Dragon Day (21 page)

But sometimes their money is just dirty, and then they must clean it. They have all kinds of ways to do this. For example, I know one leader who has a friend who invests in art.

Well, shit. I have a pretty good guess where this is going.

It is so simple with art. Another friend in a foreign country buys the art for you. You pay him too high a price. The friend gets some of this money and gives you back the rest. The other money goes into a bank account overseas. The money is now clean. So simple! No one knows how much this art is really worth.

I'd be surprised if Sidney hadn't been doing something like this. Is there a rich Chinese person who doesn't have money stashed overseas?

The big question is, does Uncle Yang? Because the whole trend of high-level officials and their families getting super rich and taking their money out of the country is really pissing off the
laobaixing
,
the common people
.

But that is just a small thing compared to the other things. There is so much more I can say. How the leaders help the rich get richer. How the rich give money back to the leaders.

I can tell you about companies overseas. These companies are just fakes. Ways to open bank accounts. Places to hide money. This is how the leaders and the rich help each other. The leaders relax the laws so that the rich can move their money to these places. The rich give the leaders money. Help their relatives and children become rich. Even the foreign companies help. Paying money to relatives of leaders, for ‘consulting' and things of that nature. It is just to try to gain influence. Everybody knows this.

Here is a company you should know about, in the British Virgin Islands: Favorable Wave LTD. If you can find out who really owns this company, I think it is very interesting.

I'm sweating now. This is not shit that I want to know. I don't need to know it. So Uncle Yang and the Caos are corrupt—this is news? But the details—those can get you killed.

What do I do with it?

I can send it to John. Maybe it will give him the kind of ammo he needs to get us out of this mess.

Or maybe it will just be more fuel for his vendetta.

And if I completely throw in with John, if this blows up my relationship with the Caos
. . .
is that smart?

I forward the email to another address, the one I used to write John aka Cinderfox. Then I delete it from my inbox and sent mail. I know it's not gone, not really. The best I can do is hope that no one decides to look.

And now
I
have to decide. What do I do next?

I can't go back to my apartment.

I can't go to any hotels, because I'd have to show my passport.

I might be able to get out of town on a train or a bus if Uncle Yang isn't watching. But then what? Where would it make sense for me to go?

Maybe it's time to call my old pal Carter and see if he can fix things for me with the American embassy so they'll protect me. I've got two dead girls and an offshore company to trade. That should be enough.

But then there's my mom. And Andy. What happens to them
if I pull the plug on my life here? Can I bargain to take them with me? Would they want to go?

What would any of us do?

If it was just me, I swear to God, I'd get my ass out of here and go hide someplace where the living's cheap and I could just . . . I don't know, just
be
.

Where
is
that place anyway? I don't have a clue. Does it even exist?

And it's not just me. It's my mom. It's Andy. It's people I work with, like Lucy Wu, like Harrison Wang.

Okay, well, maybe not Harrison. He's got the resources to take care of himself.

But there's Lao Zhang, who says he's coming back to Beijing.

Plus, there's Creepy John. If I bail and his bosses find out he's been protecting me
. . .

If I bail, are they all going to look guilty?

On the other hand, if I stay and end up going down, will they be any better off?

In the back of my mind, it's like there's this worm turning over, whispering in my ear: if I'd never met Lao Zhang, I wouldn't be in this mess.

But what kind of life would I have? The way I'd been going before I got involved with Lao Zhang was nowhere but down.

There's no time for what-ifs, I tell myself. Not now.

“Fuck it,” I mutter. I pick up my phone and dial Vicky Huang.

I don't know what I'm going to say to her. Depends on what she says to me. Just try to stall, I guess. Give John a chance to do what he's going to do. Maybe I can hide out at Harrison's place in the meantime. You can't beat the coffee.

Vicky doesn't pick up, which surprises me until I remember that I'm calling from a number she doesn't know. Instead I hear a loud burst of a cheesy orchestral arrangement of “My Heart Will Go On” (of course) and a beep.

“Hello, Vicky, it's Ellie. Ellie McEnroe. Sorry for the delay in calling you. I . . . uh, had some phone problems. Anyway, you can reach me at this number.”

I disconnect. Drain the rest of my Yanjing and lift my hand to have the waitress bring me another. Maybe I'll pop for the Rogue Ale instead, even though it will most likely be stale. I'm already so nervous my hands are sweating, and I nearly drop my pint glass.

It takes all of a minute for Vicky Huang to call me back.

“Where have you been?” she demands. “Why do you always have this trouble with your phone? Maybe you need new one.”

“Yeah. Well. This time I dropped it on the subway tracks. So I definitely needed a new—”

She cuts me off. “Mr. Cao is very anxious to talk to you about your findings. Very anxious.”

“Right, well, we're still meeting to discuss—”

“Mr. Cao wants to talk to you now.”

And with that she hangs up.

I'm just taking my first sip of Rogue Ale when the phone starts playing System of a Down's “Hypnotize,” the default I use for an unknown caller. Blocked. Sidney's private number, presumably.

“Hello, Ellie!” He sounds unexpectedly cheery.

“Hi, Sidney. Uh, sorry for the delay in getting back to you. Stuff has been—”

“I am hearing strange things. Some very strange things.”

“Yeah. Well. It's
. . .
”

What do I say?

“Kind of a mess.”

“Yang Junmin is asking me what I think about you. I tell him you help me with getting the Zhang Jianli artwork, and I ask you for some help with family business. He doesn't like this very much.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” I say, which is a stupid thing to say, but it's about all I've got right now.

“I tell him of course I don't know everything about you. So maybe there is some problem I don't know about.”

Oh, like the ones where the DSD is on my ass and the PSB has me as a murder suspect?

“The
problem
is, your son Tiantian had a party, your other kids and Marsh and Uncle Yang and Dao Ming were guests, and a waitress ended up dead.”

Because fuck it. What else can I say at this point? Either he already knows or he's going to find out.

There is a long silence on Sidney's end.

“I see,” he finally says. “So who has killed her?”

And I can't tell if this is the first time he's heard it or if he already knew.

“I don't know.”

“But you have an idea.”

“No. I really don't. It could have been anybody. Anybody who was there.”

“Then you can help find out.”

I did not just hear this.

“What?”

“Of course, if the killer has no connection to my children, then it does not matter. You don't have to worry.”

“You want me to find out who killed her? Sidney, this is
. . .
”

Crazy.

Slow down. Remember, you're dealing with a billionaire who can swat you like you're a crippled little ant.

“Sidney
. . .
I'm not a detective. I don't know how to do what you're asking me to do.”

“Of course you can!” He sounds like one of those amped-up motivational speakers you see on late-night infomercials. “Just continue to do what you do before.”

“Which is
. . .
what? I mean
. . .
what do you mean?”

“You can just spend some time with my children. They all like you very much.”

I don't even know where to start with this.

Stall, I tell myself. Just stall. Then, when you get off the phone, bug out to Harrison's place, hole up, and wait for John to get in touch.

Assuming that he does.

“Okay,” I say. “Sure. I can do that. It might take me a day or two to deal with things here, but—”

“I think you must act quickly. You must
. . .
strike while the iron is hot.” He sounds very proud of himself for coming up with this phrase.

“Okay,” I say. “Will do.”

I have this vivid picture in my head of Harrison's penthouse, of his very comfortable guest room, of packaged silk pajamas, good meals, fine wine, awesome coffee, and beautiful art. Just get there, I think. Hide.

“Oh,” Sidney says. “I should tell you. Your mother has come for a visit.”

Chapter Eighteen

★

It takes me
a moment to absorb this.

“You kidnapped my mother?”

“Ellie.” Sidney sounds hurt. “How can you say such a thing?”

The nice thing about being really pissed off is that rage tends to push the fear away.

I take a deep breath. I need to calm down, and I need to be smart. Because I can't reach through my iPhone and strangle Sidney. There's no app for that.

“Sorry,” I say. “It's just that I don't understand. My mom's in Xingfu Cun?”

“Yes. She and her friend have some car troubles. On the road.”

I try to piece this together. I know Sidney's MO. I experienced it a couple of months ago.

“So
. . .
you had people following my mother. And when they had this ‘car trouble'—”

“I invite your mother and her friend to come for a visit.” He sounds very happy about this. The jovial host. “Because of course I want to meet your family. Since you have met mine.”

Silence. I'm not sure how to fill it.

Finally I say, “Is my mom close by? Because I'd like to talk to her for a minute.”

Another pause.

“Of course!” he says. “She is just in the dining room. Having a snack.”

And he puts me on hold.

A blast of an old-school Chinese patriotic folk song from the fifties, full orchestra and a woman with a high nasal voice warbling at a glass-breaking volume fills my ear. I wait. It feels like forever, but it's probably more like two minutes. Then:

“Ellie? You there?”

It's Mom. She sounds anxious. I can't tell if she's scared.

Me, I am so pissed off that I'm ready to head down to Xingfu Cun with a black-market AK and do some serious damage.

“Yeah, it's me. Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. We're fine. Andy's here, and Mimi. We were just having a bite to eat.”

She
sounds
fine anyway.

I calm down a notch. “Okay. Listen, you don't have anything to worry about. Sidney is
. . .
a little different, but he likes having guests.”

“Is he one of the
arte
bandidos
you were talking about?” she says in a low voice. I figure Sidney's got to be listening.

“I, uh
. . .
Kind of. It's complicated.”

“Okay. Don't worry, hon, everything's fine. Mr. Cao's been very nice. The food is delicious. And that wine, what was that wine, Mr. Cao?”

“Call me Sidney!” I hear in the background. “It is Bordeaux. Château Margaux.”

“Yes, really tasty!” Her voice drops again. “Are
you
okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “You have your phone?”

“Hm-hm.”

“Okay. I'm going to call it from my new number. You have any problems at all, you call me.”

“Oh, don't worry, hon. We're having a lovely time.
Y puedo cuidarme de mí misma,
”
she adds.

And I can take care of myself.

“Oh, it means ‘Have a safe trip,'” I hear her say, presumably to Sidney.

Kick ass, Mom, I think.

“You do what you need to do. Just be safe, okay? And call me as soon as you can.”

“I will,” I say. “You, too.”

For a moment there's silence. Then Sidney.

“So you see your mother and her friend are having a very nice time in Xingfu Cun,” he says. “Tomorrow we can play laser tag. Or maybe karaoke.”

“Great,” I say.

“And you go to meet my children.” This, in case I had any doubts, is not a request.

“Will do.”

“And you can call me each day and tell me about these meetings.”

“I can do that. But you need to do something for me.”

“What?” He sounds impatient. Like I've got no business asking him for anything.

“Get Yang Junmin off my ass. You want me to do this, I can't be worrying about him getting in my way.”

There is a long pause. I hear footsteps, I think, and a door close. Sidney, getting some privacy maybe.

“Ellie, I am sorry,” he says, and it sounds like he really means it. “I can only have so much control over Yang Junmin. I can tell him you and I are friends and you help me with this art business. But sometimes he does not listen.”

I stare at my bottle of beer and think it's time to drink some more. The one thing I counted on was that Sidney and Yang were “lips and teeth,” as they like to say here, as close and inseparable as brothers. That Sidney gives Yang money and Yang helps him make it. But if Sidney can't control him
. . .

Maybe they aren't as close as I thought.

“Okay,” I say. “Do what you can do. Just
. . .
take care of my mom. And Andy. And my dog.”

“I can do that. I like your mother, very much. She is
. . .
haoxinren
, you know this word?”

Good-hearted.

“Yeah. She is.”

His voice drops to a whisper. “You see, I think it is better for her to come here. Xingfu Cun is a very nice place. And safe.”

After I get off the phone with Sidney, I sit in the café a while longer, drinking my beer. There's no way I can be sure, but I'm wondering if I've gotten things backward with Sidney. Sure, he wants me to do what he wants me to do. Yeah, he's willing to strong-arm me to do it. And he has people killed. I know this from personal experience. Plus, the amount of money he has and the way he uses it are sometimes pretty gross.

But he also saved my life, and even if that was because he needed something from me, I have to appreciate it, since I'm still alive and all.

Maybe he was telling the truth, in his own way. He might have “invited” my mom to Xingfu Cun to give me an incentive to hang out with his kids. But maybe she
is
safer there with everything that's going on.

I can't be sure. But it would really help me keep on going with this mission if I could believe that.

★ ★ ★

So what do I do next?

I want to stay off Uncle Yang's radar, to the extent I can. That means I'd better put off any meetings with Tiantian. I didn't get the feeling he and Yang are all that close—and if Tiantian's been banging other women, who knows, they might not be on good terms at all. It's one thing for rich and powerful men here to have mistresses. More of them do than don't.
Ernai
,
“second wives,” are a status symbol, like a Rolex, and if
you can fit more than one on your arm, more power to you.

But Uncle Yang seemed very protective of his sister's crazy daughter.

Besides, if I had to pick a least favorite Cao, it would probably be Tiantian.

Though it's a close call.

Which brings me to Gugu. I have to figure, logically, that if one of the Caos killed that waitress, odds are it was either Tiantian or Gugu. Okay, I guess it's possible that Meimei could be some kind of crazed psychotic killer, but beating and choking a girl to death like that? I figure it would take a lot of rage, the kind of anger that makes some men attack women, not to mention the strength to do it.

Though Dao Ming seems pretty pissed off. I can't rule her out.

So . . . Gugu. He gets off on playing baby and sucking milk from a wet nurse for hire. Could he also get off on beating up a woman? It doesn't seem to go together to me, but then what do I know about how crazy head cases think? I can't even figure out my own crazy head.

He's got some anger issues, though. No doubt about that. And he drinks, a lot, plus who knows what else he's using? Put those things together and you can't always predict what happens.

And Gugu comes with Marsh. I still don't know what I think about that guy. He's kind of a creep. I wouldn't trust him with my daughter, if I had one, with my money, if I had some, with my dog, or with my back turned. Or with my mom, given her generally terrible taste in men. He kind of reminds me of one of her boyfriends when I was in middle school, now that I think about it, the one who was super charming and treated her really well and then stole her credit cards and split.

I've never seen Marsh get really mad, but maybe he's the kind of guy who's good at hiding that part of himself.

Then there's Meimei. She's weird. Not because she's maybe gay or bi and not because she may or may not have been hitting on me. There's just something about her that feels off. The way she reacts, or doesn't react, to stuff. Her whole fascination with my being a soldier, being outside the wire, finding that “admirable.”

Which isn't that unusual, I tell myself. Lots of people think it would be cool to play soldier. Most of them have only played the video game.

There's nothing very admirable about what I did in the war, or the war I did it in.

But maybe I'm overthinking all this.

I look up Meimei's number in my online address book, and then I text it.

it's ellie. yes, had some problems with my old phone. this is my backup. can you give me a call? i'd like to take you up on that offer to help.

Then I sip my beer and wait.

I don't trust her, at all. I'm just hoping I guessed right that she's the least lethal. To me anyway.

I'm still drinking my stale Rogue when the phone rings.

“Wei?”

“Ellie, is that you?”

Meimei.

“Yes. Thanks for calling.”

“Where are you?”

“Beijing.”

She chuckles. “Yes, I assumed so. Where in Beijing? I can come to pick you up.”

I hesitate. If I'm wrong about her . . . well, I'm pretty much SOL. But I placed my bet. All I can do now is let it ride.

“Haidian. Near Beijing Daxue.” And I give her the address.

I've switched to Yanjing Beer because of the “beer-flavored water” factor. As much as I'd like to get really loaded, I know I'd better not. I don't know what I'm getting into with Meimei.

I'm about done with a draft when she saunters into the bar. She's wearing what looks like a vintage embroidered cowboy shirt, sky blue with red and yellow roses, skinny jeans, and cowboy boots. Snakeskin, I'm pretty sure.

“Cute bar,” she says, dropping onto the chair across from me.

I shrug. “I guess.”

“I think it is maybe
. . .
” She purses her lips. “More authentic than some other places, like the restaurant we go to before.”

More authentic? I have no idea what she's talking about.

“Or maybe you are,” she says, smiling at me.

Great.

Why is it the last few years I feel like I'm always playing a game where I don't know the rules and I don't even know what the object is?

I sip my watery Yanjing Draft. Think, I tell myself. Here's this woman. This girl. I mean, she's younger than I am. She's worn a different costume every time I've seen her. Like she's trying on different identities. Maybe she doesn't know who she really is.

Maybe in the core of herself, there's nothing there.

I shiver a little, because people that are empty inside that way, I've met them.

“Yeah, you know, keeping it real and all,” I say.

She's studying my face. “What happened to your eye?”

“Frisbee accident. I was playing with my dog. You want a drink?”

“Sure.”

I wave to the waitress.

“Just whatever you are having,” Meimei says.

“Zai lai liang bei zhapi,”
I tell the waitress.

Two more beers.

“So,” Meimei says, after the beers come. “Have you been staying busy since we met for dinner?”

That has to be a joke, right? The way she's smiling at me, it must be.

“Yeah,” I say. “Running around a lot. You?”

“Oh, not so much since we had dinner. Just
. . .
visiting with the family.”

“I thought Gugu went out of town,” I say. “To go work on his movie.”

“Oh, sure.” Meimei sips her beer. Her nose wrinkles. “He left this morning. Early.”

I think about it. I don't know when Celine died; I didn't stick around long enough to check her out too closely. But I'm guessing she'd been dead awhile by the time I got there this morning.

So last night. Not too early—I'm assuming that gallery is open during the day—someone would have found her, right? It could have been before dinner, I guess. Gugu and Marsh arrived late, now that I think about it. But probably after.