On the other hand, guys this high up can get away with all kinds of dumb.
Assuming it’s Uncle Yang I’m dealing with.
We keep going west, past the Summer Palace, past temples and golf courses, heading toward the Fragrant Hills. The Fragrant Hills has some of the prettiest scenery in Beijing, people tell me. All the time I’ve lived here, I’ve never been. Until now. And this isn’t looking like a sightseeing opportunity.
We’re off the highway now, going into the hills. There are trees everywhere, pine trees and cypress trees, other kinds I don’t know what they’re called. It doesn’t even look like Beijing, except for the yellow dust that’s still hanging in the air.
The road winds around, and I glimpse walls and gates, the top of a pagoda. The park, I guess. We keep going and finally turn off onto a smaller road that heads up into the low hills. More gates and walls. Hotels? Villas?
We turn up a drive, iron gate sliding open as we approach.
It’s a two-story building, stone, with these sorts of round towers at the four corners, topped by round red roofs, the bastard child of a Chinese manor and a French château. The driver parks the car, and the guy in the passenger seat gets out and opens the rear door.
“Zou, zou,” the guy next to me says. “Xia che.”
Out of the car.
I get out, clutching the doorframe for support, bad leg cramping, stomach churning, shaky as hell. Suck it up, I tell myself. Try to walk like you aren’t so scared you’re gonna puke.
Or go ahead and puke on the asshole who punched me. Serve him right.
Uncle Yang waits for me in his office.
He’s sitting behind a big, modern desk with a new computer on it, examining, or pretending to, some official-looking papers. He barely looks up when I enter. Just puts the papers back into a file folder that he lays on his desk.
“You can go,” he says to the guy who escorted me here. “Sit,” he says to me.
The guy goes. I sit.
Uncle Yang makes a further show of tapping a few keys on his computer keyboard and staring intently at the screen.
Finally he turns to me. “Who is Zhou Zheng’an?”
My mouth is dry. I swallow once. “He’s … a friend of mine. A consultant.”
“What does he really do?”
I take a moment to think. If I tell him who John really works for, will that protect me?
Or will it just screw John?
I stare at Uncle Yang, with his sad, baggy eyes and sharp suit and absolutely no sign of sympathy or warmth whatsoever.
“You have his card,” I say. “Why don’t you ask him?”
Uncle Yang stares back. Drums his fingers on the top of the desk, just a single riff.
“He said some very strange things at dinner. Why?”
“I don’t know,” I say, which is kind of the truth. “I think he was just making conversation. He’s very concerned about conditions in modern society.” Yeah, I say that. It’s a phrase in Chinese that I can always remember.
“Really.” His voice is flat. It’s not a question.
“Look,” I say, “he’s … my boyfriend. Just recently. So I don’t know everything about him. I just, I didn’t want to go to the dinner by myself.”
“He upset my sister’s daughter,” Yang snaps. “Dao Ming is not well. I don’t like seeing her upset.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
His cheeks redden; I see sweat start to bead on his forehead. “This is a very complicated time. Do you have any understanding of this?”
The 18th Party Congress next year, maybe that’s what he’s talking about, when the old leadership gives way to the new. Different factions and players jockeying for power now. Whatever his side is, getting connected to two dead girls isn’t going to help his position any, or his allies’.
But if I bring it up, will that get him all defensive? Piss him off even more?
So I just nod, slowly.
He stares at me. And in case I’d somehow managed to forget that this is one powerful asshole who could smash me like a little bug, the look he’s giving me now reminds me.
“Tell your ‘boyfriend’”—yeah, he practically puts that in air quotes—“to contact me directly. I don’t want to have another conversation with a foreigner.”
I nod again.
He picks up the folder on his desk, makes a show of opening it, picks up a paper and pretends to study it. Does this mean I’m dismissed?
He lowers the paper. Gives me that look. “But if I have to talk to you again, I will. I suggest you make sure that he contacts me. Do you understand?”
I nod. What else can I do?
He picks up the paper again. “Go,” he says to me with a wave of his hand.
I push myself up from the chair and hobble out.
The guys who brought me here are lounging in the living room, which is big and white and marble, with gold highlights. Typical. There’s even a white grand piano. I wonder if anyone who lives here actually plays it.
My kidnappers sit on the couch, eating sunflower seeds and drinking Cokes, watching an NBA game on a big flat-screen TV, fist-pumping as a shot hits the basket.
I’m thinking maybe I’ll just walk out of the house and down the drive and get to the road and just keep on walking till I find a cab or a bus that can get me back to Gulou.
Then the guy who punched me stands up.
“I need to return home now,” I say.
He nods.
They don’t even take me all the way home. Instead they drop me at the subway station by the Old Summer Palace.
Assholes.
I get on the subway. I’m drenched with sweat—the back of my shirt is soaked with it—and I’m shaky enough that I just lean against the wall and clutch the rail to keep from falling over.
I walked out of Uncle Yang’s McMansion this time, but the next time maybe not.
Phone. I pat the side of my bag. It’s still there. I reach in and get it out.
Powered up now.
I saw them turn it off.
I stare at the screen. Yeah, I have a password. Yeah, the lock screen is on. But I have to figure they got all the information off it, or tried to anyway, and for all I know, they could have hacked it, too. I mean, I wasn’t there very long, but who knows with this stuff? Maybe it’s as simple as installing an app.
I power off the phone.
I find a bit of space by the accordion wall that connects two cars, watch the ads and animated safety messages on the little video screen: Don’t walk on the tracks. Don’t set yourself on fire. Right—and I try to think it through.
This is a very complicated time.
Uncle Yang is a high-level official jockeying for power in the middle of a leadership transition. And knowing how these guys play, no doubt he has some powerful enemies.
Uncle Yang was at a party where a girl died. And John essentially called him and all the Caos out on it.
Clearly John’s not on his side.
Then there’s Marsh. The family friend. Is he working for somebody else? Maybe one of Uncle Yang’s enemies? Yang’s and Sidney’s families are connected. What hurts one hurts the other. Is that why Sidney wanted me to check up on Marsh? Or was that just because he’s an asshole who’s a bad influence on his son, like Sidney told me?
Who is Zhou Zheng’an?
Good question.
When I get home, Mimi greets me at the door, dancing around me and making happy little yelps. Mom and John are sitting at the table sipping tea.
“Oh, hi, hon,” my mom says.
“I thought you were going to stay away from the apartment today,” I say, and I know I don’t sound calm.
“Well, sorry,” she says with an eye roll. “Actually, I was at Andy’s, and John came and knocked on the door.”
“Yes.” John half stands, then sits back down. “Yili, did you have some trouble getting home?” He’s smiling, but there’s that nervous twist in his voice that he can’t quite cover.
“Yeah.” I go into the kitchen and grab a beer. “I was delayed.”
“John thought the two of you were having lunch, so he was worried when you weren’t here.” My mom’s looking me over, giving an extra glance to the beer in my hand.
“Beer, it’s not just for breakfast anymore,” I say. I sit down at the table, pop open the bottle, and pour myself a glass. Mimi sits at my side and rests her head on my thigh.
My mom leans in closer. “What happened to your eye?”
“I ran into something.”
“John and I were just talking about restaurant locations,” she says, trying to make nice or, more accurately, make normal.
“Yes.” John nods. He turns to Mom. “I think … Dongsi Shitiao very nice area. But not so many people walking by. Not like Sanlitun. Maybe that is better?”
“I’m not so crazy about Sanlitun,” Mom says with a frown. “I think someplace that’s a little quieter might be nicer.”
I chug about half my beer, wishing it were stronger.
“Yili, are you ready to go to lunch now?” John asks.
I shake my head.
“Is something wrong?” my mom asks. The way she’s looking at me, she knows something’s wrong.
I laugh. “Yeah. You might say that.”
I catch John’s eye, and he’s giving me a warning look. The one that means, Don’t say anything.
I glare back. He doesn’t get to have an opinion this time.
I face my mom. “Okay. I can’t really explain the whole situation right now. It’s complicated. And it’s bad. So I’m just gonna tell you a bullshit story about … I don’t know, Chinese gangsters in the art market, and we’re having a business disagreement, so this isn’t a good place to be right now.”
“Yili—” John starts.
I hold up a hand. “Don’t.” I turn back to my mom. “Can you and Andy go someplace for a week? Like Hong Kong? Maybe take Mimi with you? She’s got her papers. Right, John?”
John gets that scrunched-up look for a second, then nods. “Yes. I can help arrange.”
Through all this my mom’s watching me with her mouth slightly open and a confused expression on her face.
“Are you talking about actual Chinese gangsters?” she asks.
“I’ll explain it all better later, I promise.” I slug down some more beer. I’m thinking it’s Percocet time.
“This isn’t fair,” she suddenly blurts out. “You’re always hiding things. You know my life’s an open book, and I get that hasn’t always maybe been a good thing for you, but you never share anything. You just … you just keep it all to yourself, and you won’t let anyone help you—”
“You know how you can help? By just fucking doing what I’m asking you to do, okay?” I pour out the rest of my beer and slam the bottle onto the table. Brace my hands on the edge of the table and push myself to my feet. “I’m gonna change my shirt,” I mumble, and I limp off to my room, banging the door closed behind me.
I dig around in the top dresser drawer for my main Percocet stash. Get out the bottle, pop it open, and tap a pill onto my palm.
I hear a whimper and a scratching at the door: Mimi.
I hobble over and let her in.
“Sorry, pup,” I whisper, scratching her neck where the thick ruffle of fur is. “You don’t like all this yelling and drama and stuff, do you?”
Her tail thumps on the floor.
I look at the Percocet in my hand. My leg doesn’t really hurt that bad right now. It’s more like I just don’t want to feel this shit.
I have maybe fifty pills left. Sounds like a lot, but it’s not, not really, and what you don’t want to have happen is to keep taking them, run out, and then have to go cold turkey. I’ve done it before. It’s nasty.
I split the pill in half and put the other half back into the bottle.
When I come out, I’m wearing a shirt that doesn’t smell like stale sweat, and I’m feeling a little calmer. I guess I should apologize or something. I’ve got to figure out how to keep my cool better.
Or I could stop getting kidnapped and/or beaten up by assholes. That would probably improve my mood.
John’s still sitting at the dining-room table, thumbing the screen of his smartphone. As soon as he sees me, he puts it down and stands up, like he’s thinking about coming to me and giving me a hug or something.
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, uncertainly, his hands clasped loosely in front of him.
Which is a good thing, because I pretty much want to smack him.
“Where’s Cindy?” I ask. My mom’s nowhere in sight.
“She is fetching Andy.” His hands fall to his sides. “Can you tell me what happened?”
When I finish my story, John looks grim. The only thing he says is, “I see.”
He strides over to the kitchen window, the one with a view of the courtyard parking lot. Stares out. I get the feeling he’s taking an inventory of every car, every person, every object, looking for threats.
“You see something?”
“No. Does not mean no one is there.”
“Shit.” Because it hits me like a bucket of ice water. “They could’ve seen you come up here.”
He nods.
I think of something else. “Could they … ? Could this place be … ?” I point to my ear. “Can they hear us now, do you think?”
“I don’t think so. Not this quickly. I check before.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.
You probably bugged the place yourself, I want to say, but I don’t.
John goes over to the TV and turns it on. Finds a loud variety show and cranks the volume. Cartoon sound effects and high-pitched screams of teenage girls fill the room.
“Maybe best thing for you to go with your mother to Hong Kong,” he mutters.
“No way.”
“Why? You are better off in Hong Kong than Beijing.” He’s all certain, the big man who knows best. Better than I do anyway.
“Because they’re watching me, John,” I say, and I know I sound really pissed, because isn’t that obvious? “I go with Mom and Andy, they’re gonna know about it and follow us there. I stay here, Mom and Andy can go on their own, and maybe no one will notice ’cause they’re busy watching me. Maybe they won’t even care.”
His expression wavers, just a little, because he hadn’t thought of that, and he knows that he should have.
That’s when my front door rattles, and Mom and Andy walk in.
Her eyes are red, the lids puffy. Great. I made my mom cry. Andy is close behind her, solid, slightly padded, like she could fall back on him if she had to and she’d be okay.
“Yili, ni hao,” Andy says, like this was any other day. I’m starting to see why my mom likes him. When everything’s going batshit, there’s something to be said for a guy who doesn’t seem to rattle, even if the calm is coming from his faith in Brother Jesus of the Righteous Thundering Fist.
“Hi, Andy. I’m sorry,” I say to my mom. “I didn’t mean to … I just … Things are really screwed up right now.”
“I guess I get that.” She sniffles a little. “Why do you have the TV on so loud?”
“Because, uh … just because.”
“Heibang can be big problem,” Andy says with a nod.
Is he really buying my story about gangsters? I wasn’t even pretending to be serious about it.
“I have car,” he continues. “We can drive to see my family in Xiamen. Xiamen is very pretty. Mimi can come, too.”
I hesitate. I’d feel better if they got out of the mainland altogether. But Xiamen’s only a couple hundred miles from Hong Kong, there’s all kinds of flights and even boats that go to HK from there, and if they just go to visit Andy’s family, maybe it wouldn’t attract as much attention as crossing into Hong Kong. They could get away with not contacting the local PSB for a couple of days to register my mom, and it’s not like the different provincial authorities always talk to each other. Maybe it would be
safe.
Has to be safer than Beijing anyway.
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to meet your family, Andy,” my mom says with a little smile.
He slips his hand into hers. “I know my family like you very much.”
She blushes.
It doesn’t take long for Mom to pack a suitcase and for me to gather up another bag with Mimi’s food and dishes. Mimi’s dancing around, all excited, stands up on her hind paws and rests her front paws on my hips, her doggie hug: road trip!
“Wish I could go, too,” I mutter, hugging her around the neck.
Mom’s just coming out of the bathroom with her Dopp kit. She sees me playing with the dog and hesitates by the door.
“You know, you can tell me the truth,” she says quietly, so John won’t hear. He’s pacing around the living room, scowling at his phone.
“I really can’t,” I say. Not about this.
Not about a lot of things.
When she’s ready to go, Andy comes over to carry her bag, which is just a little wheeled carry-on, but she’s kind of got her hands full with Mimi and the tote bag with Mimi’s things.
We’re all standing around the door, me and John on one side, Mom and Andy on the other, Mimi prancing in place between us.
I can tell my mom’s trying not to be upset. She’s got a smile on her face and everything. “I’ll call you or email you as soon as we get there,” she says.
“Actually … don’t. I mean …” How to put it? “I’ll get in touch with you in a couple of days. Unless you have a problem, and then call me right away. Not that you’ll have a problem or anything.”
She nods.
“But … when you do go online? Make sure you always use the VPN. The thing I downloaded for you so you can log on to Facebook.”
Her face twists, and I can tell she’s about to lose it. She gathers me into her arms and hugs me tight, and she’s crying now. I hate that. I pat her on the back, and I hold my breath, and I tell myself, You have to keep it together, you can’t lose it, too, because I’m scared if I do, I’ll break down completely. Curl up into a little ball and just wait for someone to come and put me out of my misery.
Dragon Day Page 17
