Page 53 of Prior Claim
Sevastyan pulled their passes out of his pocket and handed them to Rei.
Rei checked the passes and the large signs and found the entry to the security checkpoint that corresponded. While he pulled the luggage, Sevastyan followed behind, glued to his screen. He only put the phone down for a moment to walk through the scanner. Rei did everything but take off Sevastyan’s coat and shoes and put them back on. At the gate for their flight, Rei checked that it was still the right location and parked their bags in a corner. Sevastyan dropped into a seat, still fixed to whatever was on his screen. He gestured for his messenger bag and pulled out his laptop.
Rei resisted the urge to kneel down at Sevastyan’s feet and zone out. He sank into a seat one place away from Sevastyan and slowed his breathing.
“Did Jun ever tell you he had any other names?” Sevastyan murmured.
Rei turned, lifting his head. “He . . .” Rei frowned. Had Jun ever said anything about names? “He said his name meant the same thing in four languages.”
“Four?” Sevastyan raised his head.
Rei held up three fingers and counted them off. “The characters for his name in Japanese, Korean, and Chinese are the same, pronounced differently. And then in English, it’s a direct translation but the personal name is shortened. Jiang to River, and then just Jun, instead of Junseo.”
Sevastyan turned back to the laptop, fingers flying. “But he hadn’t debuted yet. They gave you all English names that early?”
“They didn’t use his English name when they debuted.” Rei frowned. “His stage name is Jun, or Gang Junseo.”
“So why did he say he had an English name? Where would he have gotten it? Was that just something he wanted?”
Rei pressed his lips together behind his mask. “He wouldn’t talk about it. I don’t think he was supposed to. His English was native, so I always just assumed that was his name in English. His Chinese was native too. He didn’t know Korean well when I first met him. He was still learning. He talked like a little kid sometimes.”
Sevastyan raised his head again, looking at Rei intently. “His English accent, what was it back then?”
“American.”
Sevastyan closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. “Fuck.”
Rei watched, waiting.
Sevastyan shook his head and ran his hands over his beanie. “Did he ever talk about his parents?”
Rei shook his head. “He never got any mail. All he had was Bak Gyeong.”
“No one has that devil.” Sevastyan stared at his laptop, hands laced together behind his head. “So he was raised somewhere where he acquired Mandarin and English natively, but not Korean.”
“Not China, or Taiwan. Not Hong Kong either. I think the first time he was in Singapore was for a photo shoot when he was twelve.”
“So probably here, if he had an American accent.” Sevastyan gave a long sigh. “This mess keeps getting bigger and bigger.”
Rei dropped his eyes. Sevastyan went back to work and kept at it even after boarding the plane. Rei managed their bags, their tickets, and even led Sevastyan down the aisle to their seats by his sleeve. This time Sevastyan took the window seat, shielding his computer screen from anyone who might try to look. Rei forced himself not to yawn. It had been over thirty-six hours, perhaps closer to forty-eight, he wasn’t sure, since he’d slept in a bed. His throat still hurt from swallowing around the gun the day before, and the smoothie had not been enough. His stomach was too tight to accept more food, though, even if Sevastyan had offered. From experience, he knew he wouldn’t settle until they were in a new location, curtains and doors closed, and the public eye shut away.
There was no sleep to be had all the way to Chicago. He lost himself counting dots in the upholstery on the back of the chair in front of him and listening to the hum of the plane.
The plane glided down over Lake Michigan toward O’Hare in the dark. Sevastyan put away his phone and his laptop before they landed and nodded to Rei, signaling that he was on point again. Rei let out an invisible breath of relief. Their bags came quickly, and this time there was no border patrol. Outside baggage claim, a hired SUV picked them up on the curb. The driver was a chatty Polish man with a round face, round belly, and round laugh. Sevastyan bantered with him, trading observations about the cold in Chicago versus the cold in Moscow.
“Your friend okay, eh?” the driver asked, looking at Rei through the rearview mirror as they sped south down Interstate 94 toward the city center.
“Allergies from flying,” Sevastyan said.
Rei nodded and touched his mask.
“Oh, my uncle had those,” the driver nodded. “What you need is a good sinus rinse and a bit of whiskey.”
Rei nodded and looked uncertainly toward Sevastyan.
Sevastyan repeated what the driver had said in Chinese. Rei smiled and nodded.
“English not good?” the driver asked.
