One of them helps me to my feet. The other picks up my backpack, which was sitting against the wall across from the door.
They guide me out of the little room and into the next one: bigger and vacant, except for bare metal shelves and a few odds and ends-a computer monitor here, empty file folders there, an abandoned desk, a couple of deflated plastic grain sacks scattered on the floor.
And a dead guy.
My little buddy I thought I could bribe. Lying on his back by a bank of shelves. They shot him in the neck and in the chest. I can see blood still pulsing from the wound just under his throat.
Maybe not all the way dead, but he will be in a minute or two.
The other dead guy is sprawled facedown by the door.
“Lai, lai,” US Polo Team says. Come, come.
I’m not going to argue.
THE BLACK BUICK’S OUTSIDE, pulled close to the entrance. No license plates on it, I notice. Smart. I wonder what the woman in the snack store is doing right now, if she called the PSB or if she’s just hunkered down behind the counter waiting for all this shit to blow over, like a storm. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what she’s doing. Stuff like this, who wants to get involved?
The second guy, Windbreaker, helps me into the backseat, goes around to the other side and slides in next to me. US Polo gets behind the wheel, and we peel out.
I sit there. Stare out the window. “Women qu nar?” I finally ask. Where are we going?
“Jichang.” Airport.
“Okay.”
That’s when I start to shake. I don’t know if it’s nerves coming back to life or just the whole “I almost died” experience, but whatever it is, I can’t stop.
“Yao he shui?” Windbreaker asks.
I nod. Sure, I’ll drink some water. I love water. He hands me a bottle stashed under the seat.
I’m guessing they’re DSD. People working for John, even though he acted like he didn’t know who they were when I asked him about them. Whatever. I don’t care that he lied. I don’t care that they killed two guys. All I can think of right now is, I’m alive and those guys aren’t. Tough shit.
AT SOME POINT WE pull over onto a shoulder, in the shadow of a giant billboard advertising FAIRY LAKEFRONT ESTATES-THE BRIGHT FUTURE AND RICH LIFE AWAIT! and Windbreaker takes a set of license plates out of the trunk and attaches them to the front and rear of the Buick.
As he gets back into the car, I wonder why would the DSD even care if someone gets their license numbers?
Okay, I think, okay. Whoever these guys are, they still saved my ass. They’re being pretty nice to me. And I’m too fucking wiped out to panic. Much.
WHEN I START SEEING signs for the Guiyang Airport, we don’t head toward the passenger terminals. Instead we follow directions to “Cargo and Freight.”
We pull alongside a big, corrugated tin-clad hangar, Shining Star Aviation.
Poised at the hangar exit leading out onto the tarmac is a private jet. You know, like a Gulfstream, one of those things. There’s a movable boarding ramp leading up to it. And waiting at the foot of the ramp is a cute young woman wearing a retro flight-attendant outfit that looks like something out of an old magazine. Back when they were called stewardesses. Sky blue, white gloves, peaked hat, short skirt.
“Welcome!” she says with a bright smile. “Welcome you to fly with us!”
She helps me up the stairs, backed up by Windbreaker because I’m still feeling pretty wobbly, and she leads me to a leather seat. Windbreaker and US Polo sit a couple of seats behind me.
It’s pretty fancy. Like I said, leather seats. A couch across the aisle. A wash of red on the walls, interspersed by walnut inserts and paintings. And though I still don’t know as much about Chinese art as I should, I’m pretty sure I recognize a piece, one of Gu Wenda’s “Fake Character” series.
Well, that’s weird.
Maybe it’s a shanzhai rip-off.
“Please fasten your seat belt-we will take off soon! I can help you if you need.”
“No thanks.” I mean, I think I can fasten my own fucking seat belt.
Truth is, my hands tremble so bad that I have a hard time getting the tongue in the buckle. Finally the flight attendant leans over and fastens it for me.
“Xie xie,” I say.
Not too long after that, the whine of the jet engines picks up and the plane taxis out onto the tarmac. We pause at the beginning of the runway, gathering power, like some big cat bunching up its muscles, and then we spring.
Up into the air.
AS SOON AS WE start to level off, the flight attendant’s back.
“May I serve you something to drink?”
Yeah, I guess I could use a drink. “Sure. Thanks.”
“What kind of drink you like? Chivas Regal, Grand Mariner, cognac? Maybe Johnnie Walker?”
“I, uh…” I can’t even take it in. Just bring me something, I want to say.
“Oh, maybe you prefer wine.”
“Sure. Wine sounds good.”
The bottle she brings out is Château Lafite Rothschild-“shi zhende!” she says. The real thing. I remember Harrison saying to me, not too long ago, “No one serious is buying Château Lafite Rothschild anymore-too many counterfeits. The real collectors have moved on to burgundy.”
This one tastes pretty good.
“Can I bring you anything else? Something to eat? Maybe foie gras? Or sushi?”
Sushi?
“No thanks.”
I drink some more wine.
“Whose plane is this?” I finally ask.
She beams. “It’s Mr. Sidney Cao’s, of course.”
Sidney Cao.
“Of course.”
I DRAIN THE FIRST glass of wine, barely tasting it. Try to think it through.
Sidney Cao? Billionaire art collector Sidney Cao? That would account for the Gu Wenda on the wall. But the other stuff? Guys with guns who follow me around and kill people?
I try to remember the source of Cao’s wealth. Chemicals, wasn’t it? Something like that. Could he be… I don’t know, the CEO of a rival seed company? A passionate environmentalist?
“More wine?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I take my time with this glass. It really is pretty good, though I don’t know how well it would go with sushi. I’d try the combo and find out, but my gut’s still in knots. I don’t think I could eat anything. The wine’s about all I can handle.
About halfway through the glass, I can’t hold my head up anymore. I lean back against the seat. My eyes feel like someone’s rubbed them with sand.
“Do you want to take a rest?” I hear the stewardess’s voice in my ear. “Still some time before we land.”
I nod. I figure she’ll bring me a pillow and a blanket. Maybe a chocolate mint.
She pats me gently on the shoulder. “Come with me.”
She has to help me up, and my feet hurt so bad the first few steps that I’m hobbling like a little old lady.
We go down the aisle past the US Polo Team, who’s watching a DVD, a Harry Potter movie it looks like, and Windbreaker, who’s tilted back in the chair, jaw hanging open, asleep.
Beyond them is another compartment. The stewardess opens the door.
It’s dark, except for a night-light. But I can see an actual bed, fluffy white quilt, plumped pillows.
She rushes ahead and expertly flips down the quilt and sheets. “Xiuxi yixia,” she says. Rest a little.
I collapse on the side of the bed. Somehow manage to kick my shoes off. She helps me with the shoes, I think. I fall back against the pillow.
“Where are we going?” I finally think to ask.
“Xingfu Cun,” she says.
“I don’t know it. Where’s that?”
“It’s the home of Sidney Cao,” she says brightly, pulling the quilt over me. “Have a rest. You can call me if you need anything.”
I think I nod, but by the time she’s closed the door behind her, I’m pretty much passed out.