Free Hour of the Rat by Lisa Brackmann Page A

But whatever it is, he’s not willing to share it with me.
    Okay, I tell myself. Calm down. Maybe Erik’s a friend of Jason’s and he’s trying to protect him. Erik doesn’t know if I’m really Dog’s buddy. He doesn’t know anything about me.
    I check my watch. It’s closing in on midnight. I think, Let’s find that quiet bar, have a beer, and then go back to the hotel.
    I wander around until I come to a dark side street off the river and a bar called Happy River Crab, where a five-foot-tall plastic crab wearing horn-rimmed glasses and clutching a Chinese flag in one claw greets me by the door. I go inside and order a local Liquan beer. I haven’t eaten since lunch, so I order some spicy peanuts as well. Too bad the kitchen’s closed for beer fish. I have to admit, Andy had the right idea about the beer fish.
    The first beer goes down fast, and I still have some peanuts, so I order a second Liquan and try to figure out what I should do.
    Maybe there’s some way I can convince Erik that we’re on the same side. Get Dog and Natalie on Skype, maybe.
    That is, if Erik really is on Jason’s side. I mean, how can I know for sure? Maybe something happened. Jason was balling Erik’s girlfriend or something. Or there was just some stupid accident and Erik’s trying to cover it up.
    How can I know?
    I take a big swig of beer, and I ask myself, what are my obligations here, really? I mean, I came to Yangshuo. I tried. Trudged up and down Xi Jie asking everybody I saw, ending up with my leg hurting like crazy and my head feeling not much better.
    When I leave Happy River Crab, the surrounding streets are quiet, the businesses dark. There’s still some action around Xi Jie, I’m sure, but I’m done for the night.
    I follow a street along one of the canals.
    I’ll sleep on it, I tell myself. Maybe go back to the Gecko tomorrow, ask some more questions, see what I can shake loose.
    And then I’m done. I’ve got enough problems in my own life to spend too much more time on somebody else’s.
    Plus, I still want to go down a river on a real bamboo raft.
    I’m thinking about all this and about how I really hope I’m not going to get back to the hotel and find my mom in bed with Andy, except they’d probably go to
his
room, right? And I’m trying to get my bearings, thinking, Okay, I just need to head toward Green Lotus Peak to find my hotel, when I hear the faint flapping of running footsteps behind me, and I start to turn, and someone grabs me around the waist, knocking the wind out of me, yanks me toward him, I feel something, a belt buckle, digging into the small of my back, and he clasps his other hand over my mouth. Tries to anyway. Because I struggle, and his hand shifts, and I bite down on the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger, deep enough to taste his blood.
    “Shit!” he yells, and then I stomp down as hard as I can on the top of his foot. Lucky me, he’s wearing sneakers. I’m wearing boots.
    “Fuck!” he howls, and then something unintelligible after that, because his grip loosens and I drive the heel of my palm into his groin. He lets go, doubles over, wretching, and I run, as fast as I can, which isn’t that fast because of my leg, but fast enough to get away from this fucker.
    I run across a bridge, to the other side of the canal, toward the Corn Juice place and the McDonald’s that overlooks the lake, stopping finally when I can’t catch my breath anymore. I stand there, chest heaving, drenched in sweat, and I start to shake.
    “Okay,” I tell myself out loud, “Okay.”
    No one’s coming after me. I did it—I got away.
    I hope I broke his foot. And that he needs to ice his balls for a week.
    Asshole.
    I limp toward the hotel, thinking another beer would be nice.
    I’ve changed some since last year. Learned some things. Took a self-defense class, for one. I don’t kid myself that I could win against a real pro, but that guy was no pro. I tangled with professionals last year,