Dragon Day

by Lisa Brackmann

  “Oh,” Sidney says. “I should tell you. Your mother has come for a visit.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ★

  IT TAKES ME a moment to absorb this.

  “You kidnapped my mother?”

  “Ellie.” Sidney sounds hurt. “How can you say such a thing?”

  The nice thing about being really pissed off is that rage tends to push the fear away.

  I take a deep breath. I need to calm down, and I need to be smart. Because I can’t reach through my iPhone and strangle Sidney. There’s no app for that.

  “Sorry,” I say. “It’s just that I don’t understand. My mom’s in Xingfu Cun?”

  “Yes. She and her friend have some car troubles. On the road.”

  I try to piece this together. I know Sidney’s MO. I experienced it a couple of months ago.

  “So … you had people following my mother. And when they had this ‘car trouble’—”

  “I invite your mother and her friend to come for a visit.” He sounds very happy about this. The jovial host. “Because of course I want to meet your family. Since you have met mine.”

  Silence. I’m not sure how to fill it.

  Finally I say, “Is my mom close by? Because I’d like to talk to her for a minute.”

  Another pause.

  “Of course!” he says. “She is just in the dining room. Having a snack.”

  And he puts me on hold.

  A blast of an old-school Chinese patriotic folk song from the fifties, full orchestra and a woman with a high nasal voice warbling at a glass-breaking volume fills my ear. I wait. It feels like forever, but it’s probably more like two minutes. Then:

  “Ellie? You there?”

  It’s Mom. She sounds anxious. I can’t tell if she’s scared.

  Me, I am so pissed off that I’m ready to head down to Xingfu Cun with a black-market AK and do some serious damage.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. We’re fine. Andy’s here, and Mimi. We were just having a bite to eat.”

  She sounds fine anyway.

  I calm down a notch. “Okay. Listen, you don’t have anything to worry about. Sidney is … a little different, but he likes having guests.”

  “Is he one of the arte bandidos you were talking about?” she says in a low voice. I figure Sidney’s got to be listening.

  “I, uh … Kind of. It’s complicated.”

  “Okay. Don’t worry, hon, everything’s fine. Mr. Cao’s been very nice. The food is delicious. And that wine, what was that wine, Mr. Cao?”

  “Call me Sidney!” I hear in the background. “It is Bordeaux. Château Margaux.”

  “Yes, really tasty!” Her voice drops again. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “You have your phone?”

  “Hm-hm.”

  “Okay. I’m going to call it from my new number. You have any problems at all, you call me.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, hon. We’re having a lovely time. Y puedo cuidarme de mí misma,” she adds.

  And I can take care of myself.

  “Oh, it means ‘Have a safe trip,’” I hear her say, presumably to Sidney.

  Kick ass, Mom, I think.

  “You do what you need to do. Just be safe, okay? And call me as soon as you can.”

  “I will,” I say. “You, too.”

  For a moment there’s silence. Then Sidney.

  “So you see your mother and her friend are having a very nice time in Xingfu Cun,” he says. “Tomorrow we can play laser tag. Or maybe karaoke.”

  “Great,” I say.

  “And you go to meet my children.” This, in case I had any doubts, is not a request.

  “Will do.”

  “And you can call me each day and tell me about these meetings.”

  “I can do that. But you need to do something for me.”

  “What?” He sounds impatient. Like I’ve got no business asking him for anything.

  “Get Yang Junmin off my ass. You want me to do this, I can’t be worrying about him getting in my way.”

  There is a long pause. I hear footsteps, I think, and a door close. Sidney, getting some privacy maybe.

  “Ellie, I am sorry,” he says, and it sounds like he really means it. “I can only have so much control over Yang Junmin. I can tell him you and I are friends and you help me with this art business. But sometimes he does not listen.”

  I stare at my bottle of beer and think it’s time to drink some more. The one thing I counted on was that Sidney and Yang were “lips and teeth,” as they like to say here, as close and inseparable as brothers. That Sidney gives Yang money and Yang helps him make it. But if Sidney can’t control him …

  Maybe they aren’t as close as I thought.

  “Okay,” I say. “Do what you can do. Just … take care of my mom. And Andy. And my dog.”

  “I can do that. I like your mother, very much. She is … haoxinren, you know this word?”

  Good-hearted.

  “Yeah. She is.”

  His voice drops to a whisper. “You see, I think it is better for her to come here. Xingfu Cun is a very nice place. And safe.”

  After I get off the phone with Sidney, I sit in the café a while longer, drinking my beer. There’s no way I can be sure, but I’m wondering if I’ve gotten things backward with Sidney. Sure, he wants me to do what he wants me to do. Yeah, he’s willing to strong-arm me to do it. And he has people killed. I know this from personal experience. Plus, the amount of money he has and the way he uses it are sometimes pretty gross.

  But he also saved my life, and even if that was because he needed something from me, I have to appreciate it, since I’m still alive and all.

  Maybe he was telling the truth, in his own way. He might have “invited” my mom to Xingfu Cun to give me an incentive to hang out with his kids. But maybe she is safer there with everything that’s going on.

  I can’t be sure. But it would really help me keep on going with this mission if I could believe that.

  ★ ★ ★

  So what do I do next?

  I want to stay off Uncle Yang’s radar, to the extent I can. That means I’d better put off any meetings with Tiantian. I didn’t get the feeling he and Yang are all that close—and if Tiantian’s been banging other women, who knows, they might not be on good terms at all. It’s one thing for rich and powerful men here to have mistresses. More of them do than don’t. Ernai, “second wives,” are a status symbol, like a Rolex, and if you can fit more than one on your arm, more power to you.

  But Uncle Yang seemed very protective of his sister’s crazy daughter.

  Besides, if I had to pick a least favorite Cao, it would probably be Tiantian.

  Though it’s a close call.

  Which brings me to Gugu. I have to figure, logically, that if one of the Caos killed that waitress, odds are it was either Tiantian or Gugu. Okay, I guess it’s possible that Meimei could be some kind of crazed psychotic killer, but beating and choking a girl to death like that? I figure it would take a lot of rage, the kind of anger that makes some men attack women, not to mention the strength to do it.

  Though Dao Ming seems pretty pissed off. I can’t rule her out.

  So … Gugu. He gets off on playing baby and sucking milk from a wet nurse for hire. Could he also get off on beating up a woman? It doesn’t seem to go together to me, but then what do I know about how crazy head cases think? I can’t even figure out my own crazy head.

  He’s got some anger issues, though. No doubt about that. And he drinks, a lot, plus who knows what else he’s using? Put those things together and you can’t always predict what happens.

  And Gugu comes with Marsh. I still don’t know what I think about that guy. He’s kind of a creep. I wouldn’t trust him with my daughter, if I had one, with my money, if I had some, with my dog, or with my back turned. Or with my mom, given her generally terrible taste in men. He kind of reminds me of one of her boyfriends when I was in middle schoo
l, now that I think about it, the one who was super charming and treated her really well and then stole her credit cards and split.

  I’ve never seen Marsh get really mad, but maybe he’s the kind of guy who’s good at hiding that part of himself.

  Then there’s Meimei. She’s weird. Not because she’s maybe gay or bi and not because she may or may not have been hitting on me. There’s just something about her that feels off. The way she reacts, or doesn’t react, to stuff. Her whole fascination with my being a soldier, being outside the wire, finding that “admirable.”

  Which isn’t that unusual, I tell myself. Lots of people think it would be cool to play soldier. Most of them have only played the video game.

  There’s nothing very admirable about what I did in the war, or the war I did it in.

  But maybe I’m overthinking all this.

  I look up Meimei’s number in my online address book, and then I text it.

  IT’S ELLIE. YES, HAD SOME PROBLEMS WITH MY OLD PHONE. THIS IS MY BACKUP. CAN YOU GIVE ME A CALL? I’D LIKE TO TAKE YOU UP ON THAT OFFER TO HELP.

  Then I sip my beer and wait.

  I don’t trust her, at all. I’m just hoping I guessed right that she’s the least lethal. To me anyway.

  I’m still drinking my stale Rogue when the phone rings.

  “Wei?”

  “Ellie, is that you?”

  Meimei.

  “Yes. Thanks for calling.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Beijing.”

  She chuckles. “Yes, I assumed so. Where in Beijing? I can come to pick you up.”

  I hesitate. If I’m wrong about her … well, I’m pretty much SOL. But I placed my bet. All I can do now is let it ride.

  “Haidian. Near Beijing Daxue.” And I give her the address.

  I’ve switched to Yanjing Beer because of the “beer-flavored water” factor. As much as I’d like to get really loaded, I know I’d better not. I don’t know what I’m getting into with Meimei.

  I’m about done with a draft when she saunters into the bar. She’s wearing what looks like a vintage embroidered cowboy shirt, sky blue with red and yellow roses, skinny jeans, and cowboy boots. Snakeskin, I’m pretty sure.

  “Cute bar,” she says, dropping onto the chair across from me.

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  “I think it is maybe …” She purses her lips. “More authentic than some other places, like the restaurant we go to before.”

  More authentic? I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “Or maybe you are,” she says, smiling at me.

  Great.

  Why is it the last few years I feel like I’m always playing a game where I don’t know the rules and I don’t even know what the object is?

  I sip my watery Yanjing Draft. Think, I tell myself. Here’s this woman. This girl. I mean, she’s younger than I am. She’s worn a different costume every time I’ve seen her. Like she’s trying on different identities. Maybe she doesn’t know who she really is.

  Maybe in the core of herself, there’s nothing there.

  I shiver a little, because people that are empty inside that way, I’ve met them.

  “Yeah, you know, keeping it real and all,” I say.

  She’s studying my face. “What happened to your eye?”

  “Frisbee accident. I was playing with my dog. You want a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  I wave to the waitress.

  “Just whatever you are having,” Meimei says.

  “Zai lai liang bei zhapi,” I tell the waitress.

  Two more beers.

  “So,” Meimei says, after the beers come. “Have you been staying busy since we met for dinner?”

  That has to be a joke, right? The way she’s smiling at me, it must be.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Running around a lot. You?”

  “Oh, not so much since we had dinner. Just … visiting with the family.”

  “I thought Gugu went out of town,” I say. “To go work on his movie.”

  “Oh, sure.” Meimei sips her beer. Her nose wrinkles. “He left this morning. Early.”

  I think about it. I don’t know when Celine died; I didn’t stick around long enough to check her out too closely. But I’m guessing she’d been dead awhile by the time I got there this morning.

  So last night. Not too early—I’m assuming that gallery is open during the day—someone would have found her, right? It could have been before dinner, I guess. Gugu and Marsh arrived late, now that I think about it. But probably after.

  Everyone was pretty drunk by the end of that dinner, though.

  Maybe no one killed her. Maybe she just OD’d.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  “Your Uncle Yang’s pretty pissed off at me,” I say.

  “Oh? Why?”

  “You don’t know?”

  She pauses, as if to consider. “I think actually he was mad at your friend.” She rests two fingers on her cheek, tilts her head to one side. Stares at me, that little smile on her face, but without the usual amusement behind it. “Do you know why that is?”

  Man, that game we’re playing? Whatever it is, I think she’s better at it than I am.

  “I guess Yang Junmin didn’t like some of the things John had to say.”

  Meimei nods. “Yes.” She puts on a thoughtful expression, like this is something she’s just now considering. Which I don’t believe, not for one second.

  “It was almost as though your friend accused Yang Junmin of something,” she says.

  So what do I do? Tell her I know about the dead girl at Tiantian’s party?

  She must suspect that already, right?

  I wave my hand, all dismissive, trying to match her performance. “It’s just his way of making conversation. John’s got kind of a thing for justice. Maybe he’s a little suspicious of powerful men.”

  “And you say he is a businessman?” She chuckles. “Funny. Not so many businessmen are concerned with justice. Just with making money. And keeping that money safe.”

  “He’s an unusual guy.”

  “Apparently so.” She glances around the bar. “And he is not here?”

  “He had some … some meetings.”

  “I see.” She puts her elbows on the table and her chin on her fists. “So what can I do for you?”

  “I need a ride,” I say.

  “You want to go to Movie Universe?”

  “Marsh invited me to come down and visit the set. Of their film.”

  “I didn’t know you are interested in films,” Meimei says, chin still resting on her fists.

  “I thought it might be fun. Plus, you know, Gugu and I, we still need to talk.”

  “About the museum project.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  “Okay.” She sits up straight. “So we can go together.” A smile. “I can even invite Tiantian. So we can all have this discussion.”

  “I … maybe we should just keep it simple for now.”

  “But it’s a long drive. We should just fly. I can get a car in Shanghai.”

  “You mean, on your dad’s jet?”

  She laughs. “No. That’s in Xingfu Cun. By the time he can get it here … Even my father has some trouble just flying to Beijing without a flight plan. Other places, sure, you can just go, fly a hei fei, but not Beijing.”

  A black flight. I know about those, from back in the Sandbox.

  Off the books.

  “For a jet it’s faster to get a flight plan than for small planes, but still …”

  Who knows how Sidney got me out of Shanghai so fast a couple of months ago, but I’m guessing it involved substantial amounts of money.

  She sighs. “So silly. In a year or so, I think these rules will change. Many people in China want their own planes now, and to fly them when they want.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Understandable.”

  “So we can just fly on a regular airline.”

  She checks her watch. It’s a fancy-lo
oking retro thing, all stainless steel with actual hands, two tiny dials set in the larger face. “I think there is still a flight at ten P.M. If we hurry, maybe we can make it.”

  “Yeah, well … I’d rather not do that.”

  “Why?” She chuckles. “Do you have a fear of flying?”

  “I, uh …”

  Think your uncle-in-law might be watching the airport, waiting to see if my passport pops up when I buy a ticket.

  “Yeah. Flying. Not crazy about it.”

  “Maybe we can make the last train tonight to Shanghai, then. If I drive very fast.”

  I will say this for Meimei: she’s a way better driver than Sidney. Or maybe it’s just that there’s enough traffic on the highway to the Beijing South Railway Station that she can’t drive quite as fast as he did the time I rode with him. Still, she weaves her Beemer two-seater in and out and around other cars with some grace, without slamming on the brakes, like she knows what she’s doing.

  It’s possible that the Percocet I swallowed with the remains of my Yanjing Beer might be affecting how I’m feeling about things, too.

  “In a few months, we have the gaotie, the high-speed train, between Beijing and Shanghai. We can get back and forth in just four, five hours. That will be lovely!”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Looking forward to it.”

  We make it onto the last train to Shanghai with seven minutes to spare, leaving Meimei’s car in a VIP lot and grabbing two upper berths in a first-class car.

  “Like a slumber party!” Meimei says, bouncing on the bed a bit.

  “Yeah.” I am really hoping for the “slumber” part of that equation.

  “I can see you are tired,” she says. “We can talk more on the way to Movie Universe. About the museum project.” A pause. “Or whatever it is you really want to talk about.”

  I don’t sleep much. There’s the usual middle-aged snoring guy on the bunk below me. My leg is aching, and I can’t get comfortable. Mainly I can’t stop the wheels turning in my head.

  What is it that Sidney expects from me? How am I supposed to find out which of his kids had something to do with a murder?

  I can hang out with them. Call Sidney every day. That’s what he asked me to do. But I don’t see how that’s going to help me get out of this mess.