I saw again Inchoy running up the street, his arm extended, firing off one shot, all the rest of the events swallowed up in the noise of the chopper blades. Of course they had killed him. The worst had already occurred. “And what happened to Gumboc?”

“A scratch, his arm. He found it funny.”

Inchoy was dead, picked off by some armed person, someone used to carrying a gun. I nervously checked the rearview mirror and caught Top Gun’s profile as he looked out at the passing storefronts and packs of children, always vigilant, always ready. I thought back to that moment when Inchoy decided to kill Gumboc, intent on revenge. It was the fire of liget, but also that long-burning hatred at the suffering of his people. Had he really thought he could kill Gumboc? In the end, it was an act of self-immolation.

IX

IX

I didn’t know what time it was or how much time was passing. We were now taking back roads and I had lost my map entirely. We were in a part of Manila where I had never been. The buildings were all one story, the road a strip of concrete with deep ditches on either side. A pack of dogs skittered across our path, the barking diminishing as we sped away. Chet would occasionally confer to ask Top Gun questions, usually inquiring if Top Gun had heard back from some person that I’d never heard of. The answers were either simple affirmatives or negatives. They were keeping me in the dark.

“Chet,” I said. “You told me you weren’t in business with Gumboc.”

He replied without hesitation. “Business is business. This is something else.”

“I don’t understand.”

Chet gave me a weary look. “It’s true. You don’t understand, and you won’t, because you think you’ve figured it out and aren’t willing to make the effort.”

“Inchoy is dead,” I said. “I want to know why. Maybe I was stupid to look for you, but Inchoy should still be alive. Some—” I wanted to say thug but couldn’t with Top Gun sitting there. “Some person killed him and you owe me a real explanation.”

“I owe you?” Chet’s face hardened and he shook his head, which I knew meant he was controlling his temper. For the first time, I saw how angry he was. He was blaming me. This was all my fault. “What’s this, Ting?” He had reached down to the console where the empty plastic bag from my soft drink was resting.

“It’s a bag. I bought a Mirinda to drink on the bus.”

“And who did you buy it from?”

“Some kid selling soft drinks.”

“And how old was he?”

“I don’t know. Twelve?”