“So,” Neal began carefully, “all I have to do is help you pick up this kid, and then I can go back to New York and back to grad school?”

It sounded too good to be true-a life again.

Graham asked, “You think you got that now, or would you like me to repeat it again? Make up your mind; I want a cold beer and a hot steak.”

Neal laughed. “It’s a long hike down the mountain, Graham.”

Graham stared at him for a long moment. “What, you never heard of a helicopter? Honestly…”

Neal lifted his cup to his lips, thought it over, and then poured the tea on the ground.

“Do they serve coffee on this helicopter?” he asked.

“For the money we’re paying, they’d better.”

Neal stood up. “Let’s go.”

“About goddamn time,” Graham said as he got to his feet.

Then Neal Carey did a very un-Chinese thing. He reached out, grabbed Joe Graham by the back of the neck, and pulled him close.

“Thanks for coming to get me, Dad,” Neal said.

“You’re welcome, son.”

So Neal Carey came back from the dead.

2

Neal woke up between the cool, crisp sheets of a king-size bed. He opened his eyes and looked through the sliding glass door where the sun sat like a fat orange in the haze of a southern California morning. The air conditioner was humming happily, a cheerful reminder of the comfort that came with wealth: it may be getting hot outside the hotel, but in here it’s any temperature you want it to be.

A similarly welcoming voice lilted from the corridor, “Room service.”

Neal wasn’t quite sure that this was all real, but if it was a dream, he was willing to go along with it.