“Aren’t you in thick with Chet Rey?”

“I know him.”

“Yeah, that’s sort of what I heard, but not really.” He laughed.

Now I was curious. “Why would Chet be of interest to you?”

“Okay, Ting. Something called Eagle’s Nest keeps coming up in connection with Rocco Basilang. It’s in his emails.”

“Rocco’s emails?” I wondered who had managed to hack into Rocco’s account. “It’s got to be some construction deal. Why is that suspicious?”

“Only because no details are there. Nothing. Just references to Eagle’s Nest that circulate with some powerful players, Chet included.”

“How do you know he’s not investing in gambling or brothels? Ten years ago, Chet had all those deals going down in Macao. Maybe it’s drugs?”

“It’s not drugs, Ting.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because in one of the emails, it goes straight to Gumboc.” Gumboc passionately hated drugs and would never have involved himself in a drug-related venture. “I’m sure it was sent accidentally through the wrong account, so it’s just good luck that I found out that Gumboc’s connected. If I knew Chet’s involvement—”

“José Martin, I don’t spy on people. I find it bizarre that you would ask me to.”

He chuckled to himself. “So you don’t want to speak against your own. I get it. But you could do some good. Don’t you want to be more than the aging beauty queen who comes back to Manila and then has Chet Rey following her around like a puppy dog?” He was teasing me.

“I’m actually fine with that,” I said. “I understand you’re chasing a story, so I’ll forgive your asking, because I’m sure there’s nothing there. When Eagle’s Nest reveals itself to be the hotel or nightclub or elite gambling circle that it most definitely is, I will let you know, so that you don’t lose sleep.”

José Martin hadn’t given up but knew now was not the time to press me. “Sige,” he said. “So your cousin . . .”

“Sort-of cousin,” I corrected him, “Laird Bontotot. Do you think I should be concerned?”

“What do you think? One minute he’s here; the next he’s gone. And last thing we know, he was headed for Marawi.”

“That’s news to me,” I said.

“I have to verify it,” said José Martin. “But that’s the rumor.”

And then I remembered. “I saw Laird talking to Rocco a few weeks ago. It was outside a bar in Rockwell. Do you think there’s a connection?”

José Martin was quiet for a moment. “Why was he meeting Rocco?”

“I think he wanted to write a story about infrastructure and the poor.”

“Which would be good for foreign investment in Basilang’s projects. He’s always trying to get coverage for his shit.”

This was true.