“I’ll meet you out in front,” she’d said. “Call me when you’re close.”
When I get there, to a two-story yellow-plastered building with a wooden banister and a jumble of half-story structures on the roof, Lucy Wu is already there, coming out of a wine shop next door, wearing pajamas.
This is actually a Shanghai thing, running errands on the street in your pj’s, something the government campaigned against during the Shanghai Expo last year because it’s “uncivilized,” but the campaign doesn’t seem to have affected things much. Somehow I wouldn’t have expected Lucy to do it, though. Hers are the kind both men and women wear, two-piece blue silk with white piping.
“Oh, hi,” she says when she sees me. “I thought I should get us something to drink.”
Sounds good to me.
Lucy is sitting cross-legged on her couch, wineglass in hand. She leans forward like she can’t quite believe it. “He kidnapped your mother?”
“Well, not exactly, but … kind of.”
I’ve told Lucy the Twitter version. A girl died at a party, Sidney wants to know if one of his kids is involved, and chief murder suspect Tiantian’s uncle-in-law is a scary-powerful government official.
And yeah, that Sidney kind of kidnapped my mom.
“Or he’s protecting her. It’s not totally clear.”
“What are you going to do?”
I shrug. “Go down there. I’ll call Sidney to arrange for a ride, and he’ll let my mom and her friend leave.”
Lucy looks genuinely worried. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s a terrible idea. I just don’t happen to have a better one.”
We both drink a few sips. Some Australian wine you see here a lot that’s on the lower end of overpriced.
“This is really a bad situation,” Lucy murmurs.
I look around Lucy’s apartment. It’s not a huge space; it’s an old building with low ceilings, but the way it’s remodeled and decorated—whitewashed walls with a few pieces of art, a comfortable couch, some cheerful clutter—it’s really nice. The wall facing the street is almost all a grid of glass-paned shutters and doors. Right now they’re shut, covered up by thin white curtains.
I’m thinking I shouldn’t have come here.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I should have kept you away from Sidney. You don’t want to be connected with him. He … he does stuff.”
Lucy waves a hand. “I asked you to introduce us. He’s a billionaire who buys a lot of art. Those are the customers who keep this business afloat. Some of them aren’t the most pleasant people, to be honest.”
“I guess.”
“Are you really going to call him?”
I nod. “There’s nothing else to do.”
She suddenly straightens up. “Well, you should rest here awhile first. You look tired.”
That’s a diplomatic way of putting it.
“Take a shower if you want,” Lucy continues. “Maybe I have some extra pajamas.”
I feel like I should argue, but I’m too wiped out.
“Thanks,” I say. “That sounds great.”
I don’t take a long shower, but it’s enough time to think about the things I didn’t tell Lucy. Like about John. And about Celine, and her blog, and that offshore company.
When I come out of the shower, dressed in my jeans and a clean T-shirt, in case I need to make a quick exit, Lucy is brewing some tea at her kitchen bar.
“There are some other things,” I say.
“Oh, please don’t tell me that.”
Like she can cope with a murdered girl and a crazy billionaire, but one more thing might be stretching her patience.
“First off … Jianli says he’s coming to Beijing.”
Lucy draws back. “Why?”
“I don’t know. He wants to do some kind of performance piece.”
“But that’s a terrible idea,” she says, and she’s somewhere between shook up and disbelieving. “Maybe even worse than yours.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t know if he’s there now or not. I haven’t seen him.”
She flops onto a barstool. “This is very bad timing.”
“No kidding.”
I hesitate.
“This next thing … I think it’s a big deal. Like maybe you don’t want to know, because it’s trouble.”
Lucy sighs through gritted teeth. “I’m starting to think I should take a trip to Vancouver.”
“That might be a good idea,” I say, and I mean it.
“So what is this other thing?”
“It has to do with Yang Junmin. I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s tangled up in some kind of power struggle with the upcoming leadership change.”
Now Lucy scrunches her eyes closed. “I don’t think I want to have anything to do with this,” she says.
“You don’t,” I say. “But maybe … if something goes wrong, I don’t know.” I shrug. I feel like a total shitheel. “It might be something you can use.”
“I just want to have a nice gallery and promote good art,” she mutters.
“Yeah. Do you have a printer?”
Lucy has a tiny office in a little room at the back of the apartment, next to her bedroom. I boot up my laptop, hop onto her network using the VPN, download the driver I need, and print out the email from Celine. Get an envelope from Lucy, fold the paper, and put it inside. Seal it.
When I go back into the living room, Lucy’s sitting on the couch staring at her cup of tea. Maybe she’s trying to read the tea leaves. I’m pretty sure she’s sorry that she invited me over here tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was sorry she ever met me.
“I know you don’t want this,” I say, holding out the envelope. “But maybe, if you don’t hear from me in a couple of days … could you get it to Harrison?”
She looks up and meets my eyes. Nods. “I can. I promise.”
I sleep on the couch until stupid o’clock the next morning. Get up with the first light of dawn. Lucy’s still asleep. I don’t want to wake her. The best thing I can do is get out of her apartment before I bring some bad shit down on her head just by being here.
I find a notepad and a pen. Scribble, “Thanks for everything. And sorry.” I can’t think of anything else to say.
I take the subway to the Bund. I don’t want to meet Sidney’s people anywhere near Lucy’s place, and I don’t know Shanghai that well, so why not the Bund? The hotel I like to stay at is close by, just north of where the Wusong River runs into the Huangpu, and there are some cafés I’ve been to over there, and now that I think about it, I haven’t had anything to eat since a sandwich in Meimei’s rented yellow Hummer and some spicy peanuts on the train, so I should probably eat something. At least have some coffee. So I can be awake when I ride to my doom.
Sidney’s not going to kill you, I tell myself. I’m walking along the Huangpu now, restored nineteenth-century European buildings to my left, stately granite and marble, and on the other side of the river to my right, the gold-and-blue mirrored glass science-fiction skyline of Shanghai’s Pudong District.
It’s just that I can’t predict how any of this is going to turn out. How he’s going to react when I tell him I think Tiantian might have killed a girl, but I can’t really prove it.
And then there’s Marsh, who may or may not have killed Celine.
I don’t really know anything for sure. What happens when I tell him what I suspect?
I just have a bad feeling, about all of it.
There’s a coffeehouse up ahead. It looks open.
As good a place to wait as any, I guess.
I get a cup of coffee and a chocolate croissant. Walk out to the promenade that runs along the river and sit on a bench. Smell the river’s mossy funk. Watch a boat cruise by. I don’t know what it is, some kind of working boat, low-slung and rusting blue. The day’s warming up—I can already feel sweat beading on my back.
A barge maybe?
I don’t know shit about bo
ats.
I swap SIM cards and call Vicky Huang.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
★
“SOMEONE CAN PICK you up in an hour,” Vicky tells me.
I think I might have woken her up. Which feels oddly satisfying.
“Great,” I say. “I’ll be here.”
“Mr. Cao is anxious to see you,” she says.
The way she says it sounds like a threat.
“I’m really looking forward to seeing him, too,” I lie. And I disconnect.
Then I call my mom.
“Hello? Ellie?” She sounds anxious.
“Yeah. It’s me. Are you okay?”
“We’re fine. Andy and I just came back from walking Mimi and doing tai chi.”
“Oh, cool. So here’s the thing. Sidney should be sending you guys on your way today. But … I think it might be a good idea if you don’t go back to Beijing right now. Maybe you should just go visit Andy’s family in Xiamen, like you planned.”
“Well, sure. We can do that. But … what about you?”
And she sounds really worried now.
“I just have a few things I gotta take care of,” I say. “Nothing to worry about.”
There’s a pause.
“I really wish you would stop lying to me,” she says.
I feel this rush of … I don’t know what. Anger? Love? Something. Emotion I don’t have time for, whatever it is.
“I can’t get into it now,” I say. “Just … please go with Andy and visit his family. Okay? Because …”
I’m choking up, and I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes, and I don’t have time for it. “Just do this for me. It would really help.”
“Okay,” she finally says.
“I love you,” I say. “Pet Mimi for me.” And then I disconnect.
There’s one more thing I have to decide before Sidney’s men pick me up.
What do I tell Creepy John?
If there’s anyone who could do some damage with Celine’s email and that offshore company, it’s John. But do I want him to?
I pull that trigger and it’s going to have all kinds of consequences.
If I could trust him to keep the information safe and only use it if he has to, it could be ammo for me. I can tell Sidney and Uncle Yang, I’ve got this on you, so leave me and mine alone.
But I can’t trust him. He’s already shown me that he’s willing to put me in danger to advance his agenda, whatever it is, with the way he mouthed off at Yang Junmin at dinner. Maybe he just lost his temper, like he told me. What’s to say he won’t lose it again? Or that whatever his game is, it’s too big and important for him to not take advantage of ammo like that email.
I still should call him, though. Even if I’m not really sure why at this point.
“John.”
“Yili.”
“You’re okay?”
“Sure. Are you?”
“Yeah. I … I maybe found out something.”
“Tell me.”
“Celine’s friend Betty. She said Celine saw something at the party. And that Celine told her she should be careful of all the Caos, but especially Tiantian.”
“I can believe that.”
“Why?”
“I check a little more on the Caos. I find out Tiantian likes to visit santing, the ‘three halls,’ see some girls there.”
Bars, karaoke parlors, bathhouses, and the like.
“What, no ernai?”
John laughs, once. “Maybe Yang Junmin would not like that. But maybe Tiantian would not either.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hear he can be cruel to girls. A second wife can maybe cause him some problems, if he beats her. A xiaojie who works at KTV place … maybe not so easy for her to cause him problems.”
“And a xiaojie who works at a catering company …”
Yeah. A soft target.
The croissant I ate is sitting like a stone in my gut.
“That’s one thing,” I say. “The other … I’m pretty sure it was Celine who put my card on the body. She wanted to get me involved. I’m not sure why. Except she said to Betty that she wanted to cause trouble for the person who did this bad thing she saw. And she told me at the party that she’d heard some things about me.”
Now John snorts. “If she wants someone to cause some trouble, you are the good person to call.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Where are you?” His voice has suddenly changed. It’s soft and serious.
“Shanghai. I …”
There’s a new boat, and this one is easy: an open-sided cruise boat for tourists, two decks, the rails and struts painted red, the temple-style peaked roofs painted yellow, like a floating pagoda.
“I’m going to Sidney’s place in Xingfu Cun,” I say. “So I can tell him what I found out about his kids. He’s going to let my mom and Andy go if I do.”
“Yili, do not do this. Just wait. Let me go with you. Let me—”
“I can’t wait. That ship’s sailed.” Whatever ship it is. Maybe a barge. I laugh a little.
“Nothing bad’s going to happen,” I say, even though my gut’s saying otherwise. “But tell you what. If something does, which it won’t … go to Harrison Wang. You know him. Right?”
A pause. “Yes. I know who he is.”
“I made an arrangement to get something to him. If anything happens. You go to him and tell him I told you to. Tell him I said he should show you what I sent.”
“Please, Ellie, just wait.”
“Why? Something’s suddenly going to change? I mean, what am I waiting for?”
Give me an answer, John, I’m thinking. Just give me one fucking thing to hold on to.
But he doesn’t seem to have one, because all I hear is silence.
I see a new black Buick, cruising slowly up the road that separates the European buildings and the river walk. Headed in my direction.
“Nothing good’s gonna happen if I wait,” I say. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m done with all this.”
I sit in the back of the Buick and try to chill.
I called Sidney, and he swore that Mom and Andy and Mimi would be leaving Xingfu Cun like he promised. I talked to Andy, just to make sure we were all on the same page. “Yes, we go to see my relatives in Xiamen,” he told me. “No problem. We just pack the car now. They give us nice lunch to take along.”
I heard Mimi barking in the background, a happy bark, heard my mom say, “Good girl!”
I didn’t talk to my mom again. I already said good-bye once.
They’re fine, I tell myself. They have to be.
We drive a couple hours, maybe half of which is just sitting in Shanghai traffic, out into suburbs: flat, paved, hazy grey, factories here and there, remains of old towns and half-built new developments. Here’s one that looks like a housing tract near where I grew up in Arizona, too many cheap town homes built too close together; here’s another that’s a fake English village.
Finally we turn off onto a small road that runs through some farmland. Green fields, these half-cylinder frames covered with opaque plastic sheeting covering rows here and there—greenhouses? Farming is another thing I know fuck-all about.
At the end of the road, there are a couple of structures that look like connex—shipping containers converted to something else, housing or offices—and what looks like a couple of aircraft hangars. Then I see the runway, and I can guess what’s waiting.
Sidney Cao’s private jet.
★ ★ ★
I’ve flown Air Sidney before: the flight attendant in the retro uniform with the white gloves, short skirt, and peaked hat, the leather seats, the endless selection of fancy food and expensive booze. I don’t take advantage of it this time. I’m not hungry. I don’t even want to drink.
I just want to get this over with.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, we land at Xingfu Cun.
Xingfu Cun is Sidney Cao’s personal ghost city, as far as I can tell:
a collection of nearly empty government and commercial buildings and half-built housing developments, high-rises covered in green construction netting and bamboo scaffolding. The government building is a huge black granite dome that I like to think of as the CCP Death Star. The shopping mall is really special, too—it’s this giant gold-painted pyramid thing that looks like a Mayan temple, or maybe an Egyptian one, architecture being another one of those areas I know fuck-all about.
I have no idea how many people live here or what they do. Maybe they all work for Sidney.
Vicky Huang is waiting for me when we land, standing impatiently on the tarmac next to her shiny Beemer SUV.
“So you are finally here,” she says.
“Yeah, finally.”
She looks me up and down. Sniffs. “Don’t you have any other clothes?”
“I have a clean shirt.”
I think.
“We can shop.”
I hold up my hands. “No. Mr. Cao wants to see me. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
I can tell she’s torn. She’d love to dress me up a little, but first things first.
“I will wait for you to change,” she says.
I duck into the hangar and change. I don’t care if anyone sees me, and I’m not sure if the shirt I put on is any cleaner than the one I took off.
Vicky barrels her SUV through the streets of Xingfu Cun, speeding down the avenues and swinging wide around the curves, which would normally make me nervous—that’s how we drove in the Sandbox, pedal to the metal, tougher to hit a moving target and all—but there’s hardly a car on the streets, hardly any people here at all. It’s like we’re driving around in some weird postapocalyptic movie, except with no zombies.
I lean back in the seat and try to clear my head. Just try to not think about anything at all. Like that army shrink told me.
Feelings are transient. You let yourself feel them, observe what they are, let them go.
I repeat it to myself a couple of times, but it doesn’t take.
I want to not feel anything right now. That’s what I really want.
Soon comes the long trip up the drive that leads to Sidney’s mansion. Sidney’s French palace. It’s more decorated than a wedding cake—curlicues, marble and gold everywhere—and instead of a champagne fountain there’s a real one, with statues of Greek gods and little cherubs. I can’t believe that anybody actually lives here, but so far as I know, Sidney does. And down in his basement he’s got an art collection that’s the envy of major museums.
Dragon Day Page 24
