But Inchoy ignored me. He had stood up and was no longer hidden. He pushed off my hands as I made a grab for his arm and then was walking to the chopper and the people gathered there, walking with his right hand raised. He was holding the gun. I opened my bag and unzipped the compartment. Bibo’s hairbrush was there again. I saw Gumboc and the others register Inchoy, and then I saw Chet, who had looked for and found me, as I was now standing in full view. His face paled with fear and he mouthed “run” at me, “run.” I stumbled back two steps, then, as Inchoy began to fire, started running in the direction of the taxi.

The taxi driver must have heard the gunshots and had already started the engine. I threw myself into the back seat on top of the bags and brooms. I sat there for a moment, my heart pounding. I could feel my pulse in my temples. The driver did not ask where my companion was, just watched me nervously in the rearview mirror.

“Saan po?” he asked. Just then I got a text from Chet.

Take the next bus. Do not go back to your hotel.

I texted back:

What about Inchoy?

I waited for an answer.

Next available bus.

I instructed the driver to take me to the bus station and would have added that he should hurry, but he pulled away from the side of the road with his foot hard on the gas pedal, as eager to get me out of his car as I was to reach my destination. My mind began to swing wildly between wondering how Laird had managed to still be alive and panicking about what might be happening to Inchoy. I held my phone, waiting for some missive. At least Chet was there for him. Inchoy must have been arrested, detained in some way, locked in a room in that fortress of a house, guarded over by one of Gumboc’s thugs. He must have been scared. I felt dizzy and alert, cold as well. This was fear, pure fear, as I knew the danger was real.

We were approaching the bus station, but I asked the driver to drop me by the McDonald’s on the corner. Chet wanted me out of town, away from my hotel, and that meant he thought someone would be looking for me. I got out of the car nervously, aware that my height and light skin made me easy to pick out. The area around the bus station was bustling with large family groups, people moving boxes, a few American backpackers. Vendors crowded the sidewalk outside the door. I took one bag of the day’s shopping and left the other on the back seat.

“Yung banig po,” said the driver, gesturing to the bag. I shook my head in response, overpaid, and then made my way quickly across the street.