“Why aren’t you?” she asked back.
“Because he’s alive.”
“And if he wasn’t?”
“I would have killed his killer,” I said, looking straight at her.
“You’re not a killer,” she said dismissively.
“You say it like that’s a bad thing.”
“In this world, it is. It’s one thing to gain power, it’s another to maintain it. Larry was a victim of a bigger game we weren’t part of.”
“And you?”
“I was naive enough to believe love conquers all. If you kill me, you’d only be doing me a favor. They’ll make a martyr of me back home and give my family honors,” she said.
“I’m not killing you.”
“I know,” she said. “And my family will continue to starve.”
“You could leave.”
“And doom my whole family?”
I had come here for revenge, and found the world had already taken it for me.
“That last film of his he was working on,” she said. “It might be related to everything.”
The one he’d been so cryptic about? “How?”
“I don’t know. But it was the only thing he refused to talk about. And you know what a big mouth he had.”
“Has.”
“Had,” she said. “Anytime you want my life, you know where I am. I won’t fight it.” She limped back to her apartment, daring me to follow.
I did not.
VIII.
Image facilitation could have been involved. Someone might have theoretically gotten enough surgery to look like Larry. But to sound like him, to have a similar height, and to be able to fool all those around him, especially with finger and eye scans at every corner of the Chao Toufa grounds? That was impossible. The more probable explanation was that Shinjee, beaten by her superiors, had lost her senses. It didn’t explain the corpse that night. But it was more likely that when she was confronted by the fact she’d been just another fling for him, she’d rather accept he was dead than she was unimportant. No one else questioned his identity but her. I shouldn’t either. Every logical thought in me urged me to go back to my apartment, pack up my belongings, sell everything I could, and spend a few years on the beaches of Cancun cavorting about. Yeah, drugs were everywhere, but as the cartels officially controlled everything, it was one of the safest places in the world.
And yet, when it came time to input my next destination into the cab, I found myself hesitating to give my Beijing home address. What if Larry really had been killed? Could I just ignore that possibility? Could I ignore my own eyes? I thought about talking to Russ who’d been promoted to president of Chao Toufa. He might have more insight and give me the confirmation I needed to put the whole matter to rest. There was something else gnawing me. I put in the address for the Chao Toufa factory grounds, wondering if Russ would even see me. If he didn’t, I’d pick up some of the equipment I’d left behind, especially my Pinlighter 1887, the pen camera that was so easy to carry. I called Larry to see if I could get hold of him. Even after five calls, he didn’t pick up.
I watched the news on the ride there. It focused on the garbage negotiations going on in Antarctica. Reporters and military specialists speculated on naval skirmishes between Europe and America for dumping rights in what had once been a frozen continent. I flipped the station. A death-football game was on and crowds were booing that only five people had been killed so far even though the half-time show had just concluded (there were conspiracy theorists who speculated that the deaths were arranged beforehand and actors were swapped out in favor of surgery while they healed). There were the usual spattering of commercials for the upcoming GEAs, celebrating the best in cinema. I ordered a caffeine boost as I needed something to keep my mind sharp. An emergency news cast broke through. The actor who played Jesus Christ, James Leyton, had caught the flu and prayer vigils were being held around the world. Several older gentlemen being interviewed were crying as they said, “We pray that he gets better soon.”
When I arrived at the factory, the guard at the security station asked for my identity. I gave him my information.
“It looks like you no longer have permission to enter, sir,” he politely informed me.
“Call the president and tell him I’d like to see him.”
“The president?”
“Russ Lambert. I need to speak with him.”
“I can’t just call the president and—”
“Get Larry on the phone then,” I told him.
“Mr. Larry Chao?”
“Are you new to this job?”
“I–I started a week ago,” he told me.
“Call his office and tell him Nick Guan wants to speak with him.”
“Concerning what?”
“I need to get my camera equipment.”
The guard went back into his post, made a few calls, and came back out. “Mr. Russ Lambert is out. But his assistant told me you could get your belongings.”
“Thank you.”
The cab drove in.
Demolition crews had finished the job on the destroyed warehouses, though no new construction had begun. I used to have an office close to Larry’s, but someone else was in it now. A box with all my belongings had been put into storage and one of the assistants helped retrieve it for me. All I really wanted was the camera. I noticed a few pictures of Larry and me on set as well as several useless certificates from various festivals. I put the camera in my pocket along with the mini-boom that recorded audio better than any instrument I’d worked with. Told the assistant he could throw away the rest. The boom was an expensive prosumer version of a military product, designed to capture the voices of officers speaking in the middle of combat.
I swung by Russ’s office but he wasn’t there. His assistant, an elderly Chinese woman, asked, “Did you get your belongings?”
“I did. Larry asked me to check in with Russ. Is he at home right now?”
“He is,” she answered, then hesitated, wondering if she should not have given that information.
“Great. Larry wanted me to see him ASAP. What was his address again?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give that information out.”
“I’ll call Larry and ask him.”
“Oh, no no, you shouldn’t do that,” she said quickly, and she was quivering.
“It’s no problem. If I just make a call—”
“No need to bother him, I’ll give you the address. Just please, don’t tell either of them I told you.”
“I won’t.”
“You have to promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Again.”
“I promise.” Her eyes were filled with terror and it reminded me of George’s reaction earlier.
“Thank you,” I told her after she gave me the address.
IX.
Russ owned a massive house that was four stories tall. There was good reason to envy the rich. I used to lie to people that I was really wealthy when I was a kid because I didn’t want them to know I lived in a tiny apartment with my alcoholic cousin who was rarely home. Russ’s home was the kind I dreamt about as a kid, so big, I wouldn’t even know all the rooms in my house.
I programmed the taxi to wait outside and walked to the gate. I told security that Larry had sent me and they let me in without hassle. A butler met me at the front door. He had on thick black glasses that covered half his face and a green tuxedo. The house had an indoor swimming pool, antiquities from the Ming Dynasty, and a lot of deer heads on the wall. Russ was downstairs in a room shaped like a centrifuge. There were a hundred arcade booths with games from long ago forming four circular lines as though it were a hedge maze of electronics. I saw titles like Double Dragon, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Moonwalker, Simpsons, Bubble Bobble, and more. The floor was slowly spinning and with the bright lights and sounds, it reminded me of a roulette wheel. Russ was wearing what looked like a red dress and played a game called Bad Dudes. Chained next to him were a naked man and woman. The woman had white hair, a skinny frame, very pale skin, and looked similar to Beauvoir, the sister of Tolstoy, though nowhere near as beautiful. Her presence threw me off guard.