Page 36 of Pursuing the Egoist
THREE MONTHS PASSEDin a blur of constant information chasing. The department’s evidence vault director, Adrian Hager, didn’t need money, sex, or power. At times, Yugo thought that he’d bitten off more than he could chew, yet, he didn’t give up. Pressing the mayor, he’d finally found the weak spot in the defense of the man who had an impeccable reputation—his son. At twenty-three, the graduate of The Academy of Fine Arts, Benjamin Hager, had a specific taste for naked models writhing in death throes. Yugo was sure that this little hobby added quite a few gray hairs to his father’s head, given how meticulously the pieces of evidence were eradicated.
Still, Yugo managed to collect enough proof to put the little fucker away for life. That leverage opened the gates to the evidence vault for him, making him impatient for the case to be adjudicated and the drugs to be allocated for burning.
The bitter pill in his triumph was that Gustavo hadn’t managed to find who paid Gaston. The offshore account the money came from was promptly closed and led to a long-dead person whose ID was used for illegal money manipulations. The burner phone used to connect with Gaston was turned off, and the number had only been used a few times solely to call Gaston.
Yugo didn’t have time to check every detail of Leiris’ mundane life, fully dedicating the task to his security team, and soon enough Greg’s updates vanished into thin air. When March clouded the sky with heavy, rain clouds, ready to feed the soil with vitality, Yugo’s mind nearly erased the detective from his memory.
Until…
The car maneuvered through the narrow streets of the First District overcrowded by tourists and idle cars. Yugo could hear the sounds of careless bustle even through the closed windows of his armored vehicle. Despite the mist and web of drizzle hanging in the air, people, as if smelling spring, littered the old city.
Cherishing the solitude, Yugo had never enjoyed overcrowded places, and now he wanted Greg to drive faster. The tinted windows helped to separate the commotion from the dry coolness of the car, but the occasional shouts and peals of laughter piercing the air threw him off now and then.
Passing the Hungarian Embassy, the car took a left turn. At first, Yugo didn’t realize why his body tensed, and his gaze followed a pedestrian. He twisted in his seat, and before he managed to recognize the person, he ordered, “Pull over.”
The car halted, and Yugo pushed the door open and looked after the retreating male back.
“Boss?” Greg’s alert voice came from behind. Yugo raised his hand, silencing him.
Without saying a word, he followed Leiris across the street, toward the National Theater. A splendid combination of Italian High Renaissance and modern architecture, the Burgtheater boasted pillars and Corinthian columns. Busts of famous writers, as well as various allegorical figures crowned the tall windows of the second floor, right beneath the opulent roof where Apollo forever froze in a triumphant posture, surrounded by muses.
Yugo didn’t question his motives for following Leiris, but somehow, this small game of cat and mouse thrilled him. At some point, when Leiris stopped to let a car pass, Yugo froze mere inches away from him. He could have touched the nape of Kuon’s neck if he wanted. Instead, Yugo waited ten seconds before continuing his pursuit.
The jacket he wore absorbed the moisture and weighted his shoulders. The condensed drops slicked down his neck, under the shirt, yet Yugo didn’t think about abandoning this pointless stalk.
When Leiris circled the Burgtheater's right wing and stepped into the territory of an outdoor restaurant, hiding behind plastic posters and low bushes, Yugo stopped in the elusive dryness of the theater’s colonnade. From here, he saw Leiris approach the criminal reporter Greg had used to spin Sergen’s name to the media.
Animosity warmed his toes, fighting the chillness seeping from the ground. The longer he watched the couple exchange smiles and words, as they chose the table beneath a high, broad umbrella, next to the outdoor heater, the more angry heat spread throughout his body.
A heavy palm landed on his shoulder, and a booming voice asked from behind him, “You okay?”
Yugo nodded toward Kuon and ordered, “Kill him.” But he changed his mind as, among the lava of anger, sparks of vicious cruelness awoke. “On second thought, bring him to the mansion. I’d like to have a small chat first.”
“But the Chief of Police…”
“Do what I say.” Spinning around, he peered into Greg’s face. “You failed to find anything on him, didn’t you?”
When his right-hand man didn’t reply, Yugo repeated, “Bring him in.”
EPILOGUE
THE MEMORY MIST,vaporizing, brought Yugo back into the darkness of the small monitor room and washed him in sticky regret. Opening the box had been a mistake. Yugo felt it in every bone and beneath his tongue, as the sucking feeling spread, eroding his body and mind with the need he couldn’t quench.
Two years had passed, yet one tiny mistake broke the paper-thin shell guarding his memories, and now a myriad of images from the past rushed through his mind—sultry, bright, dizzying. But it also brought back the filthy taste of defeat. Once again, he’d felt as if he’d lost to Kuon, to Mio, by giving up what belonged to him. Even though back then letting Kuon go felt like the right thing to do, Yugo would never have made peace with that decision, as it was imposed upon him.
He reached for the lid intending to put the box away, but a white, unopened envelope, visible through the scattered pictures and disks, hypnotized him. It didn’t look familiar, and he couldn’t explain its presence. He grabbed the envelope with an impatient hand and tore the grainy paper apart, revealing a thick plastic folder. He instantly recognized the dry, bureaucratic form.
I should stop. Nothing good will come out of it.Yet he flipped the file open. Circled with blue ink, Kuon’s answers were barely readable in the dull light of the security monitors.
Four hours later, flipping through the last pages of the over four-hundred-page questionnaire, Yugo realized that his back hurt from the uncomfortable position, his eyes burned from the lack of light and straining, and that he knew nothing about Kuon.
So many answers didn’t add up, it felt as if he’d read someone else’s file. The Kuon on paper didn’t have any sleeping problems. No nightmares disturbed him, no mood swings, no anger spikes. The person on the paper claimed to have friends and looked forward to creating a family.
Yugo flipped to the title page and reread Kuon’s name before checking the date. The test was from five years ago.
What on Earth happened during this time to cause such a change?Yugo’s skin itched and crawled with the need to know. Yet, no matter how many times he read and reread the dry dossier Greg had managed to fetch for him years ago, there were no answers.
The sound of the door opening reached his ears. The morning light blasted into the small room as Greg pulled the curtains open and yanked the window ajar.
