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When it comes to devil-hunting, Makima is an inevitability. A fact, one might say. An inexorable part of life. You can’t join the business without hearing about her. You probably can’t leave it, either. A joint operation against the Gun Devil in the Pacific sees Quanxi finally meeting her after years of having never laid eyes on the woman, and she’s just as the rumors say—polite. Controlled. Inscrutable. Sadistic. There’s nothing behind the mask, and they both know it.
But that’s the problem. They both know it. It’s been barely a day after the end of the operation when Makima finds the number to her house phone, and starts leaving her messages.
“Wanna meet up?”
“I’d like to visit you.”
“Do you want to visit me?”
“I’m thinking about coming over.”
“I might come over.”
Until finally, “Nĭ hăo, Quanxi.”
Makima holds up a plastic bag, smiling. Quanxi has rented a house on the edge of town for her and her girls, though through a series of coincidences that she’s beginning to think weren’t all that coincidental, none of them are in today. Her colleagues have always told her to never approach Makima without a plan; that she likes mind games and negotiation; that she likes pets and especially dogs. Her deals are fair but transactional. There’s never a give without a take.
Quanxi is sure that that doesn’t work the other way around.
“What’s in the bag,” she asks, without looking down.
“Barbecue. Oh, but you’ll have to grill it yourself.”
Quanxi blinks. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“You didn’t ask to be alone today, either. Let me in.”
She scowls, refusing to step back from her front door. “No.”
Makima looks very carefully into her good eye. Quanxi looks back. “Mind-control eyes,” the department had once told her. “They don’t do anything on their own, but they don’t need to.” Makima has the power to control you, but she doesn’t need to use it. Don’t fall for her games.
Quanxi doesn’t take her eye off of her. What is she going to do if she says no?
Quanxi blinks, once, and then steps back and shuts the door and ignores her. The sun sets. Her girls don’t come back. When she opens the door the next morning, Makima is still seated on her doorstep holding the plastic bag.
This is a test, Quanxi thinks. She wants me to ask her where my girls are.
Quanxi rolls her eye. “Whatever,” she says, and finally lets her in.
It’s not a big house, really—two bedrooms, one-and-a-half bath. It’s a little messy, but there are a lot of people living here. The TV is playing the state news; there are no dirty dishes in the sink. Makima puts the plastic bag on the kitchen table.
“I’m not eating that.”
She tsks. “Such a waste.” Quanxi watches her, but all she does is throw it away. Then she sits down.
“Ask the question.”
It’s disturbingly automatic. “Where are my girls?”
Makima doesn’t face her. “You’d want to know, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I do.” She has to shut up but she can’t, because Makima is right. The department is right. Quanxi isn’t being influenced; she’s just being insecure. Makima’s reputation precedes her. It’s the department who made her this way. She can’t even say she really cares where they are; she just doesn’t want to lose to the biggest thorn in the CCP’s side.
“They’re safe.” Quanxi studies her face. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. “Just a little distracted. They’ll come back once I’m done with you.”
“Why are you here?”
Makima smiles at her. “I wanted to visit.”
“Well,” she says, “you did. Now leave.”
“You’re not interested in me?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
“Even though I’m a woman?”
“I have four.”
Makima rests her chin in her hands. “But you could have five.”
“You’re right,” says Quanxi. “And none of them have to be you.”
“You’re funny,” says Makima, beaming. “Since you have so many, I figured they’d be interchangeable to you. What do you do when one dies? Do you replace them?”
Quanxi bites her lip. She doesn’t respond to that.
“Like my dogs,” she says, widening her eyes. “Once one dies, you get another. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I’m only stating a fact. That goes for lovers, too. They won’t live forever. I like the way you think. Having more than one is always better. If you lose one, at least you won’t feel as lonely.”
“Tch.”
Makima looks around, giddy. “I like this place. It feels lived-in. Not everyone’s houses feel that way, you know? Some houses are lonely. But you like your girls.”
“I’m still not interested in you.”
“I like that.”
Quanxi takes a step back, instinctively.
“Say it again.”
She opens her mouth, and then closes it.
“You like women, but you don’t like me,” Makima says blithely. “I think that’s a good quality to have. Women shouldn’t be interchangeable. Some people think they are. They’ll take whatever they can get. And it’s their loss.”
Quanxi swallows. She doesn’t seem to be lying.
“Life is boring.” Her voice drops to nearly a whisper. “I bet I’d like it here. It’s hard to find people who will say no to me. They’re all weak.” She taps her foot on the floor. “It isn’t any fun, after a while. I want someone who will treat me like a dog.”
“I can’t.”
“I know.” She sighs and shrugs. “I won’t make you obey me, either. I just wanted to talk.”
“Why?”
Makima smiles at her. “You have all these girls, and they all seem to really love you, and what did you do? You fed them, you clothed them, you gave them a home. But that never works for me.” She looks away, still smiling. “Maybe… maybe you can train a person like a dog, to an extent. But people aren’t dogs. If you treat them like dogs, they won’t love you like dogs. Dogs don’t have egos. Just love.”
Quanxi walks off to her bedroom to grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and then opens the pack and lights one in front of her. “Are you asking me for relationship advice?”
“What did you do?” Makima asks again. “Are they just stupid? Am I just unlucky? Are you better at maintaining relationships than I am? I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”
“Well,” says Quanxi, disinterestedly, “you’re a devil, for one.”
“That’s racist.” Makima pauses. “Even if I give them what they want,” she continues, “even if I tell them what they want. Even if I try to make them happy. They still won’t remain loyal. I can’t decide whether humans are lower than dogs or higher than dogs. I still don’t understand how to make them happy.”
Quanxi puffs on her cigarette. “Is that what you really want?”
“I want everyone to be happy.”
She scowls. “Why?”
“There’s a lot of conflict in the world. It would be nice if it could all just stop.”
“I mean,” she inhales deeply, and then blows out, “why do you care?”
“I like humans.” Makima stands up. “I just don’t understand them. I can’t love them, so I control them. It’s satisfying, in a way, but ultimately unfulfilling. If I forge ahead with this path, I can only see it ending in ruin. I suppose I did want advice. But I’m not sure if you have any to offer.”
Quanxi smokes for a good minute. Then she exhales. “You don’t seem very committed.”
“Oh, I’m very committed.” Makima smiles at her. “I’ll die as a villain, as is my right. There’s satisfaction in that, too.” She looks down at the floor. “I like humans no matter what they’re doing to me. I don’t fear death; I embrace it. If I’m too committed to a path, I might lose. But if it doesn’t matter what happens to me, I’ll always win.”
“That just sounds…” Quanxi blows smoke out of the side of her mouth, “like giving up.”
“Why?”
“Well…” She clenches her teeth. “If you just… devoted more of your time to trying to form a connection—”
“I did.”
“Or trying to understand people—”
“I have.”
“If you know all of that already, then why are you asking me?” She throws the burnt end of the cigarette on the floor and grinds it underneath the heel of her bare foot. Makima watches the whole thing.
“Are you happy?”
“I guess.” Quanxi looks away.
“Why?”
“I don’t think about it too hard. People who question their happiness are inevitably going to lose it. There’s nothing to be gained in asking yourself whether you’re happy. You either are or you aren’t. It’s a feeling, not an identity.”
The smile leaves Makima’s face for the first time today. It quickly returns, however.
“How do you know that you are?”
“Well,” she says, “I’m not unhappy. At times it could be better, but I’m not always looking for more.”
“That sounds like giving up to me.”
“That just means you’re looking for something else. My happiness isn’t yours.” Quanxi puts her hands on her hips.
“Are you sure?” Makima asks, with her too-bright eyes.
“Sure I am,” she says. “We want different things out of life, so it follows that what would make me happy isn’t necessarily what would make you happy.”
“You’re so wise.”
Quanxi groans in exasperation. “Can you get out now?”
“I feel like I’ve been a burden,” Makima says, all too honestly. “Is there nothing I can do in return?”
“Bring my girls back.”
“That’s a given.” Her smile widens. “Nothing else?”
“What would make you happy?” Quanxi says. Maybe if she figures out the answer on her own, she’ll finally fucking leave.
“A human connection. A real one. Someone who thinks like me—no. Someone persuasive, like you.”
Quanxi takes another step back.
“But you’re afraid of me, so that won’t do,” Makima says, stepping forward. “What do you like? I can leave, if you want. But I can do something else before that. I don’t mind staying.”
“Stop being so creepy, for one.”
Her expression softens, almost on command. It just makes her look creepier.
“You already know I don’t have any feelings for you, so it doesn’t have to be complicated,” she says. “If you want something from me, you should just ask for it.”
Quanxi sighs, whips out another cigarette, pulls out her lighter, and lights it.
She likes the way Makima watches her when she smokes—rapt with attention, like a loyal hound. Maybe that’s the reason she likes dogs so much. She’s a bit of a dog, herself.
“Do you like being collared?”
Makima breaks into a grin. “I’ve never tried it. Is it fun?”
Quanxi smiles through the cigarette between her lips. “Oh,” she says, already making her way back to her room, “plenty. Just hold it right there…”