The Deaths of Tao (29 page)

Regardless, for old time’s sake, and after much begging and pleading, Roen left his meeting with Lin three million Taiwanese dollars richer, which was supposed to bankroll the team for a few weeks. He wasn’t sure exactly how much the conversion to US dollars was, but he based his calculations on the fact that an order of stinky tofu at the street market cost forty Taiwanese dollars, so he had roughly seventy-five thousand stinky tofu worth of funds.

They rented vans from the Bamboo Union and stayed off the grid. The Genjix undoubtedly watched for financial transactions. The team never moved in groups of more than two, and made sure to stay away from areas with surveillance. A week later, they had settled into a rental apartment near the port in Kaohsiung. Ray found it in the classifieds from a couple who were studying abroad in South Korea. It didn’t have all the perks that a standard safe house had in the States, but compared to their previous digs, the small two-bedroom condo was a mansion. And it only cost twenty-five thousand Taiwanese dollars a month, or six hundred stinky tofu.

Roen tossed his duffel bag to the corner of the living room and did a quick walkthrough of their new home. They still bunched three to a room, and one on the couch and floor, but it wasn’t too bad. They had just enough time to settle in and get a reconnaissance team going. Having sat on their collective asses for a week, the team was raring to go. He ordered Stan and Ray to get some supplies at the local grocery store, Jim to get a detailed map of the Linhai Industrial Park, and Grant to make dinner. He put Hutch on guard duty and left Faust to his bonding sessions with Ramez.

Roen wouldn’t admit it to the guys, but his concern for Faust was growing. His friend had good and bad days, and was often caught arguing with himself in the corner. Obviously, he hadn’t learned to use his inside voice yet when speaking to the Quasing. Or maybe he just didn’t care. The conversations never sounded pleasant either. That night, Roen watched from inside the condo as Faust spent all of dinner sitting outside on the balcony ranting at the air.

“Maybe you should have a talk with Ramez. See what’s going on.”

That would be rude. Quasing do not tell each other how to deal with their hosts.
 

“Maybe he and I should talk to him.”

That inappropriateness extends to you too, Roen. Let them figure it out.
 

Roen kept an eye on Faust as the rest of the men ate. His friend had not moved from the balcony all night. Finally, as they were clearing the table, he brought dinner to Faust as an excuse to chat. He walked out to the balcony with a bowl of brown rice with tofu in one hand and a six-pack of Taiwan beer in the other. He placed the food and beer on the small table and pushed it over. Faust didn’t seem to care about either and continued staring out into the night. Unfazed, Roen sat down next to his friend and put his feet up. They sat in silence for ten minutes. Roen had hoped that Faust would open up first. When he didn’t, Roen decided to give it a go.

“Kind of muggy tonight, huh?” he said casually.

Eloquent as always I see. You must score quite often in speed dating.
 

“Hush. I’m trying to break the ice.”

“Is there something I can help you with, Roen?” Faust spoke in a dull, tired voice. “If it’s okay with you, I’d just like to be left–”

“You know,” Roen quipped. “Did I tell you how I used to be this fat dude who weighed over two hundred pounds? Was wearing size forty-two pants. Huffed and puffed going up and down an elevator. Then one day, this crazy voice started talking in my head. Made me do all sorts of crazy shit like jogging and throwing out pot pies. Hell, he hurt my feelings and called me names. Made me go shopping for clothes.” He paused. “Did you know that I never shopped for clothes until I was thirty? My mom used to do that for me.” Roen swore he saw the end of Faust’s mouth tilt up just a smidgen.

“Look,” Faust put his hands behind his head and stared straight up. “I know what you’re trying to do and I appreciate it, but I don’t need a pep talk. And honestly, just don’t even try.”

“I’m just saying, as a host, I can sympathize,” Roen struggled for the right words.

Faust’s eyes narrowed. “Just because you’re a host doesn’t mean you went through the same things. You’re not a mind reader. You don’t know what I’m thinking. And by the way, it’s none of your goddamn business anyhow.” His voice trailed off, and the two ended up sitting in silence again.

Is this unfolding as you planned? I told you this was not a wise idea.
 

“Did I ever tell you about my pregnancy theory?” Roen quipped again.

Good Lord. Not this.
 

“I’m pretty sure I know how pregnancy works,” Faust said dryly.

“I’m talking about the pain.”

“You mean how my wife always lords over me about how much pain it was to give birth to my two kids?”

“Exactly. So you know what I told Jill? We were coming back from a Nationals game. I had drunk too much beer and we were still twenty minutes from home. I told her that it hurt so much holding it in that now I knew what it felt like to give birth.”

Faust choked on his beer and gasped at Roen in disbelief. “You didn’t!”

Roen shrugged. “As a guy who has been shot a couple of times, I have a pretty good gauge for pain. I think holding the bladder ranks up there. Pregnancy couldn’t be that much worse.”

And you wonder why Louis thinks you are an idiot.
 

“Well, Tao, she didn’t have to announce my theory to her entire family and force me to explain myself.”

Faust held his hands up in front of Roen’s face as if holding an imaginary ball. “You realize that a baby comes out of a woman’s vagina about the size of a cantaloupe.” His hands extended out a little more. “It has to expand to that size.”

“Maybe a fat baby,” Roen grumbled.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Faust said in dismay, giving Roen an incredulous look. “My wife would whack me on the side of the head if I told her that.”

“Jill did,” Roen admitted.

Faust frowned. “And how exactly does this relate to a Quasing in my head?”

“It doesn’t,” Roen admitted. “Just wanted to see if you still had a sense of humor. But look, you’re going through some stuff right now, much like how I did when I first got Tao. Yeah, both our circumstances were different, but just because I don’t know exactly what you’re going through doesn’t mean I don’t recognize the pain and confusion you’re dealing with. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but you just had a sudden change in your life that’s akin to a woman getting pregnant, except for them it’s nine months. For you, there’s no going back. For a woman, it’s mostly biological. For you, it’s completely psychological. And to be honest, I bet Ramez’s an asshole to boot.”

That earned a chuckle from Faust. “You got one thing right so far.”

“So what is it?” Roen continued. “You feel exposed? No more privacy in your world? Is Ramez harping because you’re not subscribing to his every whim?”

“You were a blank slate when Tao found you,” Faust said stubbornly. “He was able to mold you. I’m an old dog. You can’t just teach me new tricks. You don’t know how I feel–”

“You mean about losing control of your life? How you’re suddenly not sure if the sounds inside your head are from yourself or this alien presence?” Roen shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Every other Quasing since the dawn of time has gotten along swimmingly with their host except you. The problem must be you.” He took a swig of the Taiwan beer and passed it over.

Faust stared at the can for a moment before taking it. “It’s a lot to get used to,” he conceded. “Nothing like how I thought it’d be.”

“Just remember,” Roen said. “We’re not the Genjix. We don’t consider the Quasing some form of holy angel from up on high. You’re Ramez’s partner and you both have to treat each other with a certain degree of respect and deference. Set up boundaries. You two are stuck together for a long time.”

Faust downed the beer and crushed the can in his hands. Roen picked up two more and handed one to him. They clinked cans and sat in silence again.

“A long, long time,” Roen finally said, really elongating those vowels.

“Like being pregnant forever,” Faust added, lighting a cigarette.

Roen finished his beer and patted Faust on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’m here if you need someone to talk to. Figure your crap out, because we need Faust back.” He turned to leave.

“Hey, Roen,” Faust called. “Thanks.”

Roen nodded. “Any time, buddy. By the way, since you can’t seem to sleep right now, you get first watch. Make happy with Ramez and get your ass back to work.”

 

TWENTY-SIX

DINNER PARTY

The Great War almost saw me to the Eternal Sea. I was unprepared for Franz’s death, and survived only by flitting through a Serbian national. All that I had built to obtain a host in the Prussian royalty was lost in an instant. In those four years, I occupied over forty hosts.
 

It took until near the end of the war before I was able to regain my equilibrium and inhabit another young Prussian nobleman. It took several more years to re-establish my lines of communication with the Prophus network. Then World War II happened.
 

Baji

 

Jill’s eyes started drooping somewhere in between Senator Gastigone’s diatribe about defense, the deficit, the debt, and some other d-something. Her brain wasn’t computing on all cores right now. He had this monotone voice that had an inflection range between middle C and C sharp. His monologue became a
Peanuts
episode with the teacher making
wah wah wah
noises.

Wake up!
 

Jill shook herself and stifled a yawn. She spent the next few minutes willing her eyes to stay as peeled open as possible. She picked up a glass of water and sipped. It was her fifth sip in as many minutes. She wasn’t even thirsty, but the pretense of drinking helped keep her awake. Her body swayed as if she was at sea and she desperately sought a way to conclude the meeting. Then she noticed that Gastigone had finished talking and was looking at her expectantly.

“What did he say?”

He asked if Wilks was serious about the tort reform compromise.
 

“I don’t remember. Help me, Baji. I’m dying here.”

Repeat after me.
 

Jill launched a rather eloquent defense of Wilks’ tort initiative and how he felt that addressing that issue along with campaign transparency would have a trickle-down effect on all of government. Then she continued with how cap limits of contributions would hurt Gastigone’s party much less than hers.

“Baji, Wilks won’t touch tort reform with a ten foot pole. We can’t sell this to Gastigone.”

You mean we are going to lie? Oh, the travesty.
 

“You’re writing checks I can’t cash.”

We will cross that bridge when we get there.
 

At the very end of the meeting, she received his lukewarm support, which didn’t leave her with any fuzzy feelings about their chances.

“Will you be attending the Exxon Gala tonight?” he said as he stood to leave. “I would like to discuss this further.”

Jill cursed. She yearned for an early bedtime. Marco had gleefully informed her about a particularly grueling session tomorrow and she wanted to rest for it.

“Of course, Senator,” she smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Do you have a date?” he asked, a bit too coy. “My wife couldn’t make it from Kansas.”

“I do,” she replied hastily. Her heart panicked at the thought of being his date. An entire night sitting next to Gastigone might end up with one of them dead. She just hoped Marco was available.

Of course he is. His job is to protect you. You will have a wonderful time. I know the perfect dress for you to wear.
 

“Quiet, you. Stop trying to set us up.”

Imagine how dashing he would look in a tuxedo. You would have such beautiful, intelligent children.
 

“I swear if you’re calling my son ugly and dumb, I will never speak to you again.”

Jill made a polite exit and hurried back to the office. If she had to attend this gala tonight, her day was just cut in half. She crossed Pennsylvania Avenue, her eyes wandering to the White House as she passed. She reminded herself to make sure Marco’s background check went through alright. It usually took Secret Service weeks to clear someone. Paula had ordered him cleared expediently. Hopefully there weren’t any problems, or she’d end up with Gastigone all night.

Speaking of the devil, Marco miraculously materialized next to her, strolling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He kept looking straight ahead and murmured just loud enough for her to hear. “Your bangle blipped, showing an elevated heart rate. Is everything alright?”

“I got asked out on a date,” she growled.

Marco’s mask of smug confidence was momentarily shattered. He laughed. “That cad,” his voice quivered as he covered his mouth. “Tell me... did he offer to buy you dinner as well?”

Jill scowled. She wasn’t in the mood for his patronizing. “Your job is to protect me, not give a running commentary on my life.”

“Oh, come now, Jill,” he said jovially, “why so peeved? You’re a beautiful single woman. You have to know men would come calling.”

Jill crossed 14th Street and cut through Freedom Plaza. She might actually get to have lunch today at a decent hour. She stopped near one of the food trucks parked on 13th and ordered bibimbap tacos.

“You want one?” she asked, already stuffing half a taco in her mouth.

“Oh, no, thank you. I have a delicate palate.” He grimaced at the heavily fermented kimchee. Jill dropped the other taco into her purse. She’d have to eat on the go. Wilks had a conference call in ten minutes and she had to be there to babysit. “I’m not going to make it,” she said, raising her non-taco hand to hail a cab. She turned to Marco. “I’m heading back to the office. Do you have a tux?”