I Was Here(71)

             “I’m scared.” It flies out. This absolute truth. All_BS seems to pull it from me. Which is an irony, of sorts.

             He continues: “You know what George Patton said? ‘All intelligent men are frightened. The more intelligent they are, the more they are frightened.’ That holds true for women, too, I’d say.”

             I don’t say anything.

             “Have you decided on a method?” he asks.

             “Yes, I’m going to—”

             “Don’t,” he cuts me off. “That’s a personal decision.”

             “Oh. Sorry.” I’m not just disappointed. I’m devastated. I want to tell him so badly.

             “Are all your affairs in order?”

             Affairs in order. That’s the language one of the sites he referred me to used. It had all the instructions about writing the note, creating a legally binding will.

             “Yes,” I answer. I feel dazed.

             “Remember, the opposite of bravery is not cowardice, but conformity. You are bucking conformity, choosing your own path.”

             Somewhere it registers that Meg would’ve loved this sentiment, if he used it on her. She was all about bucking conformity, right up to the very end.

             “Now, like all things, it’s a matter of following through. Screw your courage—”

             “To the sticking place,” I finish the sentence without thinking.

             There’s a pause on the line. Something is being weighed. I’ve made a mistake.

             Then I hear a burst of commotion as the ambient background noise clangs through the phone. Electronic bleeping and the clatter of change. It’s the sound of slot machines, lots of them. A sound I recognize from the Indian casinos.

             “The door was locked,” I hear him bark, his own voice different now.

             “Sorry, Smith. Lock’s been busted for weeks.”

             There’s the sound of a door slamming, and the noise goes quiet again.

             “We should wrap this up,” he says in a formal tone. “Best of luck to you.”

             “Wait,” I say. I want him to send me the stuff I found in Meg’s trash: the encrypted documents, the checklist, more evidence, more proof to hang him with.

             But he’s gone.





29

             That night I call Harry Kang.

             “Harry? It’s Cody.”

             “Cody . . . Hey . . . .” A car horn blares, and there’s a loud cacophony of people talking.

             “Where are you?” I ask.

             “In Korea, visiting my grandmother. Hold on.” I hear his phone shuffle and then the electric ping of a doorbell, and then it’s quieter. “There. I’m in a tea shop now. Seoul is nuts. What’s up?”

             “I might have enough information. Or I’ve gotten all I’m going to get.” All_BS’s last words echo in my ears. Best of luck. Like it was my high school graduation we were discussing. Or like he knew it was the last time we’d ever speak.

             “What do you have?”

             “This is what I know for sure. Actually, I don’t know anything for sure. Here’s what I have. I’m pretty sure he’s on the West Coast somewhere. He always seems to be having dinner when I am or things like that.”