CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.
I wasn't the sort to wear cute, girl-next-door type dresses. I liked my Timberland black boots and worn out jeans. But that didn't mean I was clueless on how to put on a face full of make-up and pull on a nude maxi dress with a thigh split – which is exactly what I did as the occasion called for. I was naturally tall but that and the pair of black heels I wore added more than a few inches to my height. I pulled my hair into a messy bun, pulling out a few curly strands to frame my face and rubbed my lips together before smiling a red painted smile.
Irvin walked into the bathroom. He pulled at his white collar, one hand hanging in his trousers pocket and gave me a nod of approval. "You clean up well."
"If it's going to be my last day on earth, I'd like to look good." I joked half-heartedly as my stomach twisted. I was nervous, I didn't know what to expect and neither did Irvin. Cole kept mum on the whole situation, patiently waiting for us in the living room. He rose, rubbing his stubbly jaw and gave a grunt. The sort of grunt that was neither happy nor angry, but satisfied, the man grunt.
Stolen from a movie was a black Mercedes Benz S Class. I knew the type because Dad used to drive one. There was a bald driver with shades and pressed lips, he held the door open before briskly walking to the driver's seat once we were seated. It all felt very secretive, like we were important people about to arrive at an event with flashing bulbs and desperate people wanting to be acknowledged. The drive was silent and took half an hour. The windows were tinted dark and I wondered if they were also bullet proof. It seemed likely given the situation. Irvin glanced at me briefly, smiling.
I smiled back; his gun weighing heavy in my clutch purse.
*
The house was a dazzling structure of marble white with an enchanting green front garden. It was a well-kept museum of Japanese style ornaments shaped into mini temple structures and giant hands with giant animals in stone. Inside was less impressive; too many bright lights, extravagant décor: riches and riches and rooms that stank of wealth. It was overcrowded, any second now it'd be a Disney film and all the furniture would grow legs and run out for freedom. Too many objet d'arts: a poor man's hallucination of what it would be like to affluent.
On the bottom of the staircase stood a man. Oily slicked back hair, a slightly crooked nose that I knew he had to be self-conscious about and a silk scarf that he wore to draw attention away from the fact that he had no chin. He grinned widely, stepping down and striding over confidently with all the grace of a man who knew he was important. "King," he said.
"Shěn," Cole said.
He turned his attention to me with a smile that was as false as Coles'. He looked at me and I felt like I was being photographed; forever trapped in Shěn's library of interactions. "Gui Shěn, it is a pleasure to meet you."
His lips scraped against my hand in a dry kiss. "Likewise," I returned with a nod.
"I take it you've never come to Shanghai before? How is my city treating you?"
"It's a beautiful city."
"Without a doubt." Gui seemed pleased, arrogant and boastful. His smile became sincere with a flash of teeth and he turned his swollen-head to Irvin, trapping Irvin's hand between both of his in greeting.
Introductions done, we were led to a room with an impressive view of the skyline. Artificial light was not needed; nature graced us with a land of greens and beanstalk trees. Jack would have a hard time scaling those. There was a black dining table, frosted glass top with heavy, high-backed chairs. I was seated next to Irvin further down the head of the table where Gui royally sat. To his right was Cole, sat relaxed, to his left was a man of muscles: big and burly. Easily able to crush our throats in one hand. Cole looked miniscule sat next to another man of muscles. They weren't there to make friends or to add to the weak conversation, but there to intimidate or warn, whatever it was it worked.
As soon as we were seated the left-seated man picked up a teapot, pouring Gui his tea first, moved on to Cole, Irvin, myself and then for his twin and finally poured himself a cup before setting the teapot down. It was all so alien and I'd get a sharp glance from Gui for pushing my chopstick in a ball of rice or for not holding my bowl of soup correctly – thumbs on the mouth of the bowl, fingers supporting the bottom of the bowl and palm empty. There was no eating before Gui until he commanded to do so ("Let's eat!") and there was no eating rushed or like an uncivilized horse. The pace of eating was in alignment with everyone else at the table and most definitely no finishing food completely (Irvin mistakenly had done so; Gui looked highly irritated, his scowl harsh and ugly on his face).
Food was set in the middle of the table: dumplings (which I could no longer avoid) oozed a warm soup once bitten into, noodles with red chillies and green garlic and succulent beef, crispy skinned duck with steamed buns (reason for Irvin forgetting his table manners) and seafood with their heads still intact.
Gui asked Irvin and I questions, probing into our lives, where we went to college, what our subjects were, our family. He was a persistent journalist, squeezing a story out of lifeless subjects. Irvin lied and I took his lead: I didn't need unannounced home visits.
As the night wore on we became agitated; I shifted in my seat, feeling uncomfortable with the unexplained interest Gui had in our lives: Cole's face grew darker and he had long stopped eating and Irvin ate hesitantly, his face torn as if he wanted to stop but he couldn't will himself to. He tried to appear occupied with eating but his head would shoot up and glance around the table, seeing if the room had disappeared yet. The two bodyguards straightened up in their seats, cracking their knuckles like they were in predictable Hollywood movies and giving Cole suspicious glances. Their impressive and yet frightening biceps stretched out their suits, ready to rip apart their clothes to mere pieces of fabric and become the new Incredible Hulks.
Gui appeared oblivious of the change in his guests. He chuckled, "Education is important. What are your career plans?"
"Uh, I'm not too sure yet."
Immediately his attitude towards me changed into dislike; quick as a snap of fingers, vicious as a venomous snake. "OH. I see."
One second he liked me, the other he resisted throwing himself across the table to pummel me into a mess of blood and black eyes. He cleared his throat, snapping his eyes to Cole and sighed deeply. "You're a guest here, King. No need to look so pained. It's disrespectful. I'm not holding you here."
"You know what I came here for," Cole looked at him, his eyes dead of emotion. "Enough games."
Gui grimaced, swallowing his displeasure like cough medicine, he rubbed his dry lips as if he was trying to stop his true feelings becoming known. "Desert is –"
"Shěn."
"Alright!" Gui stood swiftly, angrily. He waved his hand at one of his men and spoke in Mandarin. His tone was harsh, clipped, brimming with emotion like a child furious with their parents and threatening to kill them in their sleep. Staff came in in plain clothes, hurrying to clean the room of the dishes. They kept their head down and avoided eye contact, invisible if you didn't pay attention to them.
I had a slow building headache and I didn't know what was to come. Irvin stealthily grabbed my purse from my lap, taking out the gun. He shovelled food into his mouth at the same time and if I wasn't wary of the oncoming events, I'd be impressed. He didn't look suspicious, just a harmless teenaged boy. Cole rose, cocking his gun, holding it with the nozzle faced to the floor. Gui's second man jump up from his seat, pulling his gun out of his gun holster, aiming it at Cole. Gui stepped back, inching towards his man to hide himself. "I trusted you enough to not bring a gun into my house, King!" he yelled.
"Maybe you should've patted us down," Irvin said casually.
Gui scrutinised him with a stink eye and made to march over.
Irvin stood, focusing his gun at him.
"King!" Gui snarled.
"Drop it, Irvin."
"Big guy first," Irvin nodded to Gui's man.
"I won't tell you again, Irvin." Cole said provoked. His lip was twisted upwards, his jaw tensed.
Irvin complied, setting the gun down on the table.
Gui tapped his man on the arm with the back of his hand who placed his gun back into the holster and stood stiffly. "You won't be needing it, King." Gui said, shifting from one foot to the other. He was nervous.
"I was promised a complimentary axe but guns work better in my favour."
"You're not understanding, King!"
The doors opened and the man returned. He carried in a white, inconspicuous icebox and set it down on the table in front of Cole. Cole stared at Gui, appearing as if he should be shaking his head in disbelief. "What is this?"
Gui gestured, gritting his teeth.
As Gui's man reached to open the icebox, Cole aggressively smacked his hand away, growling lowly. "I can open it, pendejo." He flipped the lid, glowering, sighing aggravated and his hand tightened on the gun. "What the fuck is this? Huh?" he pulled out a decapitated iced head by the hair, throwing it infuriatingly across the room at Gui. Gui let the head hit his chest and fall to the ground, rolling not too far from where I stood.
"Christ," I mouthed and turned away. I felt bile crawl up my throat as the image of the head fixed into my memories. The face was comparable to a disturbing Halloween mask: stuck in horror, nose crusted with blood, mouth slightly agape, severed neck with an uneven cut and curled brown skin and blood. It was the frozen blood that got to me, straight out of a thriller except it was six feet away from me.
I've read the news: terror groups proudly showing the camera civilians decollated. It was one thing to see the coloured photographs and another to live in the experience. My nails dug into my palm until the skin broke and blood leaked. It stung but it felt good.
"I came here to kill him. That was our agreement."
"The situation was complicated."
"You didn't fucking stop to think and tell me this before I made the trip? I knew you would do this–"
"Don't raise your voice at me in my own house, King. I told you: there were complications. I couldn't allow you to execute him. He was my cousin, for God sake! His mother begged me on her knees to save him. It was a matter of pride and dignity, surely you understand that?"
Their words were incongruous: unintelligent, rambling nonsense. Nothing made sense. Both were so fanatical; taking the gospel and holding it to their chest as they argued about the want to kill another man. The very same man who was discarded on the floor, the level of disrespect to the dead was incredible. Cole was crying about Gui's disrespect for him, his bad manners, disregarding their relationship. Gui shouted about the greatness of his family name, his status and morality. His moral code would be sacrificed if he allowed Cole to murder the very cousin he promised him – as revenge, of all things.
Gui laid a hand on Cole's shoulder, sighing, and said sincerely. "Thank you. I knew you'd understand. Business will resume on Monday, yes?"
"Of course." Cole smiled a shark smile; he had smelled the blood and he was on his way. Gui must've been blind: Cole looked anything but genuine, his whole demeanour was deceitful, and his facial expressions was a farce, he was a fraud.
The driver came around with the car, like the journey the return to the apartment was dreadfully silent. I didn't acknowledge I was madly scratching my arm until Irvin grabbed my hand; forcefully holding on so I couldn't resume. Once back into the apartment, I headed into the bathroom to wash away the day's events and to get as far as possible away from Cole.
*
With our last day in Shanghai Irvin headed out with Qiang to Zhujjajjao Ancient Town. Qiang had asked me but I refused to leave the bedroom until they were gone. Cole had gone out and I didn't really care where, as long as he was gone and out of sight, I could relax. I didn't have much sleep and when I finally got around to unconsciousness, I had a nightmare. It was a distorted and gruesome film of yesterday's dinner – except it was my head that was in the icebox. It was awful.
A beautiful city had been ruined in a couple of hours. I wasn't in the mood to be sightseeing. I couldn't get the event out of my head, becoming frustrated, I rose from the sofa – I had been trying to focus on a programme in a language I didn't understand. There was something wrong with my memories, like a crooked smile I was trying to hide: I was having distorted flashbacks of a door, a postman, something... it was futile, like trying to extract blood from stone.
Shit didn't make sense.
The front door opened, slammed, footsteps, Cole walked into the living room. He stopped in the middle of the room for a long moment, and as quick as a snap of fingers, he picked up a vase of flowers and smashed it against the wall. The act was berserk, frenzied, totally unexpected. He snarled gravelly, the sound vibrating the back of his throat, and raised a chair high above his head. I met his incensed, hateful gaze with a look that asked, Are you mad? He fought with himself, with his rage, before setting the chair down softly. "Don't give me that look."
"What look?"
"Where you think you're better than me!" he snapped like an elastic band, riled up, "get off your high fucking horse, stop looking down your nose at everyone like you're too good to be poor, to be living amongst the rats."
"You don't even know me–"
"I don't need to," he gave me a dirty look, one filled with hate, "I know what you're like from observing your behaviour and attitude, you're a little bitch."
"I didn't know you were a psychologist," I kept my voice calm, showing restraint, "as for being better than you, I'd say I am. I don't get upset and have a tantrum because I couldn't hurt someone."
He scoffed softly, sneering derisively, and said. "You don't know jack shit. Why don't you bleat that good Samaritan speech to your murdering father? I'm sure he could use the advice. Or is Daddy an exception?"
"Can you act civil for once, Cole? Respect goes both ways."
I watched as he bites his tongue, sighs and sits looking peeved. He doesn't respond, his jaw jutting out stubbornly like a child who refuses to say sorry and turned his attention to the TV. I hold the silence with him and then leave the room to go pack.
When I returned he was sitting in the same position and now looked tranquil. Something had been bothering me since last night, and after deliberating for quite some time, I asked. "If I ask you something, will you promise not to bite my head off?"
"Go ahead."
"Did Irvin know why you were coming here?"
"Obviously."
"Why did you ask me along?"
"Because you're clueless, you would've drawn less attention to us. In case you didn't know, we were followed to Shanghai." He shook his head at my surprise, continuing. "Of course you didn't notice. White guy, glasses, he smiles at everyone, tries to strike up a conversation. No doubt he'll be sitting a couple of seats behind us on the plane back."
"Who is he?"
"An agent, works for national security. I'm somehow a threat." He smiled sardonically, amused.
"Was it worth the risk travelling all this way to exact out revenge?"
"It would've been if Shěn didn't lie to me."
"I don't understand you. It seems so barbaric to be invited to fly across the globe and to be honoured with the murder of another man."
"Shěn killed a close friend. I was promised the kill of his cousin to continue our relationship. He didn't hold up on his end of the deal. That was disrespectful."
"An eye for an eye–"
"Makes the whole world blind. Yeah. I get it." Cole said with a bite to his tone, ending the conversation.
*
Irvin returned with Qiang, jubilant, babbling a mile a minute about the places he went to see. It was evening, the sun was beginning its lethargic, drowsy slip into nightfall. Suitcases packed, Qiang jiggled his keys, waiting for us at the front door. Irvin was oblivious of the cold shoulder I was giving him, and oblivious of the headache he was giving me. "Oh, I took out all the cameras overnight," Cole patted Qiang on the shoulder, "you should find them in the bin."
Qiang didn't know what to do; he smiled falsely, and jiggled his keys once more.
*
I was eager to get home, to put the horrors of Shanghai in the past, to click delete and forget the nightmare. On the plane Cole gave me a discreet shove and I glanced up, walking past us was a white man, combed back light blonde hair, and a distinguishable mole on his cheek. His ears stuck out and his thumb tapped on his silver wedding band. His eyes were on mine; he smiled, nodded slightly and walked past our seats. "Inconspicuous, isn't he?" Cole murmured from besides me, keeping his eyes trained on his book (Stephen King – A Good Marriage).
"Hmm," I responded.
As the plane took off, Irvin's trying-to-make-time-go-fast games were slowly beginning to irritate me. "Would you rather live in Saudi Arabia or America?"
"America."
"Tofu or beef?"
"Beef. Tofu should be reserved for prison inmates."
"Vegans would disagree. Transgender or Asexual?"
"Asexual. Have you seen the murder and suicide rate for Transgendered people?"
"Good point. Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton?"
"Would I rather be a racist, orange-skinned piece of shit or a racist, blonde, piece of shit? Neither, Irvin. I'd rather be Bernie Sanders."
"Tell the truth or lie?"
"Depends. What would you choose, Irvin? Say hypothetically a friend asked you about the intentions of another. Are you going to tell the truth or lie?"
He didn't catch on, thinking it over for a quick second and then saying. "I'd tell the truth – always."
"Right. Go to sleep, Irvin."
"Uh, sure."
I made a mental note to distance myself from Irvin – distance myself from everyone; Cole especially.
CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.