Rhee flattened his nephew with a sooty gaze. "We also do disposals." He turned back to Ari. "Guess you couldn't help notice because you stickin' your fat nose in our business."
"Fat?" asked Ari, touching his nose. He had been gratified by the young man's visible shock when he mentioned the computers. What surprised him, however, was a slight gasp from Lawson.
"You finished, now you know all my business?" Rhee demanded. The buff badboys edged a little further into the room. They did not put on a display, refrained from growling or cracking their knuckles. They just stared blankly, like missiles aimed at a potential target. Ari suspected they only knew a few key words in English, like "Attack!" and "Kill!" What would 'Down Boys!' be in Korean?
"I wanted to ask your nephew..." He swiveled in his chair to face the young man fully. "Did you receive a call from a strange woman a week ago? Did she say something like...oh, 'Is Ethan there'?'"
Unlike his uncle, the nephew had never learned the art of maintaining a poker face. "No!" Feeling his uncle's gaze on him, he repeated, "No!"
"You get lot of calls," said Rhee, his voice fluting around smoke and phlegm and anger. "Maybe I take away your phones, too."
"I never heard of anyone named Ethan! I told her—!"
"Big dummy," Rhee interrupted. "Big computer geek has big empty zero for brain. Here..." He leaned over the notepad. Shielding his writing with one hand, he wrote out the password. "Take this and don't come back. And don't call anyone."
Eagerly, the young man snatched up the pad and raced through the gap the badboys made for him.
"Fucking ninny," said Rhee, throwing the pen down in disgust.
A warm sensation on the side of Ari's face informed him Lawson was boring through him with his remaining eye.
"And you, full of tall tales...crashing cars and people imports...you go get shrink scream around in your head. I got no use for you."
Ari opened his mouth to serve up one of his platitudinous lies, but the proprietor had turned his attention to Lawson.
"And you, Mr. Ugly—"
"Fuck you."
"We can do business. Pull up your pants leg."
"Didn't I already say 'fuck you'?"
"You shy?" He made a gesture and the buff badboys disappeared back up the hallway, one of them unable to subdue a yawn. They had not been eager for a fight, Ari concluded. They had been bored to death.
"OK, goons gone," said Rhee. "Now pull up that pants leg. Not the real one. The gimp. I'm not joking. I tell you, we can do business, both profit."
Ari was as stumped as Lawson. He looked at the insurance man and shrugged.
"What are you thinking?" Lawson asked him.
"I'm thinking I'm curious about what Mr. Rhee is getting at. I won't look if you don't want me to."
"You've seen everything, remember?" He hesitated. "I'm curious, too." Laying his cane on the floor, Lawson curled his fingers around his pants cuff and pulled upwards, exposing a long, hinged shank that rounded at the bottom in a Buster Brown clubfoot.
"Higher," said Rhee.
"Let me save us both the bother," said Lawson. "It goes halfway to my hip."
"Ha!" exclaimed Rhee. "Your great army gave me the same piece of shit. Transfemoral crap. How long before it wears out? They say four years? Lucky if it lasts one. How's the COP on the foot?"
"COP?" asked Ari.
"Center of Pressure." Lawson's eye narrowed on Rhee. "You know something about prosthetics?"
Rising from his seat, the proprietor circled around and lifted his leg. There was a loud thump as it landed on top of the desk.
"Get load of this." He unsheathed a gleaming prosthetic. "It's an Indian knockoff of the one they make in Hampshire, England. Got microprocessors, perfect gait. Check out the knee. Hydraulic, with stance manager. Carbon fiber, urethane kneel pad, cadence control, even has a switch to ride bicycles. You look like athletic man. One of these'll last you for years. I've had this for two, and not one complaint."
Lawson leaned forward and stared in admiration.
"And no limp! Ask your friend here. He spy on me the other day with his sharp eagle eyes. Ask if he saw a limp."
"Well?" Lawson asked Ari, who shook his head sadly, disappointed that his power of observation had failed him.
"What Americans gave me was cheap shit, just like that stick you're wearing."
"True that," Lawson nodded. "The U.S Government gave it to you? Was it an accident? What insurance companies were involved? Or were one or both parties uninsured?"
"Not here. Back home. I had a shop in Daeseong-dong, right in the DMZ. Sold gum and cigarettes and my little sister to GI's. One day they have one of their big-cheese REDCON alerts, like the North Koreans pooping over the border. It was just practice, but they still run you down you get in the way. I was with my nephew...that thing you saw earlier. Even then he had zero for brains. He was just standing there in front of Camp Bonifas—you almost have to walk through minefields to get there—when this deuce and a half comes up. Big Zero doesn't move, like he don't understand what two and a half tons of moving metal can do to you."
"You jumped into the road, saved him, and got that for your trouble." Lawson nodded at the leg still propped on the desk.
"You bet. Americans take look at me and boohoo the day away. They wanted me to die—living costs them money. But I didn't. They had to cough up, make Seoul so happy. Your government has something called solatia and condolence payments for people who have lost relatives. They say they paid for my leg already, and I say my real leg was like a brother to me and now it's gone. I threatened to go to The Chosun Ilbo with big story about cruel Americans, and top it off about how their GI's gave my little sister the clap. Next thing, the money rolls in, but not enough to suit me and my extended family."
"How old was your nephew when this happened?" Lawson inquired.
"Oh, five, six."
"And he's around eighteen, now."
"Came to the States eleven years ago. They say, you want more money out of the bastards? Go where the lawyers are."
"The USA." Lawson's half-grin was painful to behold. "Use the bastards to sue the bastards."
"Didn't have to sue, in the end. Americans paid my way over. I was a special case because I lived in DMZ and U.S. Army ran me over—"
Lawson's grin vanished and he swore. "We give foreigners room and board here for sucking up to us overseas, but a real American grunt gets a letter of commendation, which is worth nada in the marketplace. 'Thanks, pal, and try not to overuse the VA facilities'. Fuck."
Ari shifted uncomfortably.
Rhee did not take offense. He shrugged. "Funny country. I used my connections at home to start import business, made more connections, everything A-Plus. No crashes, no people imports." This last directed at Ari. "I got relatives in Pyongyang, though. They might nuke you one day, you get too pushy."
"Why are you telling us all of this?"
"Like I said, we do business. I can import brand new factory-made lower body prosthetic from Mumbai, made from isocyanate and polyol bonded in a mold to suit your leg."
"How much?"
"Usually goes for $8,000."
"But it has to be measured...fitted."
"I can arrange visit with doc in Charlottesville, get measurements, fix you right up. Arm, too, but I don't know much about them."
"You'll want a downpayment..."
"Exchange of services better," said Rhee, lowering his leg and retrieving his cigarette from the ash tray.
"Mmmm-hmmm," Lawson sighed. "You mean 'non-service' on my part."
"I mean stop bothering me with nonsense. Car crashes, missing persons, other stuff. You get ugly serving your country? You deserve to sit back and relax in a comfortable arm and leg. Watch baseball. You need a girl? I can arrange that, too. Good, obedient Filipino, and your looks no bother. Likes GI's. Her family works for sailors at Subic Bay."
"You're more charming by the minute," Lawson groused. "Just out of curiosity, what would you
offer my co-worker here?"
"Don't know. What you want?" Rhee asked Ari warily, as though expecting the sun, or the moon, or a spit in the eye.
"A cat," said Ari.
"No, really." When Ari did not respond, Rhee continued, "I know what you want: no more trouble. I don't know what happened to you the other day, this 'message' business you talk about. But maybe I can ask around, make whoever it is lay off. You don't like trouble, do you? Because what happened to you is nothing. I do government work, too."
"The Korean government?" said Lawson.
"Hell no, U.S. Government. I waited a long time, but now I becoming citizen. Who wrote the Federalist Papers? Go ahead, ask me. I can tell you. How many Representatives are there in Congress? What do the 13 stripes on the flag stand for? I know it all. Going to Norfolk pretty soon to take naturalization test."
He had trouble pronouncing 'naturalization'.
"What kind of work?" Ari asked, feeling a little queasy. "What agency?"
"Confidential," said Rhee, easing back in his chair like the chief executive of a major corporation. "But they wouldn't want a couple of insurance investigators snooping around their business. I sorry about this missing man. Maybe he got into trouble somewhere else."
"Maybe..." Lawson mused. "Those prosthetics...how much would they cost me if I didn't take it out in trade?"
"Plus the arm? Probably $15-16,000 total. Wrists are expensive. You think your government would pay?"
"My government wouldn't pay for a portable shit box," Lawson fretted. "You know the price of everything you import?"
"Good businessman knows his business."
"I can think of some CEO's who could take lessons from you," said Lawson. "Those clove cigarettes you're smoking are banned in this country, by the way. You get caught, they'll deny citizenship."
"It's OK if I roll them myself. Anyway, you like them? I throw in carton of Kreteks, bonus, straight from Indonesia."
"Aren't you incorrigible?" Lawson turned to Ari. "We done here?"
"You've been a most gracious host," said Ari, standing.
"I get girl for you, too," said Rhee, spreading a grin of yellow teeth across his face. "Much better than cat."
"He must be procuring Asian call-girls for the government," Lawson observed once they were back in the Scion.
"Would you be surprised?" Ari asked, tuning up the heat.
"Not as much as you'd expect." Lawson searched for a convenient niche for his cane. "What does surprise me is you not telling me about those computers. You say they threw theirs out?"
"I followed the boy to Caroline County, Beacon Corner Junk & Salvage. His van was full of computers. He insisted they be destroyed. Crushed, burned."
"Fuck."
"This concerns you?"
"If they were compromised...and that's what it sounds like...I know the most likely man behind it."
"Ethan."
"You already guessed?"
"I puzzled out some pieces." Ari pulled out and headed for the expressway entrance. "I don't think those people have ever seen Ethan. How could he have entered their computers?"
"My guess? He went phishing, came up with some cock-and-bull story to get remote access. Which means he would have had to find someone at A-Zed dumb enough to let him in."
After a brief pause, they said, in unison:
"The boy."
"How did you come up with the notion that he's smuggling illegals into the country?" asked Lawson.
"I ran into a fellow Italian who probably shouldn't be here," Ari lied casually.
"What, a fucking Mafioso?"
"I wouldn't know, but he was wearing a trinket similar to what Rhee had on display."
"That's a stretch. Those things are everywhere."
"He said something about receiving 'assistance'." A Mazda Millennia came perilously close and Ari edged away. Was the driver Korean? He couldn't tell. He was suddenly nervous about being on the road. With unprecedented prudence, he slowed down and began to drive responsibly.
"But why not government assistance?" asked Lawson. "Maybe your Italian buddy got help from the same agency that Rhee bragged about."
It was a frightening possibility, but Ari did not say so.
"What could have been on those computers that would have gotten your man into trouble?"
"Shit," said Lawson, still unable to find a proper place for his cane. "There's not enough room to swing a cat in here."
"Why would you want to swing a cat?"
"If your guess is right, and this Korean buckaroo is bringing in illegals..."
"Whose names would be on his computers..."
"And those illegals found out their names had been compromised..."
"And if they were particularly dangerous..."
"They'd do anything to make sure that man didn't hand his list of names over to Immigration."
"Or anyone else," Ari concluded. Seeking to find a cheery note in all of this, he asked: "How does it feel to be back at work?"
"You mean back in the field?" Lawson worked his cane to the side, freeing his leg and prosthetic. "Years ago, I took my boy to Hollywood Cemetery. Been there yet?"
"Where movie stars are buried?"
"No, here...in Richmond. The name refers to the holly bush. Or tree. Hell if I know which from which. The cemetery's got graves that go way back. Well, not as far back as Italy's, not by a long shot. Not as old as some graves you'll find in a Louisiana parish. But you'll find people who were born and died in the 1700's, which is pretty old for us. It's where Jefferson Davis is buried."
"A notable man?"
"One of my personal heroes."
"A soldier?"
"And statesman. President of the Confederacy during the Civil War. The American Civil War."
"What is it about him that you admire?"
"I was joking. He was a first-rate scumbag. He led the war to defend slavery and came a lot closer to winning than folks like to admit, especially these days. But you know all that, right? You have some awareness of basic American history?"
"I know about the witch hunts."
"In Salem, Massachusetts," Lawson nodded.
"No, Washington, DC. Mr. McCarthy and the Communists."
"That's not very far back. You don't know anything from earlier? Tell me you at least know something about slavery."
"The ancient Italians had Greek slaves."
"I mean here, in Americalala Land."
"Yes, I've seen your slaves. From Mexico and South America, right?"
"Crap, those aren't...well, maybe you have a point. But I mean real slaves, chains, whips, permanent servitude. Look at me. What race am I?"
"You were Negroid before your injury."
"And now my black skin's been blown off and I'm nothing, is that it? You're really painful to know, you know that?"
"It has been alleged." Ari glanced in his rearview mirror. "Is that car following us?"
"Oh shit..." Lawson studied the passenger rearview. "Maybe. Who the fuck knows? Who cares? There must be twenty cars back there. Let's get back on topic."
"I know you are black and that your forefathers were slaves," Ari admitted.
"Now why would you game me on something like that? Are you trying to pluck my nerves?"
"What was our original topic?"
"Oh...you mean, how does it feel to be back in the field? You're pissed because I drifted off-topic. Well excuse me, massa."
"You were beginning to tell me a story about a cemetery."
"Right...right. Well, my boy, Dave, was about four at the time. I took him walking up and down the hills at Hollywood and we came on a Confederate grave from 1863. I can't remember the cracker's name, but the inscription ended 'fell at Chancellorsville'. Dave was already reading pretty well by then, and he said, 'Dad, they don't say if he got back up.'"
"Very amusing," said Ari.
"Yeah, I laughed. But years later I thought about that."
"Even the dead need to pick themselves up off th
e ground and move on," Ari said agreeably, dismissing the car behind him.
"Well, the near-dead have to."
"So you found today's events uplifting?"
"I found today very...enabling."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"I can't come inside, much as that would please me," said Ari to Rebecca as he stood on her doorstep. "I only wanted to bring you up to date as much as I could..."
"About Ethan?" The cold added to Rebecca's tension. She hugged her arms, shivering.
"That number you called on Ethan's phone bill—"
"To that Chinese girl."
"She was Korean, and not a she. That was a very girlish young man."
"A man!"
"There was no romantic integument," Ari said hurriedly, suddenly remembering that this was the land where homosexual marriage was verging on legality. "Your husband was taking advantage of his technological befuddlement. By doing this he might have alienated some bad people. He is...staying under the blankets?"
"But he's all right?"
"I believe so," Ari affirmed. If he runs fast enough. If he isn't dead already.
"If you find him, can you ask him to at least give us a call?"
"Most assuredly." There was a loud clash of gears as a large box truck turned onto Beach Court Lane. "Please forgive me, but I must depart."
"Thank you. Thank you so much..."
But Ari was already halfway down the sidewalk. He fell in beside the slow moving van and pointed at the end of the lane. The driver rolled down the window. It was Karen Sylvester.
"I think I know where I'm going."
"Deputy Marshal! I am so glad to witness your brutish capabilities!"
"Shut up, Ari," she said, and rolled the window back up.
Keeping pace with the truck, Ari surveyed the immediate neighborhood. The nearby tree stands, the Nottoway residence, even the unnamed island in the middle of the James River...observers could be watching from any direction. And that included Howie Nottoway, who had been coerced into spying on him once before. Why not again? Ari had the sickening feeling that the Americans had unintentionally betrayed his location...to the Americans. And this second set of Americans was far less tolerant of Ari's foibles. He had seen American snipers in action in Iraq. If the time came, he would never know what hit him.
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