I looked at the wavering pen lines, squinting. “It’s a four.” I stabbed at my halo halo. “Why wouldn’t Chet tell me he was here?” I said.

“Because he doesn’t want you to know,” said Inchoy. “He doesn’t tell you lots of things.”

“Do you think he’s here?”

“If you really want to find out, why don’t you track his phone?”

“Track his phone?”

“Yeah. I have an app. I used to like to see where Bibo was.”

“Can anyone do that?”

“Unless he’s blocked it.”

“Is it legal?”

“Legal where?” asked Inchoy, for which I had no answer. “Here. I’ll try his number.”

I waited as Inchoy made various moves, touching his screen, and then waited. “Well?”

“Hm. Predictable. It’s blocked.” Inchoy shrugged. He moved his paperwork to one side and took a fork to his plate of noodles.

“Try this number,” I said. I read off the number that was given only to me and C. G.

Inchoy maneuvered around on his screen and we waited. “What number is that?” he asked.

“Wife line,” I said.

Inchoy smiled and waggled his eyebrows. “If this is right, he is here.”

“I knew it.”

“So you knew it and now you still know it.” Inchoy chewed thoughtfully. “Ting, if Chet doesn’t want you to know he’s here, he probably has a good reason. I mean, he is a capitalist pig, but he’s not stupid. You should probably leave it alone.”

“True,” I said. “But where is he?”

“Look, you can see the dot.” He held the phone for me where Chet glowed in a small red circle, signaling from somewhere in Baguio.

“Where is that?”

Inchoy tapped the screen and enlarged a map. “Just outside of town. Amu, no, Ambuklao. Ambuklao Road. I don’t know it. Must be residential.”

We had already instructed the driver to bring us back to Camp John Hay when I had a change of heart. “Let’s just take a peek. We can drive by.”

Inchoy considered, then addressed the driver. “Kuya, are you familiar with Ambuklao Road?”

“Oo po,” said the driver.

“What kind of street is this?”

“Maganda po. There aren’t many houses yet, but the ones they are building are very big.”

Inchoy raised his eyebrows to me. The only thing that Inchoy liked more than shopping in the market was looking at real estate, especially houses that he would never be able to afford. Perhaps this is why it did not create a conflict with his socialist values. “Okay, Ting,” he said. “We’ll just swing by and take a look.”