“I ran into something.”
“John and I were just talking about restaurant locations,” she says, trying to make nice or, more accurately, make normal.
“Yes.” John nods. He turns to Mom. “I think… Dongsi Shitiao very nice area. But not so many people walking by. Not like Sanlitun. Maybe that is better?”
“I’m not so crazy about Sanlitun,” Mom says with a frown. “I think someplace that’s a little quieter might be nicer.”
I chug about half my beer, wishing it were stronger.
“Yili, are you ready to go to lunch now?” John asks.
I shake my head.
“Is something wrong?” my mom asks. The way she’s looking at me, she knows something’s wrong.
I laugh. “Yeah. You might say that.”
I catch John’s eye, and he’s giving me a warning look. The one that means, Don’t say anything.
I glare back. He doesn’t get to have an opinion this time.
I face my mom. “Okay. I can’t really explain the whole situation right now. It’s complicated. And it’s bad. So I’m just gonna tell you a bullshit story about… I don’t know, Chinese gangsters in the art market, and we’re having a business disagreement, so this isn’t a good place to be right now.”
“Yili-” John starts.
I hold up a hand. “Don’t.” I turn back to my mom. “Can you and Andy go someplace for a week? Like Hong Kong? Maybe take Mimi with you? She’s got her papers. Right, John?”
John gets that scrunched-up look for a second, then nods. “Yes. I can help arrange.”
Through all this my mom’s watching me with her mouth slightly open and a confused expression on her face.
“Are you talking about actual Chinese gangsters?” she asks.
“I’ll explain it all better later, I promise.” I slug down some more beer. I’m thinking it’s Percocet time.
“This isn’t fair,” she suddenly blurts out. “You’re always hiding things. You know my life’s an open book, and I get that hasn’t always maybe been a good thing for you, but you never share anything. You just… you just keep it all to yourself, and you won’t let anyone help you-”
“You know how you can help? By just fucking doing what I’m asking you to do, okay?” I pour out the rest of my beer and slam the bottle onto the table. Brace my hands on the edge of the table and push myself to my feet. “I’m gonna change my shirt,” I mumble, and I limp off to my room, banging the door closed behind me.
I dig around in the top dresser drawer for my main Percocet stash. Get out the bottle, pop it open, and tap a pill onto my palm.
I hear a whimper and a scratching at the door: Mimi.
I hobble over and let her in.
“Sorry, pup,” I whisper, scratching her neck where the thick ruffle of fur is. “You don’t like all this yelling and drama and stuff, do you?”
Her tail thumps on the floor.
I look at the Percocet in my hand. My leg doesn’t really hurt that bad right now. It’s more like I just don’t want to feel this shit.
I have maybe fifty pills left. Sounds like a lot, but it’s not, not really, and what you don’t want to have happen is to keep taking them, run out, and then have to go cold turkey. I’ve done it before. It’s nasty.
I split the pill in half and put the other half back into the bottle.
When I come out, I’m wearing a shirt that doesn’t smell like stale sweat, and I’m feeling a little calmer. I guess I should apologize or something. I’ve got to figure out how to keep my cool better.
Or I could stop getting kidnapped and/or beaten up by assholes. That would probably improve my mood.
John’s still sitting at the dining-room table, thumbing the screen of his smartphone. As soon as he sees me, he puts it down and stands up, like he’s thinking about coming to me and giving me a hug or something.
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, uncertainly, his hands clasped loosely in front of him.
Which is a good thing, because I pretty much want to smack him.
“Where’s Cindy?” I ask. My mom’s nowhere in sight.
“She is fetching Andy.” His hands fall to his sides. “Can you tell me what happened?”
When I finish my story, John looks grim. The only thing he says is, “I see.”
He strides over to the kitchen window, the one with a view of the courtyard parking lot. Stares out. I get the feeling he’s taking an inventory of every car, every person, every object, looking for threats.
“You see something?”
“No. Does not mean no one is there.”
“Shit.” Because it hits me like a bucket of ice water. “They could’ve seen you come up here.”
He nods.
I think of something else. “Could they…? Could this place be…?” I point to my ear. “Can they hear us now, do you think?”
“I don’t think so. Not this quickly. I check before.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.
You probably bugged the place yourself, I want to say, but I don’t.
John goes over to the TV and turns it on. Finds a loud variety show and cranks the volume. Cartoon sound effects and high-pitched screams of teenage girls fill the room.
“Maybe best thing for you to go with your mother to Hong Kong,” he mutters.
“No way.”
“Why? You are better off in Hong Kong than Beijing.” He’s all certain, the big man who knows best. Better than I do anyway.
“Because they’re watching me, John,” I say, and I know I sound really pissed, because isn’t that obvious? “I go with Mom and Andy, they’re gonna know about it and follow us there. I stay here, Mom and Andy can go on their own, and maybe no one will notice ’cause they’re busy watching me. Maybe they won’t even care.”
His expression wavers, just a little, because he hadn’t thought of that, and he knows that he should have.
That’s when my front door rattles, and Mom and Andy walk in.
Her eyes are red, the lids puffy. Great. I made my mom cry. Andy is close behind her, solid, slightly padded, like she could fall back on him if she had to and she’d be okay.
“Yili, ni hao,” Andy says, like this was any other day. I’m starting to see why my mom likes him. When everything’s going batshit, there’s something to be said for a guy who doesn’t seem to rattle, even if the calm is coming from his faith in Brother Jesus of the Righteous Thundering Fist.
“Hi, Andy. I’m sorry,” I say to my mom. “I didn’t mean to… I just… Things are really screwed up right now.”
“I guess I get that.” She sniffles a little. “Why do you have the TV on so loud?”
“Because, uh… just because.”
“Heibang can be big problem,” Andy says with a nod.
Is he really buying my story about gangsters? I wasn’t even pretending to be serious about it.
“I have car,” he continues. “We can drive to see my family in Xiamen. Xiamen is very pretty. Mimi can come, too.”
I hesitate. I’d feel better if they got out of the mainland altogether. But Xiamen’s only a couple hundred miles from Hong Kong, there’s all kinds of flights and even boats that go to HK from there, and if they just go to visit Andy’s family, maybe it wouldn’t attract as much attention as crossing into Hong Kong. They could get away with not contacting the local PSB for a couple of days to register my mom, and it’s not like the different provincial authorities always talk to each other. Maybe it would be safe.
Has to be safer than Beijing anyway.
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to meet your family, Andy,” my mom says with a little smile.
He slips his hand into hers. “I know my family like you very much.”
She blushes.
It doesn’t take long for Mom to pack a suitcase and for me to gather up another bag with Mimi’s food and dishes. Mimi’s dancing around, all excited, stands up on her hind paws and rests her front paws on my hips, her doggie hug: road trip!