“Sure,” he said. His phone went off again. Chet got up and, after a moment’s patience, yelled something into the phone and hung up. “Your book?”

“Forget my book,” I said. “Tell me what’s happening with Gumboc.”

“Me tell you? Aren’t you the great journalist who’s telling everyone else?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me I have it all wrong?”

“Not all of it. Some of it. I don’t like the guy, but he’s right on a few things.”

“Like what?”

“So now you’re giving me the third degree?” He pushed his chair back and leveled another look in my direction. “I don’t like that they’re killing all the drug dealers, or so-called drug dealers, okay? That’s not good. It makes the Philippines look like a backwater. And I hate that. But Gumboc is working on the traffic, he’s working on infrastructure. Business is good. Obviously, there are problems.” He ran his thumb along the edge of the table. “It’s wrong that there’s a bounty offered on the dealers. It’s turned the police into headhunters. They’re underpaid. If shooting people on the street helps them make ends meet, they’re going to do it.”

“How much are they paying them?”

“The killers?” Chet delivered a dispassionate look. “Rumor, Ting, unquotable rumor, is seven thousand pesos.”

“And what’s the motive?”

“How should I know? Shit, Ting, I’m in business. I go to Korea. I go to China. I sell stuff. I buy stuff. I fix up some buildings. I work and I like working. Maybe in the past, I was involved in different kinds of deals, but now it’s all legitimate. You’re offending me.”

“I’m offending you?”

“Yes, you are.”

I had heard from others that Gumboc’s vendetta against the drug dealers was largely personal, that the ten thousand dead were some sort of performative revenge, the result of a brother who’d been an addict and had died. It made sense, and then it didn’t. Another possibility was that it kept the Philippines in a constant state of fear, making it easier to govern. Yet another possibility was that the iron fist of Gumboc appealed to many voters, who liked his swagger. If the Philippines were overrun with drug dealers, that would be an incentive for bringing back martial law. It all seemed plausible and could well have been all there was to know—and all I needed to know—but Chet’s casual arrogance annoyed me. I wanted to get under his skin. I didn’t know why Gumboc rattled Chet, but he did.

The waitress brought the drinks, set them gingerly on the table, and hustled off.

“How’s C. G.?”

Chet narrowed his eyes at the mention of his wife. “She’s fine.”

“And the kids?”

“Good.” Chet drummed his fingers on the table. “I know about your husband.”