Ruse

by Cindy Pon

  “I’m done,” his companion said. “Let’s clear out.”

  The man turned on his heel and left the room, not bothering to flick off the light. Lingyi let out a small breath but stayed under the bed for a long time, even when she could no longer hear any noises from outside. Tears streamed down her face, then snot from her nose, but she remained still, noiseless, clutching her glasses to her chest until all her limbs had gone numb.

  She stayed hidden for over an hour until past eight a.m., according to her Vox; it felt like an eternity. Finally, Lingyi dragged herself from underneath the bed. Her limbs tingled, and she could barely drag a sleeve across her face before dropping her glasses by accident. They clattered against the dirty stone floor, and she flinched. But there was no noise from the other room. Stooping down, Lingyi picked up her glasses and slipped them back on.

  She crept toward the half-open bedroom door, like an elderly woman who needed the aid of a cane. Peering out, she could see nothing but overturned stools. The room appeared empty—but she knew Jany’s body was there. Lingyi hesitated at the threshold, too horror-struck to confirm the death of someone else whom she cared for. Finally, she forced herself to enter the main room. The rotten front door had been kicked down, splintered from its weak hinges, and dim morning light filtered in. Faint honking from the street traffic outside drifted to her. With small steps, she walked to the table where she and Jany had shared their last meal. Jany was sprawled on the ground beside it, one arm covering her face as if she were asleep. But it was impossible to miss the large pool of blood beneath her head.

  Lingyi fell to her knees, a silent sob shuddering through her body.

  Tears blurred her vision. “Jany,” she whispered. “No.” Lingyi touched her hand, but there was no need to search for a pulse. Jany’s other arm was flung out, and there was a gun dropped there, casually, with a piece of paper beside it. A suicide note, Lingyi knew without looking. A lie. The thug had used a silencer. Another murder by Jin covered up so he could take what he wanted. “Oh, Jany.” Lingyi’s hands fluttered over her friend’s body; she didn’t know what to do. “I’m so sorry.”

  She jumped to her feet and searched the apartment, knowing in her heart that it was futile. There weren’t many places to look. The dining table had also served as a work space, and that was where Jany’s MacFold would be if she had been working. The table was empty except for a can of Coca-Cola that had fallen on its side, spilling dark soda across the top.

  The men had gotten what they came for.

  Lingyi collapsed to the ground beside her friend again, bringing her knees to her chest. She had to go. Run. It wasn’t safe here. Even if Jin’s men had what they wanted, there was no telling whether they might return. She should book a flight, fly back to Taipei. Fly back to safety, to Iris. Her love. “I’ve done everything I could,” she said in a soft voice. “I tried, Jany.” But she’d failed her—just as she’d failed Victor. She’d let Jany be murdered while she sat immobilized with fear in the other room.

  She buried her face in her folded arms and her body shook with sobs, but no more tears came. Don’t ever let him profit from it, Jany had said to her, just hours before she was murdered and robbed. Lingyi suddenly saw Dr. Nataraj’s warm brown eyes. We have to keep doing right, she had said. We have to keep fighting. It’s a destructive path our world is currently on.

  Then Victor emerged in the darkness behind her eyelids. Is this worth dying for? he had asked before they had embarked on bombing Jin Corp. You’ll get us all killed.

  I miss you, Vic, Lingyi thought. The tilt of his sarcastic grin was the last thing to fade into blackness. Was this worth dying for? Worth fighting for? And if she left Shanghai, returned to the comfort of her home, and her bed, could she live with herself? Could she leave Jany’s dead body and pretend this had never happened?

  She took long, slow breaths, trying to steady her racing heart, ease the tightness in her chest. No; she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. Her friend had been cruelly murdered, and Jin was again behind it. He had gotten away with Dr. Nataraj’s death—but he wouldn’t get away with this one.

  She tapped on her Vox’s watch face and sent Iris a cryptic message—a coded one that they had agreed upon before she left. Her first message to Iris since Lingyi had landed in Shanghai. It signaled to Iris that she was in trouble, that she needed her help.

  Jany’s death would be avenged, and Lingyi would get her laptop back.

  By the time Lingyi stumbled out of the hovel Jany and she had been hiding in, the morning was in full swing. Taxis and mopeds swept by on the main street, and pedestrians hurried past the narrow opening of the alleyway. She jumped when she saw an older woman standing with her arms crossed outside her dingy doorway. It was the same woman who had been washing vegetables the first day she came looking for Jany. She stared at Lingyi suspiciously. “I don’t know what happened in there,” the woman said. “But I’ve called the police. I heard the door crash, then saw those men leave ten minutes later. Are you a witness?” She reached out a gnarled hand, as if to grab Lingyi’s wrist. Lingyi dodged her reach. “You need to stay,” the woman rasped.

  Lingyi had no way of knowing who might show up next: the police or more of Jin’s men. And Jin was capable of bribing anyone with his money and power, including the police. It was too dangerous to stay. She shook her head and headed down the alleyway. As she rounded the corner, she nearly collided into someone. A policewoman with a bun pulled low against her neck brushed past her, followed by two colleagues. She appeared to be around thirty, with dark, intense eyes. Lingyi ducked her head, but the woman half turned, giving her a once-over. She wore a silver badge on her black police uniform that bore her name: Lu Qining.

  Lingyi kept walking and could feel the other woman’s eyes on her back. She forced herself to keep a normal pace. Then she heard a man calling from farther down the alleyway. “Detective Lu, here is the woman who placed the call,” he shouted, his voice echoing.

  Lingyi didn’t slow, then turned onto another narrow street. She peered around the corner, but the policewoman was no longer there.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ZHOU

  Daiyu was a bundle of frenetic energy, and I watched her with an arm half-slung over my eyes, still sprawled in bed as she darted back and forth from my wood-paneled walk-in closet. It was bigger than the dank Taipei studio I had rented for a short time. She had taken over the closet in my apartment in the 101, because, let’s be honest, my interest in clothes was basically nil. Daiyu had been living with me almost full-time for three months now, and I couldn’t imagine life in this apartment without her.

  “But is black too somber?” she asked, draping a long black dress in front of her. “Or should I wear the purple-and-silver qipao?”

  “You look great in everything,” I replied. “And even better in nothing.”

  Daiyu threw the black dress on the bed, then picked up the pillow beside me and pushed it onto my face.

  “Hey!” I shouted. We struggled, and I could hear her laughing with glee. “You can’t smother me for telling you the truth.”

  She cast the pillow aside and climbed onto the bed, straddling me.

  “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Ms. Jin,” I said, looking at her through half-lidded eyes. Sunshine from the floor-to-ceiling windows limned her in a hazy morning glow; she grinned down at me. “I thought you said you had a busy day ahead,” I said. “I’m going to try and keep you in bed if this continues.” I lifted an eyebrow and ran my hand down her thigh. She had put on a black lace bra since getting up. I wished she hadn’t.

  She laughed again and put both hands on my shoulders, pinning me to the bed. “You are coming tonight, right, Jason?” Her expression suddenly turned serious. I touched the slight furrow between her dark eyebrows. The last thing I wanted to do was spend hours with boring yous at a masquerade fund-raiser all night. But Daiyu had organized this gala, to raise awareness and donations for pushing through environmental laws
in Taiwan. The yous had deep pockets, especially for what they perceived to be a trendy cause. “Of course I’ll be there,” I replied. “But I thought it was a costume masquerade gala. Where’s your costume?”

  She slid off me, and I resisted the urge to reach for her wrist. Half the morning was gone because I had lured her back into bed earlier. Daiyu picked up the black dress again, shaking it out. “I need to dress formally as hostess and show my face. The gala tonight will have wide coverage.”

  In the past six months, Daiyu had become the unofficial spokesperson for pushing for stronger environmental laws through the Legislative Yuan. She had even deferred her acceptance into National Taiwan University for a year to focus on this. Her family’s wealth and name made her someone the yous could easily trust, and her natural charm and candidness had slowly won over the meis. Unfortunately, her dedicated work had failed to win over my friends. We hadn’t really talked much since . . . that night.

  “Will you wear a costume?” she asked.

  I grinned and rolled out of bed. “I was thinking of going as Aramis from The Three Musketeers. He was handsome and charming; all the women loved him.”

  She let out a low laugh. “Was he as modest as you?” She crossed her arms and slanted her head, her eyes following me across the vast room. “You’re right—you’re even better in nothing too.”

  “Ha!” I said, disappearing into the walk-in closet. Rifling through the small section that held my clothes, I finally found the black, satin-lined cape I was looking for. “This would be perfect.” I came back out and held up the cape. “Vic—” I paused, clearing the sudden knot of emotion rising in my throat. “Victor was into capes and these billowy shirts for a while.” It was still hard to say his name. “So he got me one too. . . .”

  Then Daiyu was standing before me, slipping her arms around my waist, her brown eyes bright with sympathy. She knew how much I missed Victor. But what she didn’t know was how guilty I felt over his death. It wasn’t anything I’d been able to speak aloud.

  “You’ll look very handsome as a rogue—”

  “Musketeer,” I said.

  “That too,” she replied, and tilted her chin up, pressing herself against me. We kissed, slowly at first, languidly, until she ran her palms up my back and I could feel the heat rising from her skin; then she did that thing with her tongue that rendered me helpless. She knew it too.

  “Oh,” she breathed after a long moment. “We’re crushing your cape.”

  I let it slip to the ground. “Forget the cape,” I said. “I thought you had things to do?”

  She smiled and took my hand, leading me back to my ridiculously huge bed. “What’s another ten minutes?” She lifted her eyebrows.

  I laughed.

  It was never just ten minutes.

  Daiyu finally swept out the door a little after noon, giving me a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll see you there tonight. Wish me luck!”

  “Luck!” I winked. I knew she’d be amazing, both gracious and articulate.

  Attending one of Daiyu’s official functions on these rare occasions meant hanging in the back and never speaking with her directly. As far as Jin was concerned, I was dead, tied up in Jin Corp’s basement before the building exploded. It wouldn’t have taken much digging by Jin’s thugs to know his daughter was seeing someone, but we’d been left alone for now, since Jin had fled to Beijing and set up base there to avoid prosecution for bribery and coercion. Was this too good to be true? Zhou, high school dropout and orphan of the streets, dating someone who had been the richest heiress in Taiwan? It was ludicrous and implausible—a fever dream.

  I was rifling through the hangers in the large closet, trying to find a white shirt that could pass for that of a musketeer, when the Vox on my wrist chimed. Expecting a message from Daiyu, I froze when I saw Iris’s face flash across my watch screen. I had heard from Lingyi a few times in these last six months, but never Iris. Iris had barely spoken to me when we were on good terms. I quickly read her terse message: Can you meet me tonight?

  Yes, I dictated back without hesitation. I’d have to make time before heading to Daiyu’s event, but I knew Iris. She wouldn’t reach out directly unless it was important.

  If I were meeting Arun, it would have been at a cybercafe, and if it had been Lingyi, an actual cafe, preferably filled with well-loved manhua. We used to sit for hours in these cafes, me reading on my Palm as Lingyi paged through the thick comics, exclaiming every once in a while, then explaining to me what was happening in the series. And Victor. Well, Vic would have arranged for us to meet at a trendy bar. But Iris asked to meet in a dark alley behind a garbage bin.

  Seven p.m. on a Saturday night and the Tonghua night market was just beginning to fill with people—teens like me looking for cheap eats, browsing the latest gadgets and knickknacks, while the adults gathered to drink, eat, and complain about life. I could have made my way to the meeting point through emptier streets, but I reveled in being among the crowds. Leading the life of a you in my outrageously expensive 101 apartment was isolating. The rich lived constrained and carefully curated lives. Walking the streets of Taipei was to feel its heartbeat, to take in the city’s vibrancy through all the senses.

  Music boomed through old speakers, mingled with the sounds of hawkers selling their food or trinkets as mouthwatering scents wafted from all sides: dumplings, buns, stinky tofu, fried chicken, and sausages. The choices were delicious and endless. I think if it were the end of the world, the food vendors would still push their carts out for their customers. And we would be there to buy it all.

  Most young people chose to go bare-faced for a fun night out, but the summer air was oppressively hot, humid enough that I could feel the sweat trickle down my spine. Exhaust and smog mingled with the aroma of food and sweat, and with a pang, I missed the comfort my Jin suit had provided. The unbidden thought disgusted me. It was so easy to be rich. Too easy.

  I meandered down two dark alleyways before my locator could pinpoint Iris’s meeting place.

  Fingering the knife tucked against my thigh, I sidestepped slick puddles, their surface barely reflecting the neon signs behind me on the main street. I swallowed and held my breath against the overwhelming stench of piss and vomit. Near the giant garbage bin, a figure emerged from the shadows like a phantom, and my fingertips twitched over my knife handle. But then the person crossed their arms, and I recognized Iris’s predatory stance—one that gave no leeway in her territory.

  “Hey,” I said in a low voice, my hand relaxing.

  “Gods, Zhou,” she replied. “What’s happened to you?”

  I paused, then remembered the costume I was wearing: tight black pants, a white shirt with billowing sleeves, and a black leather vest, with that cape from Vic draped over my shoulders. I had decided to skip the felt hat but wore a black face mask instead—one that covered the top of my face for once, decorated with black feathers. No wonder I was sweating like a rookie about to rob a bank.

  “Oh.” I awkwardly adjusted my mask. “I have a gala to attend after this.”

  Iris shook her head. “Somebody will try to mug or kill you. Easy pickings.”

  I slipped out my knife and spun it in the air, catching it a moment later by its handle. “I’d like to see somebody try.”

  “You can’t even see clearly out of that mask,” Iris said.

  “True,” I conceded. “But did you ask to meet to critique how I’m dressed, or was there something else?” I grinned; it was good to see Iris. I’d missed my friends. Then it hit me like a punch in the gut. “Where’s Lingyi?”

  Iris and Lingyi were pretty much inseparable. Since I was closer to Lingyi, it was odd that Iris had been the one to reach out, then meet me without her. “What’s going on?”

  Iris took so long to answer, I thought she was playing with me, but when she finally let out a low breath and spoke, I realized she was trying to rein in her emotions. “I don’t know. She disappeared somewhere in Shanghai.” Her voice cracked.
/>
  “Shanghai?” It was the last thing I had expected. “Why?”

  “She wouldn’t say,” Iris replied. “She left two days ago, but this morning I received a coded message from her. One that we had agreed on if she got in trouble.” She tapped on her Palm, and a song lyric played, echoing hollowly in the quiet alleyway.

  “Is that . . . is that a Jay Chou ballad?” I asked. “That’s your distress code?”

  Her Palm disappeared, and she glared at me. “Zhou, I’m worried.”

  Then I felt crappy for trying to make light of it. This wasn’t like Lingyi, to take a secretive jaunt to China and then disappear. “I know. But Lingyi’s one of the best hackers out there. If she needs to go dark and be untraceable, no one can do it better than her.”

  Iris nodded once, but I didn’t miss the gleam of fear in her dark eyes. “She’s vulnerable,” Iris whispered. “Things haven’t been the same since—” She broke off abruptly, but I knew what she meant.

  “How can I help?” I asked.

  “Come with me to Shanghai, Zhou,” Iris said. “I need backup, and you’re the best I know.”

  That was a serious compliment coming from Iris. “When?”

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “I think she’s in danger.”

  I didn’t hesitate. “I’m in. You know I’d do anything for you and Lingyi.” I might have kept my distance from my friends in these past months, but I never stopped loving them like family. That’s how families were, right? Even the happiest ones had disagreements and fought.

  Her lips pulled into a grim line. “One more thing.” She paused. “Don’t tell your girlfriend.”

  “What?”

  “Tell her you’re taking a short trip to the south, or Penghu. Whatever,” Iris said. “You can’t trust her.”

  “I do trust her,” I said. “She saved our lives, remember?”