told him how you talked about him. About how you said everything you did, you did for him. I told him about how every time you spoke to the world, every single time, you said his name. I told him that he was loved. I put my hand on his chest, over the picture of you, pressed it down nice and hard so maybe he could feel that love. Just maybe. And then,” he took a deep breath, “and then—”
He stopped. He didn’t know if he was going to be able to say it. He breathed deeply and fought back a sob more than he ever fought off anything.
He opened his mouth. In one breathless burst, but in a shaky voice, he told her what he did. “And then I reached over and turned off the machines, and I stayed there. I stayed there and pressed that picture of you into his chest, so he could feel the love. So he could feel it until he left this world. Until the Great Jin Tsay left. And … and he did leave.” He paused before he uttered his last words, which were offered as more of a confession than any of the others. His eyes locked with hers. “He left this world, Ms. Tsay. He left. Your Jin left.”
Veil Page 36
