Fuck.
I sit up, scoot to the edge of the bed. My whole body feels like it’s cramped up. I can barely stand. Percocet. Coffee.
I plug in the electric kettle, make myself a cup of Starbucks VIA, and collapse onto the desk chair. Hold the cup in both hands and sip.
You can’t go, I tell myself. You can’t. You could lead them right to Jason. Plus, you could get your ass kicked even worse.
What you do is, you turn over the information you have to Dog and Natalie. Let them know about Jason’s video channel. They can try emailing him. Maybe he’ll write back.
It sucks, though. I got so close. Found out all kinds of shit. Followed every lead.
Except this one.
And I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to quit. Don’t want to let those Eos fuckers stop me.
I want to complete the mission. Act like I’m not afraid, even if I am.
But I can’t.
I sip my bitter, grainy coffee.
I could take an overnight train to Beijing, or I could fly, but given the way I’m feeling, which is beat to shit, used up, and tossed by the side of a road, I’m not much in the mood to travel.
I try to decide, should I be worried about the Eos guys? About Buzz Cut? I mean, in the long run they’re a problem. Another entry on my list of powerful people that I’ve managed to piss off.
In the short term?
They don’t know I’m in Shanghai-that is, unless Carter fucked me over.
I’m sure they know how to find me in Beijing.
At least I have friends there. People who can help me. Like Harrison. And… well, Creepy John.
I’m really not sure that I want to go there. Asking a guy who works for the DSD for protection?
Talk about getting in bed with the wrong people.
I’ll go home tomorrow, I tell myself. Try to get my shit together so I can front like everything’s normal to Mom and Andy. Set up a meeting with Harrison to discuss the whole Sidney Cao situation. Move forward. What else can I do?
It’s too bad Lucy Wu isn’t in town, because it would be nice to hang out with her. Discuss art or something. Funny. I never would have thought that I’d end up working with her. Being friends, even.
I look at my fancy outfit draped over one of the chairs and think maybe I can pull it off. Put on those clothes and be that person.
Ellie McEnroe, Art Gal.
Hah. What a joke.
I mean, okay, I’ve learned some stuff. It’s, like, I know Lao Zhang’s art is good. I just don’t really know why.
It’s powerful. It makes me feel something. But how it does that I still don’t really understand.
I read art magazines, Web sites, all that, just so I can fake my way through conversations with people who know more than I do, who are experts. But a lot of what I read-all this intellectual stuff, the theories-I don’t know what they’re talking about.
I haven’t read anything or even thought about it since I started chasing Jason.
Harrison takes me places, tries to teach me stuff. I could try harder to learn on my own, I guess. To really know.
Complete the mission, right?
WHAT I DECIDE TO do is go look at art.
I mix and match my pricey jacket with jeans and a faded T-shirt. I pack my sweater, just in case, although it’s warmer than yesterday. Have another cup of coffee and another Percocet. Nothing like a little caffeine and narcotics to start your morning right.
I can do this.
I go to Mogushan, your basic collection of art galleries in a bombed-out factory complex. The art’s okay, I guess, but nothing really strikes me. But I find a fun T-shirt place, with designs ripping off CCP icons-praying hands clasping a Little Red Book. Another proclaiming WE LOVE TIANANMEN SQUARE!
I sit and have a beer at a little café when my leg starts hurting. It’s better, though. I mean, back to where it was before Guiyu, meaning pretty fucked up. But it’s a pain I can live with.
After that I visit the Shanghai Museum. Classical Chinese art. Scrolls. Landscape painting. Pottery. Calligraphy. It’s beautiful. I spend a lot of time there in the hushed gold light, just looking.
When I’m done, I find some soup dumplings at a little dive not too far from the museum, and then I go back to my hotel.
This wasn’t a bad day, I think. I could keep doing stuff like this. Having days like today. It’s not a bad life, right?
Maybe it’s even a good one.
I open a beer I snagged at a mini-mart and flop down in the desk chair. I figure I’ll do a little Web surfing and email before I sleep.
There’s an email from an address I don’t recognize: SparkleOn77@yahoo.com. I open it.
Hi Ellie it’s Natalie. Writing you from hospital. Doug still here. Docs not sure what’s going on. He’s confused and agitated. Asking a lot about Jason. Just wondering if you have any news I can tell him. Thanks for everything. Sent from my iPhone.
Fuck.
I’m not ready to write this email. I’m really not.
Hi Natalie. Re: your question, it’s a little complicated, but I’ve got some good leads for you. Probably better if we discuss on Skype.
I hesitate.
Really sorry to hear that Doug’s still in the hospital, I type. “Hope that the docs get what’s going on with him straightened out soon. Best, Ellie.”
I SLEEP, BUT I don’t sleep well. Maybe I’m missing Sidney Cao’s bed. Maybe it’s the pain in my muscles. Plus the crazy dreams I’m having. For some reason there’s these frogs all over the place. Twitching and jumping. I’m trying to walk down a street that in my head is in Yangshuo, even though it looks more like the electronics village in Guiyu, and the frogs are everywhere, and I step on a couple, and they crunch under my foot.
I wake up in a sweat.
6:00 A.M.
I lie in the bed for a while, but I can’t get back to sleep. I think about drinking another beer. I think about taking another Percocet.
Finally I get up and make a cup of instant coffee and open up my laptop.
Not too many emails. The usual spam. A nice note from Palaver and Madrid, buddies of mine who hooked up during our deployment and got married, like in Vermont or someplace seeing as how they’re lesbians, had a kid. Stayed together.
Nice to see things working out for someone.
I think about my mom and Andy.
No way. No way that will last.
I’m thinking about that, and I look at the next email. The subject line is “Hi,” and it’s from Jason88.
No one I know.
I get this little shiver between my shoulder blades. Open the email.
I heard you’re looking for me, it says.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
FOR A MINUTE ALL I can do is sit there and stare at the screen.
I heard you’re looking for me. That’s all it says.
And Jason.
I drink some more coffee. Try to think. How did he get my email address?
How do I know it’s even him?
Okay, I tell myself, okay. I handed out my card to a bunch of people in Yangshuo. He could’ve gotten my email address from any one of them. Even if he only had my name, he could’ve looked me up. I’m easy enough to find on the Web, what with the art business and charitable foundation and all.
But I can’t know for sure that it’s him. Buzz Cut could’ve set up the account, emailed me to see what I’d do.
I think about it, and I type, Where did you get my email? How do I know you’re who you say you are? Hit SEND.
After that I heat up some more water, make myself another cup of coffee. And wait.
It takes about an hour before a reply from Jason88 hits my inbox.
A friend of mine you talked to gave me your info. I’m not saying who. You could tell somebody else and get them in trouble.
You call my brother ‘Dog.’ You hooked up in Iraq, at Mortaritaville. He told me about it, how he felt bad, but how you guys are still buddies.