The cab I flag down isn’t nearly as nice as the Suns’ car. But I sit in its seat and feel as if I’m going in circles. Around and around. Backward, forward, back again. The city spins by, the same as before, except now it’s night. When the cab starts climbing Tai Ping Hill, all of City Beyond is glowing. Neon fire blazing against black night. Dark sea. I try to look for Cassiopeia, but it’s lost. Swallowed in electric fog.
The driver looks over his shoulder. “What was the number again?”
“Sixty-two,” I answer, and try to pretend that my world isn’t falling apart. That Mei Yee and Dai aren’t trapped in Longwai’s brothel. Surrounded by henchmen and guns. That I’m not there to fight for them.
It’s just like every other run, I tell myself, even though I know it isn’t. Do it well and they’ll be safe.
But there’s no quick exchange. No drugs for money and then done. I’m going to get a man who visits my sister. The man who pays money to Longwai so he can—no. I can’t think about it. Not with a gun hanging heavy in my pocket.
I pick at a hangnail instead. Tearing and rooting at it with anxious teeth. When we pull up to number sixty-two, there’s a chunk of skin missing from my thumb.
“Want me to wait?” asks the cabdriver.
I shake my head and hand him the cash. The driver leaves me on the side of the road. In the dark. Under stars and towering pines. By the open gate.
The house is up a hill, through a thick screen of trees. It’s a building made more of glass than metal. Light shines through transparent walls, makes everything around it glow. Dozens of people mill inside, like tiny dolls. The women are draped in gowns. The men wear crisp black-and-white suits. A lot of them are foreigners—with light hair.
A party. The ambassador is throwing a party.
The people behind the glass move like fish, swimming round and round in a tank. This world—these people with their jewelry and drinks—is almost more terrifying than a line of Longwai’s men. The men who are probably holding guns at Dai’s and Mei Yee’s heads.
I suck in a breath. Hold in the tears of fear and pain. I walk up to the door.
The doorman sees me. His smile turns into a frown.
“Please,” I manage before he can say anything, “I need to talk to the ambassador.”
“He’s busy,” the servant says. His voice is tart. Like his face.
“It—it’s about Mei Yee.”
“Young man, I don’t know who you’re talking about, but you have to leave.” The door starts to close. “Before I call security.”
I catch the door with my left, good side, and slip through. The doorman cries out. I give him a sharp kick in the shins and run.
I scramble into the middle of the party like a frantic piglet. A few of the Western women scream softly—words I don’t understand.
“Osamu!” I yell, because I don’t know what else to do.
The guests freeze. I feel more stares than I can count.
“What is the meaning of this?” One man surfaces from the rest. There’s a quiet thunder to his words. Dim, controlled anger. “How did you get in here?”
He’s older than I expected. His hair is silvering. There are more creases than smooth on his skin. More of an almost-corpse than husband or lover. Bile rises into my mouth. I swallow it back. Make room to speak.
“Ambassador Osamu, I need to talk to you.” I bow, even though I feel more like pulling out Dai’s gun and pointing it at this man’s chest.
“This is hardly the time or place, boy.” Those old, wrinkled lips pull tight. He’s looking to the back of the room. To security that will drag me off at any moment.
I decide not to waste any more time. “It’s important. It’s about Mei Yee.”
When I say her name, his eyes widen. His jaw grits. I’m not sure if it’s fear behind his face or something else.
The ambassador grabs my bad arm, pulls me away. We pass the glaring doorman massaging his shins. We end up outside, in front of his house, by a trickling fountain. Our breaths cloud each other’s faces.
“Where did you hear about her? How dare you come into my house and jeopardize my honor in front of my peers and my wife!” My. My. My. He spits the word over and over into my face. His saliva flecks my cheeks.
I look straight at this man. At the puff in his chest and cheeks. The hard pride in his eyes. I look at him and I hate him. The feeling spoils me, running through my arms. Curdling my chest and gut. It’s as if every other hatred I’ve ever felt is pouring into me: Kuen, my father, Longwai. I can barely speak because of it.
“Mei Yee is in trouble. Longwai caught her doing something she shouldn’t, and he’s going to punish her. He doesn’t want you to know.” I treat every word like a world of its own. Try to balance it. Keep it even.
The ambassador’s fingers clamp onto me, squeezing harder than a rattrap. There’s power in his stare. He’s trying to intimidate the truth out of me. “And how do you know this?”
“I—I run drugs for Longwai. One of the other girls in the brothel wanted me to tell you. She said it was urgent. A matter of life and death.”
These final words seem to sway him. Osamu lets go of my arm and returns to the door. I look back to the window-walls, where a bunch of primped, pale faces gaze through the glass. Staring at me.
The ambassador exchanges words with the doorman and takes a thicker jacket to cover his party-wear. His fancy leather shoes cut past me with quick steps.
“Come,” he calls at me over his shoulder. Like he’s summoning a dog. I have no choice but to scramble after him.
He doesn’t even look down when I reach his side. “I swear to the gods, boy, if you’re wrong, I’ll have you stashed away for a long time.”
Threats mean nothing right now. My face is bathed in sweat. Side literally splitting. Hiro’s old shirt is damp with my blood. I don’t know if I can keep going.
I do manage to crawl into the ambassador’s car, feel the lump of Dai’s gun when I collapse against the leather seat. It digs into my side. Reminds me of the six bullets. Six chances at getting my way. Getting away.