don’t say anything. I twirl a forkful of spaghetti, and I eat it. Not bad, actually. Good noodles. ‘Yes,’ I tell the waitress. ‘Please bring parmesan.’
Suit #1 leans forward. He’s the younger of the duo, a wiry guy with wide eyes and an earnest expression. ‘We’re not here to cause you any problems.’
I take another bite of spaghetti. It tastes okay, but it’s going down like glue. ‘So why are you here?’ I ask.
‘Ellie –’ Trey begins, all concerned and placating, but Suit #2 cuts him off.
‘The Uighur. Hashim Abdullaabduzehim.’
I have to think about this for a moment. ‘Abdulla … ?’
‘Abdullaabduzehim,’ Suit #2 repeats impatiently. He’s a half dozen years older, a couple inches taller, and a whole lot bulkier than Suit #1, with heavy-rimmed glasses, a bristling mustache, and a scary edge. The bad cop, apparently.
I decide it’s best not to say anything. I focus on twirling the perfect forkful of noodles and sauce, braced against my spoon.
‘You met him, right?’
Why is it so hard to get the right amount of noodles on your fork? You either end up with a few pathetic strands or half the bowl.
‘I meet a lot of people,’ I finally say. ‘So what?’
Suit #1 puts his elbows on the table and leans forward. ‘Mrs Cooper, it’s very important that you tell us anything you can about Mr Abdullaabduzehim.’
‘Why?’
‘Mr Abdullaabduzehim is a known associate of Islamic extremists who plan to carry out attacks against American interests.’
‘Against people like your former comrades-in-arms,’ Suit #2 says. He sounds pissed. ‘If you still give a shit about them.’
I put down my fork. ‘You know what? Fuck you.’
‘Mrs Cooper …’ Suit #1 sighs. ‘I know you’ve had a rough time. We wouldn’t intrude on your privacy if it weren’t extremely important. Mr Carter here …’ He stares at me, those wide eyes of his suddenly seeming like a cartoon of sympathy. ‘Mr Carter gets impatient.’
‘Parma-san.’ The waitress has returned, with a little green can of cheese. ‘More beer?’
‘Yes, please,’ says Trey.
‘The Uighur,’ Suit #1 continues. ‘He was staying with a friend of yours, Zhang Jianli. An artist of some sort, right?’
I don’t say a word.
‘In Mati Village. You went to Mati Village yesterday. You spend a lot of time there.’
I drink some beer. I turn to Trey. ‘What have you been telling them about me?’
‘It’s not him, Mrs Cooper,’ Suit #1 says.
‘Who is it, then?’
He smiles. ‘We have an interest in Mati Village. A lot of interesting people go there.’
‘Listen, Ellie.’ Trey gives me a look, as warm as can be, like he really cares. ‘You help these guys, they can help you.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘They’ll set you up with a job – you won’t even have to go to work if you don’t want, but you’ll get your visa. So you can stay here after I leave, if that’s what you want.’ He stares at me, and those green eyes turn hard. ‘’Cause I’m leaving. I’m divorcing you, and I’m gonna marry Lily, and I’m taking her home to the States with me.’
I have to blink a few times. Because for a moment – and it’s the weirdest thing – I just want to cry. I know he doesn’t love me, and I don’t love him either. He’s a shit. A total shit and a hypocrite. Why should I care what he does?
‘Oh, I get it,’ I say furiously. ‘They promised you something, didn’t they? Like a no-hassles green card for your girlfriend.’
Suit #2 slaps the table. ‘This is a waste of time.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Suit #1 says calmly. ‘We just need to get things back on track. I’m sure that Mrs Cooper wants to help, and maybe we can help her with a few things.’ He turns to me. ‘You’re receiving, what is it, a seventeen-percent disability?’
I don’t bother to ask him how he knows that.
‘Seems a little low.’
‘That’s what they rated me,’ I say.
‘Those leg injuries looked pretty severe. And I don’t know why they turned you down on the PTSD. Obviously you’ve had significant adjustment problems. Working part-time in some dive bar in China – not exactly what I’d call a career choice.’
I really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I don’t like being repetitive.
‘Look,’ I say, ‘I met a guy named Hashim, maybe for all of five minutes. The last thing I would have figured him for was a terrorist. He was just an ordinary guy. We said hello, we ate some dumplings, and that’s all I know about him.’
‘And your friend, Zhang, what’s his association? Have you heard him express any anti-American sentiments, or –?’
‘He’s an artist,’ I say with emphasis. ‘He’s not political. This Hashim guy was just a friend of a friend. That’s all.’
‘You’ve never heard him express any political opinions?’
‘No. We don’t talk about that kind of stuff.’
‘What do you talk about?’ Suit #2 interjects.
‘I don’t know … just … stuff. Movies. TV shows. Beijing traffic. He’s not political,’ I repeat. He just likes taking in strays, I want to say. But I don’t say it, because these two already think I’m some kind of psychotic low-life.
‘He’s your lover, right?’ Suit #1 asks casually.
I flinch. I hate that expression, ‘lover.’ Like this is some kind of fucking romance novel. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’
‘I assume you know he sees other women,’ Suit #1 says.
I feel like I’ve been slapped.
‘So?’ I manage.
‘Well, I wasn’t sure how close you two were.’
I don’t say anything.
Suit #1 locks his eyes on mine.
‘I’m sure Zhang is a great guy. But he’s gotten himself involved with some questionable people. You’d be doing him a favor if you helped us with this.’
‘So,
