“How are you holding up?” his boss said.
“On fumes,” Johnny said.
“I need you to do something first thing tomorrow morning.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Yeah. Client’s request. He’s on the job today, off tomorrow.”
“A cop?”
“Yeah. Local. He’s under investigation for an indictable. I don’t know the details. I’m hearing they may file charges against him any day.” The state of New Jersey referred to cases where the accused could be punished by more than one year in jail as indictable offenses, not felonies, the way most states did.
“You know my preference where cops are concerned.” Representing cops did nothing to improve one’s reputation with those who regularly needed criminal lawyers.
“Yeah, and I don’t like whitefish but my wife serves it twice a week. Besides, you haven’t heard the rub yet.”
“Which is?”
“The guy asked for you personally.”
“You’re kidding me. What’s his name?”
“Richard Clark.”
Johnny searched his memory. “Don’t know him.”
“Well, he knows you. Says he knows you real well. He’s going to meet you at the Tropicana at 9:00 a.m. for breakfast.”
The Tropicana was a diner in Elizabeth. “Now you’re talking. I’m having pancakes and you’re buying.”
Johnny hung up. Much as the prospect of a tall stack with bacon on the side made his mouth water, the cop’s request for Johnny to represent him left him uneasy. The cop knew something Johnny didn’t, and he knew it would bother him until he learned exactly what it was.
When Johnny got home, the only thing on his agenda other than eating and sleeping was pulling out his world atlas. Last year he’d kept track of Nadia’s location on the atlas when she called him during her trip to Ukraine. Maybe he’d be able to do the same this year. Maybe she would call him tonight, he thought.
But she didn’t.
CHAPTER 38
Bobby devoured a fist-sized chunk of buckwheat bread and washed it down with a bottle of Leninade. It was a pink-lemonade-flavored soda, a bit too sweet for his taste under normal circumstances, but these weren’t normal circumstances. He craved sugar. Once he started drinking, he couldn’t stop. He knew the craving was a function of the stress of the last forty-eight hours. He knew this because he’d experienced the same sensation while being bullied at school, whipped during hockey practices with the Coach, and scavenging with Eva. Sugar soothed his mind.
The label on the bottle consisted of a hammer and sickle, the communist symbol for peaceful labor. The red star on the neck of the bottle represented military service and the Red Army. Beneath the star was an invitation. “Join the Party!”
Bobby realized that Luo was staring at him.
“I knew a fellow who wore that same expression,” Luo said.
Bobby’s fellow passenger hadn’t said a word since introducing himself. Instead, they’d sat quietly as the plane took off. Bobby had closed his eyes to meditate. When he cracked them open to spy on Luo, he saw that the Siberian man also had his eyes closed. After the plane leveled off at cruising altitude, Luo had shared his Leninade and bread.
“What expression is that?” Bobby said.
“Disapproval. The Leninade not to your liking? A bit sweet, is it?”
“No. It’s fine. I like it very much. I was just thinking that we’re flying over Siberia, where fifteen million people suffered in the labor camps — the gulags—and more than a million died. My father was sentenced to a gulag for twelve years.” Bobby looked at the bottle. “And here I am, drinking a soda that makes fun of the man who started it all, the one who gave birth to Soviet communism.”
“Would you rather be drinking Stalinade?”
Bobby managed a chuckle.
“Putinade?”
“The more questions you ask, the less thirsty I get.”
“Look at it this way. You’re drinking Leninade only because the Soviet Union collapsed and the individual republics freed themselves. If Soviet communism existed today, you wouldn’t be drinking that soda. And we wouldn’t be here. Which raises the question, why are you here?”
Bobby’s guard immediately shot up. He could hear his father’s voice in his ear. Be wary. This man who called himself Luo had said he wanted to sleep. Now he was asking personal questions.
“Same reason as you,” Bobby said. “I need to get to Irkutsk.”
“I know that, but what were you doing in Japan?”
“How did you know I was in Japan?”
“I was on the ferry with you. You don’t remember me?”
Bobby had studied faces. If Luo had been on the ferry, he would have seen him. Unless Luo was trained to avoid detection, and he hadn’t wanted Bobby to see him.
“No,” Bobby said. “I don’t remember you.”
“That’s no surprise. I blend in with an Asian crowd. Because there’s almost nothing special about me. You know what the only special thing about me is?”
Bobby didn’t bother answering.
“The self-awareness that tells me there’s nothing special about me at all.”
Bobby was starting to think the truth was to the contrary.
“So why Japan?” Luo said. “Why the ferry? And why a cargo ship to Irkutsk instead of a commercial airliner?”
“I thought you weren’t going to ask questions. I thought you were sleepy.”
“Must be the Leninade. Makes me inquisitive. How about that? Must be the sugar, you know? You on business or studies? You look more like a student to me.”
“Yeah, I’m a student. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get some rest.”
“Sure. I understand. Get some rest. If I keep chattering, don’t mind me. It’s just that bootleggers and drug dealers have been known to use cargo planes to get from Vladivostok to Irkutsk. Sometimes there are cops waiting at the airport in Irkutsk. Sometimes they interrogate the pilots and the passengers. I know some of those police. I’d hate for any misunderstandings to ruin your trip. Irkutsk police station. Prison cell. They’re not recommended tourist destinations. Sometimes paperwork gets lost, a judge goes on holiday, a person can get lost in that prison cell.”
Bobby realized that Luo could be a cop. Evading his questions might antagonize him. Instead of ignoring him, Bobby told Luo the same story he’d told the immigration officers about competing in a writing contest. It had sounded reasonable then, but not as plausible now on a cargo plane traveling from Vladivostok to Irkutsk. Still, Bobby sold it as best as he could.
Luo smiled and nodded like a good listener. On the surface he acted as though he believed the story, but Bobby’s instincts told him otherwise.
“You know what I think?” Luo said.
“What?”
Luo grinned. “I think you’re going to win that writing competition.”
“I hope so. What about you? What’s your business? Why were you on the ferry?”
“Oh, come on. You know the answer to that.”
“I do?”
“Sure. It’s obvious, isn’t it? I was following you.”
A hot flash seized Bobby. He waited for shock to pass. It didn’t take long. Three seconds, maybe four. He was used to it. Adversity likes to strike when its victim least expects it. He composed himself, considered Luo’s claim that he’d been following him.
Impossible, Bobby thought. Only Nadia and Johnny had seen him slide under the truck in Fukushima. The other men were dead or seriously injured. If no one followed him then, how could anyone have picked up his trail when he’d been hidden under a car for over two hours? How would anyone know to be at the gas or train stations?
But there was no sense in disagreeing with the man, so Bobby asked the obvious question. “Why were you following me?”