see now you're a liar.'
'I wouldn't be here unless I had nowhere else to go.'
She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. 'Not my problem.'
'I need your help,' Quinn said.
'Too bad. You're not getting it. End of discussion.' She turned and started walking away. She was nearly out of the park when he called
out, 'If I could bring him back, I would.'
She slowed momentarily. Quinn thought for a second she might turn back, but instead, she picked up her pace and continued walking away.
When Orlando left her office a few minutes after five that afternoon on an old black Vespa scooter, Quinn was ready for her. He had hired a young guy with a beat-up motorcycle to drive him wherever he wanted to go. The guy spoke enough English for Quinn to get across the idea there was someone he wanted to follow. As Quinn had hoped, his driver
– he said his name was Dat – assumed Quinn's interest in Orlando was romantic or at least sexual, so he was happy to comply.
Dat almost seemed like a pro. He never got very close, but he never lost sight of Orlando, either. It helped that her pace was unhurried, driving neither too fast nor too slow. They followed her through Cholon, then north for a while before turning east.
But soon Quinn began to feel anxious. It was too easy. So it was almost a relief when, ten minutes later, Orlando took a quick right turn. The move was sudden, unexpected. The move of someone who knew she was being followed.
Dat may have been good, but he was mismatched. Nonetheless, Quinn urged his driver on even as Orlando rapidly worked her way through the city.
Finally, Orlando turned right at yet another street. As soon as Quinn and Dat had followed her around the corner, they realized the Vespa was no longer in front of them. For half a second, Quinn thought they'd lost her. But then he spotted her. She was parked at the curb, her foot on the ground holding her scooter in position.
'Stop,' Quinn said.
Dat had obviously seen her, too. He quickly slowed, then pulled up behind the Vespa. Quinn dismounted the bike and handed Dat a ten-dollar bill. The boy grinned broadly.
'You want me wait?' Dat asked.
Quinn shook his head. 'Thanks for your help.'
'Sure, no problem. You need more, you call me.'
Dat pulled several scraps of paper out of his pocket and handed one to Quinn. There was a phone number on it. Quinn smiled and put it in his own pocket.
As Dat drove away, Quinn walked over to the Vespa, stopping when he was a few feet away. Orlando's face was as expressionless as it had been in the park. She stared at him for a moment, then
glanced past him, at the building they were in front of. Quinn followed her gaze. The Rex Hotel. She'd figured out where he'd
been staying. 'You've been busy since we talked,' Quinn said. 'Why did Gibson try to kill you?' she asked. 'Whoa. You've been
the world continued to move on: taxis picking up and dropping off passengers at the hotel, street vendors trying to attract the attention of the passing pedestrians, people heading either to work or to home or out for a night on the town. But for the moment, Quinn and Orlando were in their own little capsule, aware of the world but momentarily not part of it. 'Why did you come to me?' she finally asked.
He paused before answering. 'Two reasons,' he said. 'This is the last place anyone would ever look for me. And I needed to find someone I could trust, someone who could help me.'
'What about your friends?' Again he took a moment before answering. 'I don't exactly have a long list to choose from.' 'You didn't come alone,' she said. Not a question, but a statement.
'Nate,' Quinn said. 'My apprentice. If I'd left him, he'd probably be dead by now.'
She took a deep breath, and, for the first time, her face softened, if only just a little. 'Same old Quinn, then.'
Quinn shrugged.
She looked at him, then shook her head. 'Son of a bitch,' she said under her breath. 'Get on before I change my mind.'
Quinn wanted to smile, but he kept his face neutral and climbed onto the back of the Vespa.
She took him to her apartment. It was a large, Western-style place in an area occupied by many foreign workers. She didn't offer him a tour. Quinn knew he was still on probation, so the living room was all he had to judge things by. It was a comfortable space, with a long, overstuffed couch and two matching brown chairs. Nearly every inch of wall space was lined with bookcases crammed full of texts. On one shelf he recognized a brushed- metal container. It was the only thing in the room he'd seen before, but he made no mention of it.
She told him to take a seat on the couch, then disappeared into another room for a moment before returning with two bottles of water.
'Tell me,' Orlando said as she handed him a bottle, then sat in one of the chairs. 'Everything.'
So Quinn did. He left nothing out; there was no reason to. If he was going to get her help, she'd need to know
