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I've managed neither two nor even onehundred volunteers, but my morning recruiting session results turnout above the initial pessimistic expectations: five adults andsixty-seven teenagers, of which fifty-five are boys. Exactly athalf-past seven, I line up my barefoot search party in front of HisExcellency Deputy Investigator Woxman, may he fry himself in hellfor eternity.
“Deputy Kim, why you are not wearing youruniform today?” Deputy Investigator raises his eyebrows, “And why,for god sake, you have no shoes?” Well, he may not understand thepractical psychology, and surely he has no idea how to collectvolunteers in the slum, but why does he start the day with aconfrontation?
“We will be searching in such places, sir. Abit on the dirty side, you know. Personally I prefer to save myuniform for some better occasion. As for you, I strongly recommendto leave your boots at the Patch and roll up your pants. On therice paddies, the boots are not very practical. You end up fallingin the mud.”
Woxman ignores my proposal. I don't insist.If somebody has no common sense, even the best advices are useless.“And if I remember correctly, yesterday I've asked for two hundredvolunteers, but you only have fifty. At that – only kids,goddammit.”
“Quite a bit more thanfifty, sir. Seventy-two all together, including five adults. All wecan do at such a short notice. Naturally, if you want, you and Ican do another loop through the Patch. If you convince five morepeople to join our search party, I shall give you… let say, onehundred bucks. But hence we don't want our bet to be one-sided,let's also do this: if we can't add five more volunteers, you'vegot to give me one hundred, deal?”
“OK, Deputy, let's notwaste time on stupid bets. Seventy-two volunteers are probablyenough.” He is well aware that there is no way he can summon fivemore volunteers, and he does not want to lose one hundred. “Wheredo you want to start the search?”
Oh, finally! The first reasonable sentencethrough the entire morning. After all, Woxman is not a total dummy.Just one more guy with near-zero experience but overinflatedself-esteem. Honestly, I have been expecting the worst: that hewould start giving orders himself, alienate the locals and screw upthe search.
“I suggest we start with that thicket in theWest.”
“Why not from the vegetable beds?”
“If you have only few hours, no way you canhide a body in there. There are some exceptions, but on average theChinese here wake up before sunrise and treat each little cabbageas the first child in the family. Those obsessed veggie owners willpositively see the beds being tampered with. It would be as obviousas dumping the corpse at the Patch common grounds.”
“Good logic, sir. Well, let's proceed withthe thicket.”
OK, and proceed we will. First thing first,the volunteers' briefing. Ladies and gentlemen! Our good neighbor,Mister. Chen Te-Sheng, fifty-four years of age, has been reportedmissing. I trust everybody here knows him quite well. Mister Chenleft home yesterday, presumably after four PM. Very likely, he hada medical emergency of some sort, for example a heart attack. Wemust find Mister Chen! Now listen carefully. If someone finds abody: do not touch anything, repeat: no touching! Step back andreport the find immediately. If someone finds anything unusual: agarment, or a bag, or something like this, do not touch it. Stepback and report the find immediately. Is that clear? Step back andreport immediately.
Now special instructions! For the boys. Donot chase small animals! Do not look for birds' nests! And for Godsake, leave the snakes alone. The snakes don't attack you unlessyou step on them, right? Is everything clear? Questions?
What if we find the old man alive? Easy. Ifhe is conscious, bow politely and say hello! Ask if he needs anyhelp. If he is unconscious, do the CPR! No, wait! You don't knowmuch about the CPR. Who knows? You, sir? From the Army? Excellent!Boys and girls! Uncle Nathan will be our dedicated paramedic. CallUncle Nathan for the CPR, OK? More questions?
Can you bang from my gun? Do you see I havemy sidearm with me today, young man? No, no, you ca
Twenty minutes later, theline is combing the undergrowth. Woxman and I walk behind, enjoyingthe cheerful shouts of our young volunteers and providing overallcommand and quality control. I carefully push tall grass with mybare feet. Fourteen years after the Meltdown, all the metal and plasticgarbage has been collected, but in the thicket like this one maystill encounter a broken bottle. Woxman stomps the grass with hisarmy boots. Admittedly, for the forest the boots are quite useful.Perhaps, I have been a bit overconfident leaving my tire sandals athome.
“I admit, the boys arebetter suited for this type of work,” the Deputy Investigator says.“The adults don't give a damn about the dead body. Instead ofsearching, they would be thinking about their veggies, or the nexttrip to the 'Fill, or about their shops, or whatever else they havehere.”
“I believe we have a pretty good cut,” Inod, “Enough adults to keep the boys under control, and enough kidsto keep the search enthusiastic. In about an hour, we will be donewith the thicket, and can start on the main thing – theditches.”
“Ditches?”
“The irrigation ditches. The most probableplace. To be frank with you, if I had to get rid of the dead body,I would do exactly this: stick it in a ditch.”
“Ah! So why did we start in thethicket?”
Another child of concretejungles! But of course: he is from the Western slums, on the otherside of the 'Fill. They have no agriculture in there, just recyclingworkshops.
“We started in the thicket, sir, because ateight in the morning only bona fide masochists can clean theditches. We must wait for the sun to rise a bit higher.”
He should try it himselfonce – just for his education: stand waist-deep in cold water andshovel heavy silt. Through our school years, my little brother andI had plenty of such experience. We had to clean ditches and carrywater for two or three hours every day after school, on Saturdays –all day long, and even a half-day on Sunday. Admittedly, before myeleventh birthday, I also was a child of concrete jungles, onehundred percent. A refined city dweller: from the upper middleclass neighborhood, attending a posh British private school. Astraight-A student, nicely packed in navy-blue jacket, shiny blackshoes and with Eton straw hat! But then came theMeltdown. My father wasshot dead by robbers. My mother had no choice but to grab mybrother and me and run away from snow to the South. And here inHouston, the posh private school boys had to acquire some verydifferent skills, shiny shoes off, head-first in the mud. In fact,on a hot summer day, the ditch-cleaning and water-fetching are notunpleasant at all. At least in comparison with all the other slumkids' chores. Weeding veggie beds is easy but damn boring. But whatreally sucks is cow-dunging. You don't know what the cow-dungingis? Collecting and drying the cow dung – for fuel!
“I've got to ask you, sir,” I beginextracting information from the Deputy Investigator, “Are wepositive the dead body really exists?”
“The CSIs checked the blood from thescrewdriver. It's human, A-plus type. If there is human blood,there must be a dead body.”