The Quest for Asian Sin

By Monty Lemley

In life, even daily decisions can result in unintended consequences. Sara Jones, a single mother of two and owner of a luxurious estate, left for a routine run along her beachfront property. When she didnt return, her daughter contacted the Wayfarer Police. A mysterious phone call to the police during the course of their investigation stated that Sara had decided to join a friend on his yacht. Case closed.

When Jack Conner, retired sheriffs lieutenant from Colorado vacationing in San Diego, picks up a week-old newspaper, he reads a simple two-paragraph story about a retired porn star named Asian Sin who disappeared. With time on his hands and a secret in his past, Jack decides to start his own investigation into the case of the missing Asian Sin. Thus begins the quest for a woman who is more than what she appears by a man who is haunted by an event that occurred more than thirty years earlier.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524525668

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I wasn’t looking for work or adventure; Lieutenant Jack Conner, retired, had had plenty of that in the last twenty-five years. I’d had a life filled with some adventure and some drama, but mostly boredom and occasionally sheer terror, probably the life of most police officers or deputy sheriffs. I was the latter. A 75 percent retirement with a generous severance package made it easy to accept the sheriff office’s offer for an early out.

It started with a short newspaper article. I was in San Diego for the Mardi Gras celebration. I’m not sure why it caught my attention—maybe because porn star was in the headline. The paper was a week old, and the article was on page two. It was only a couple of paragraphs. Maybe it was because the story lacked page one lead attention that it caught my consideration. The television news failed to report it—locally, regionally, or nationally. It’s possible I had missed it in the report since I don’t watch much TV, but I seem to always have it on as background.

Maybe I just wasn’t wise to what makes a good story. Stories need to make money. The free press once was considered the fourth branch of government—watchdogs for a free society—but now it exists only for money and entertainment. Regardless of what self-deluded sanctimony reporters have convinced themselves of, they are there to make money for their bosses and entertain the masses—nothing more.

The story started with a bold-type font, probably two or three font sizes larger than the text. In my opinion, it should have at least been four or five sizes bigger. Retired porn star missing.

Apparently she went for her daily ritual of running along the beach and never came home. Her older daughter, a student at Berkeley, reported her mother’s disappearance. The initial police investigation found no evidence of foul play, and the case was assigned to detectives to continue the inquiry.

The second paragraph described her career, with a slight hint of some self-righteous disapproval by the reporter. I checked the byline. My hunch was right; the reporter was a female.

I pushed my chair back from the table to enjoy the cool breeze and took another sip of my coffee and reflected. Maybe that was all a porn star should rate: a second-page, two-paragraph newspaper article. After all, we live in a paradoxical, judgmental society, at least on the surface.

After I stood up and dropped a couple of dollars on the table, it was time to start my day. The first thing on my agenda was a visit to the tall ship the Star of India. I strolled along the boardwalk and scanned the bay to see if some naval ships were anchored at the base. My attraction to large ships started as a child. I love them. Anytime I got an opportunity to travel, my choice was always to a place where there was a chance to tour a large ship.

As I approached the Star, my gaze went to her uncanvassed masts reaching toward the sky. The breeze rocked her slightly in the mooring. I wondered about my attraction to big ships as the American flag slow-danced on her stern. It didn’t matter whether it was a tall ship or a modern battleship; ships attracted me, and I wasn’t sure why. After all, I was raised a thousand miles from any ocean and five hundred miles from any sizable river.

At the same time, my mind continued to return to the article about the missing porn star. I wanted to forget it, forget her, but it wasn’t that easy to let go. Maybe it wasn’t her at all, but rather my memory of Xiu Tang, a young Chinese medical student I once knew. Actually, I loved her, or at least I thought I did. It was the summer after my high school graduation. I had tried to forget this girl, this young woman from another world so far away, but I never did. Maybe it was my past that wouldn’t let it go. Perhaps a nap would rid me of this madness, so I decided to go back to my hotel near the Gaslamp Quarter before heading over to the aircraft carrier Midway.

My fast pace surprised me. I usually walked slowly, taking in everything around me, formulating words and sentences to describe my observations. With my brisk steps, I quickly made the mile walk to the hotel. A modest place, but it was close to the upcoming Fat Tuesday events. I headed straight for my room and then to the computer on the writing desk near the balcony doors. I typed in her name, or at least the name she was known by: Asian Sin.

In less than a thousandth of a second, hits came on the screen. I scrolled down the list to a biography of the porn star. It seemed strange that there were only a couple of links to her being missing. I passed them for the time being and clicked on the bio page.

The page opened to a picture of a petite woman in a bikini. She was a stunning beauty with dark, enchanting eyes and a wicked, captivating smile. Her eyes and smile brought an uncomfortable familiarity to me.

The bio described her as Chinese. She had been adopted by an American couple who worked in the American Embassy in Bangkok, Thailand. Her American parents had named her Sara—Sara Jones. She was born in the late sixties or early seventies. Whoever dropped her at the Catholic orphanage left her without any information. With no verifiable birth date, her new parents used Sara’s adoption date for a month and day and estimated the year for her birth. She would be in her mid- to late forties now, which meant her bio photo was at least twenty years, maybe thirty years old.

This bio link impressed me. It was straight-up facts. It wasn’t selling anything and wasn’t judgmental. Just the facts or truths somebody wrote without hyperbole for commercial purposes.

She attended private schools in Thailand from grade school to high school. Her first trip to the States was for college. She earned a couple of scholarships into Berkeley on a business major and a minor in modern American literature. She excelled in school, but in the second half of her freshman year, she began dancing in strip clubs. The biography didn’t really explain why she selected stripping for a part-time job. I speculated money, thrills, or defiance—the three principal motivators of youth.

During her sophomore year, she’d become pregnant with the first of her two daughters. The web page did not disclose the names of her children; this added to the bio’s credibility. I figured the writer must have had some ethics because he had not dragged her kids into the story, victimizing them as well—not a typical tabloid tactic. There was also no mention of the father or fathers in the article. Perhaps the fathers were unknown, even to Asian Sin herself.

She started porn under another alias in her junior year. She did not become known as Asian Sin until she had graduated with her bachelor’s degree. She earned a master’s in business and a second bachelor’s in theater.

During her porn career, she was credited with eighty feature films and some three hundred compilations. She retired at the age of forty after accumulating a small fortune, which, with her education and drive, turned into a rather large fortune.

I read several more biographies that were consistent with the first, with the exception of her heritage. That differed somewhat depending on the article. Some stated that she was Thai, and others said she was Taiwanese. I failed to see the importance of defining her ethnicity or giving her more than one ethnic background.

I then opened one of the porn sites. Being in the police business for over twenty years, I was no stranger to porn. No, I hadn’t heard of her, but on reflection, I didn’t know the names of any porn stars. Other than a mild curiosity, I found pornography rather boring.

Her movies were typical porn, but I found her atypical. Beyond her beauty, she filled the screen with a seductive intensity I had never seen in this venue or in any other venue. Again, those magic eyes and smile captivated me. Her eyes took me back to that other time, in that other world.

Several hours passed, and it was only when hunger got the best of me that I realized how long I had been at my computer. With the press of a button, the screen went black. I pushed it to the wall and stretched my arms over my shoulders. I yawned as I stood. It was time for a walk. I grabbed my wallet, checked it for my key card, and headed to the door.

I walked down the hall and pressed the elevator button. The door opened to a car filled with laughter and conversation. The laughter was silenced as I, the interloper, stepped into the car. The two couples moved against the back wall as I turned to face the door. Behind me came the snickers of the four and the odor of alcohol. I felt their eyes directed at my back. Perhaps it was my boots or hat that attracted their stares. Perhaps they were practicing for Tuesday’s festivities, and they were just attempting politeness, at least as polite as drunks could be.

They followed me out of the car and into the lobby. I didn’t look back. I nodded at the stately clerk standing behind the counter and at the bellhop. The bellhop opened the door for me, and I responded with a thank you just above a whisper and walked out the door.

I met the coolness outside with a welcome breath. The fresh scent of ocean saturated the air as the evening welcomed the sunset. Dark shadows slowly crawled across the street. I noticed a convenience store during my wait for the light. While the street was not filled with people, there were a few bizarre human oddities walking past. I was invisible to most of them as they passed without recognizing that I was even standing there.

One strange couple clad in black leather and covered in tattoos caused me to stop and stare. They strolled by me, completely oblivious to my gaze. I turned to watch them walk. She had a silver metal collar with long spikes evenly divided along the circumference. A large silver-linked chain connected her collar to a silver-spiked cuff on his left arm.

Huh, I said to myself with a grin and raised eyebrows. Before they could discover me staring at them, I turned and continued my walk. It was disappointing that my afternoon was wasted with something as stupid as thinking about a missing porn star. It was probably some publicity stunt, I rationalized. I discovered early in my career that rationalization is the cornerstone of laziness and procrastination. Cops use it all the time to get out of work and to avoid responsibility, and in this case, it was supposed to get me off the hook without any guilt or consequences.

But my mind just wouldn’t let her go, so a silent argument persisted inside my head in an attempt to justify my inaction. Frankly, not only was it stupid but it wasn’t my business. The local police were investigating.

The changing traffic light interrupted my thoughts. I crossed the street but stopped short of entering the small store. It was easier to pretend to study the goods through the windows than to dismiss or go forward with my decision. I knew that by entering the store and buying legal pads, pens, and other small things to document and organize a criminal investigation would commit me to this inquiry.

To avoid a decision or commitment, I directed my thoughts down the street to look for a place to eat. I grabbed a hamburger and a tap beer at one of the many local eateries and sat at an outside table to watch the people on the street.

The hamburger was okay, but the beer was great. I ordered a second one. The young woman serving me was both attentive and thoughtful. She stepped away swiftly to retrieve my request and returned almost immediately, placing the frosty mug on the table, and with a smile, left to tend to the other customers. With a sip of my second beer, I sighed with the knowledge I would forget this idiotic thing and go about my vacation, unhindered with the thoughts of a missing porn star. A sense of pride came over me for keeping my suspicious nature and imagination in check.

After my fourth celebratory beer, I paid my tab and gathered up my uneaten French fries to share with the birds on the waterfront. On my walk back down to the water, I broke up the fries in thirds and tossed them toward the smaller birds. It was still an almost impossible task for the little birds to catch or keep the food against the skill and determination of the quicker seagulls.

I sat down facing the bow of the Star of India, perhaps to seek an answer from the wisdom of the old vessel’s years. Beyond her and on the bay, outlined by their lights, yachts and other boats cruised up the channel. They sounded lonely horns that echoed off the buildings behind me. I closed my eyes. There she was … Xiu Tang … or was it Asian Sin? I jumped to my feet and cursed myself. Goddamn it, Jack, when are you going to grow up? She is not the person you knew. You’re not a teenager at a county fair. This is not your problem. I walked on.

It was late when I returned to the hotel. The lateness required me to show my ID and key card to the security guard stalking the lobby. He was there to discourage any unruly guests or professional girls from hanging around the lobby or going up to the rooms; after all, this was the weekend before Mardi Gras.

I struggled to return my ID back into my wallet while trying to hold the sack filled with pens, a stapler, some legal pads, and a folder. My willpower had succumbed to my suspicious nature, and I had bought supplies at the convenience store as I returned to my room. I pressed the number 17 on the elevator and waited for the doors to close.

I like upper-level floors. I had read in some travel magazine they were cheaper than the lower floors. But I had also read—I think, in the same magazine sometime after that—that they were actually higher priced. The elevator car was empty and quiet.

The silence wasn’t welcome. It made me think. For the moment on the vertical ride, I returned to my past to that first time I saw her … Xiu Tang.

When I got back to my room, I put my legal pads beside my computer and went to the bathroom for a shower. During my shower, I developed a strategy. I dressed quickly and went directly from the bathroom to the writer’s desk and opened my computer.

I typed in Asian Sin’s name again and had instant results: porn sites. I shook my head, went back to the search page, and typed in disappearance behind her name and got four results. I opened and read each one. The longest included her biography, which I copied and pasted and then sent to my e-mail.

I went back to the porn sites, opened several of them, and watched her for a short time. I wanted to know who I was looking for and why. I closed the last site and typed in the search porn business and began reading about the industry. I learned most successful stars sign with one of many companies that control the filming, editing, processing, and distribution. Those companies also develop websites for their stars, set up fan clubs, and arrange personal appearances at different venues, such as strip joints and private clubs.

Asian Sin was signed with Naked Triple X Videos and Films. She also served as an officer in the parent corporation, the Pacific Rim Entertainment Corporation. In addition to porn, they had a division that dubbed in English or added subtitles in movies from all over Asia. They also made movies in the Far East and managed minor Asian stars for mainstream movies made in the United States.

I started a list of people that needed to be interviewed, such as Asian Sin’s costars, but my first stop would be the corporate headquarters for Naked Triple X Videos and Films. It was very late—or early, depending on your perspective. My mind was running too fast to sleep, so I went out in the hall for some ice. I returned to my room and dumped some ice in a glass and poured whiskey over the cubes. Along with the office supplies that I had purchased at the mini–mart, I had bought a bottle of whiskey as well. After my third drink, I fell asleep in front of the TV.

The morning was almost over by the time I got up. My decision was to wait until after Mardi Gras before I began my investigation on what I considered a very foolish venture. I didn’t understand why I was doing it, nor why I couldn’t let go. Waiting wouldn’t spoil my Mardi Gras vacation, and it would allow more time for the police to finish their investigation.

The morning news was still on while I got ready. The weathergirl reported snow and cold in my home state of Colorado. It would be in the low seventies here. A call to the airline, and my ticket was changed for Los Angeles instead of going home. I wasn’t really ready for subzero weather. One advantage of being unemployed is the ability to change destinations on a whim. That afternoon, I went to the aircraft carrier Midway to relax. However, there wasn’t much relaxing. I walked the halls and decks of the old ship, spending most of my time formulating my investigation.

I did manage to keep my commitment to not do anything until Mardi Gras was over. The rest of my days in San Diego went fast, including the celebration. I probably drank too much, but I had fun. Every morning started the same, with opening the computer and searching for any new or additional information about Asian Sin. That never took long; there was none, not even a follow-up from the paper where I read the original article.

With the help of the computer and a couple of search engines, I found the jurisdiction of the disappearance: Wayfarer, California, incorporated 1995. I made several calls to the Wayfarer Police Department and found that for a smaller department, they were well entrenched in bureaucracy. An annoyed secretary told me that I would have to wait until the detective called me back. She also informed me that the detective sergeant, detective lieutenant, and detective captain were not available.

The only thing I hadn’t done was call my daughters and tell them I was staying in California for an indeterminate time. I did not like talking to my girls. After fifteen years they still blamed me for my wife’s and my divorce, even though she was the one that packed up the kids and moved to Colorado Springs. Within a year she was remarried. Perhaps my judgmental daughters were right. I was so involved with my work, I ignored my family. My ex-wife got a new husband and the allegiance of my children; I got the guilt.

Kathleen’s phone rang several times before she answered. She was almost apathetic when I told her I was going up to Los Angeles for another couple weeks. She didn’t ask why, or when I was coming home. She just told me to be careful and that she loved me as she hung up the telephone.

Margaret was polite enough to ask how long I was staying and if I needed anything. She was pragmatic in her tone. She volunteered her husband, Bill, to go check on my place and informed me that it was bitter cold and snowing in Colorado. She thought it was a good deal that I was extending my vacation. Then she was gone.

CHAPTER 2

Once in Los Angeles, I checked into a hotel within walking distance of the corporate headquarters for Naked Triple X Videos and Films, which was located in an area of Los Angles known as Little Tokyo. My hotel was just outside Little Tokyo. The hotels in Little Tokyo were better but more expensive.

I am far from rich, but with my retirement and a few investments, I was doing fine. There was enough money for me to travel and do what I wanted to do. My residence is on eighteen acres between Colorado Springs and Pueblo, along the river. It is a small piece of a much larger farm and ranch, which has been in my family for generations. I was lucky; I never had a house payment. During the spring, summer, and fall, my time is spent working on antique cars and farm tractors. In the winter, I travel, or at least since I retired a couple of years ago. But I still watch my money and expenses closely.

It was still early afternoon by the time I got settled. I relaxed some before reviewing my notes, which covered about thirty pages divided among the three legal pads. My folder contained about twenty documents and articles that the staff at the hotel in San Diego printed for me before I left.

I called the corporate office for Naked Triple X Videos and Films and got bounced around to several voice mails and secretaries. I disliked dealing with corporations. The staff was overly friendly as they avoided me and pawned me off to other staff or yet another electronic message system.

After they figured out I wasn’t going away, they finally connected me to Spencer Manning, the vice president in charge of marketing. His voice was cold and suspicious. He asked me some questions, but I held firm that I would not answer any questions over the phone. Reluctantly, he agreed to see me later today after 3:00.

He said he was leaving soon and wanted to meet at a restaurant between my hotel and his office. I agreed. My suspicion was that the powers at the corporation didn’t want me at their place of business, but they were curious about either my knowledge of the incident or what I was after. My best guess would be the former.

I had some time, so I tried the detective again at the police department. Unfortunately, the same secretary took my call. She stopped just short of telling me not to call again and assured me that the detective had the message and would call.

I arrived early at the restaurant and ordered an iced tea; I had finished my second glass when Manning arrived. I stood to meet him; he wasn’t alone.

Hello, Jack Conner?

Yes, I answered, looking past him at the stunning Asian female in a business suit at his side. Her jacket failed to hide her thin but athletic frame. She was tall for an Asian, and her skirt covered her long legs to her knees.

He turned slightly and with an open hand introduced the woman. This is Keeley Nu.

Glad to meet you. She presented her hand. I took her hand with a slight nod.

He added, I hope you don’t mind me inviting her; she is one of our lawyers.

I directed them to sit, Please.

There was an awkward pause as we looked at one another. The vice president of marketing, Spencer Manning, wasn’t what I expected. He didn’t look like a pimp in loud colors and covered in jewelry. He was dressed in a moderate but expensive suit. I could tell by the way it fit him that it was tailored. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, clean-shaven, with light hair in a military cut. I suddenly felt very underdressed in my black denim jeans and light gray polo shirt.

He broke the ice with a curt, May I see some ID, please?

My driver’s license, weapon concealment and carry permit, retired sheriff’s ID, and private investigator ID with the license number were all ready for his inspection.

When I retired, I had started doing some civil process for a couple of law firms in Denver and Colorado Springs. Because they only gave me hard cases that required some investigation, the attorneys felt it necessary that I get a private investigator’s license—lawyers.

Manning studied each card and then handed them to his female companion. She then examined them with even greater attention. As he passed the last one, he spoke again. So why is a retired sheriff, slash, private investigator from Colorado looking into the disappearance of one of our retired stars?

His eyes met mine as I formulated an answer. I glanced over at the attorney; she was also looking at me. I bit down on my lip. The truth was, I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t going to tell them that. It sounded crazy even to me.

Are you some love-starved fan? he asked harshly. Are you a freak?

No. My answer came with a cold stare. I’m just doing some preliminary work to see if there is even a case here. I haven’t committed to anything yet. I don’t want to waste my client’s money if there is nothing here.

The lawyer asked, Who is your client?

I would rather not say. They requested anonymity. I paused. I hope you understand. What else was I going to say? My client was me? They’d know I was crazy. Keeley Nu’s dark eyes reflected disapproval, but she remained silent.

Look, I said. It was time I took control of this. I have not officially taken this case. I hope she turns up. I am not seeking any confidential information, nor do I want you to answer anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. I will not ask any personal information. Those are my rules.

What do you want to know? Keeley asked. There was no emotion in her voice.

I smiled. Well, for starters, is this a habit of hers, disappearing without a trace? Not contacting anyone?

No. Manning shook his head as he raised his Coke to his lips. He took a drink and continued, She was very dependable and responsible. She never missed a day of work, and she was never late. This is very out of character for her.

Work? I asked.

Manning looked over at his partner and back at me with a glare. I knew he didn’t trust me. I understood him. I wouldn’t trust me either if our roles were opposite.

What? I asked.

He didn’t want to answer. With reluctance he spoke. She missed a board meeting, and we haven’t been able to reach her since. We have tried everything: phone, cell, text, e-mail. He took another drink.

Have you or anyone else had any ransom demands?

Keeley and Manning looked at each other, and both shook their heads no.

Keeley asked me, Have you contacted the police? Have they told you anything?

I’ve tried. I think they are stonewalling me. Not even a return call.

They looked at each other again. I could tell they had had the same experience with the police.

Any idea why they haven’t contacted you? I asked.

No, you were a cop. You think like them. Any ideas? Keeley asked.

No … and I don’t think like these guys. I asked again in disbelief, No one from the PD has contacted your company? Done any interviews? Done anything?

Not a word. They haven’t returned any of our calls, either, Manning replied.

Frankly, that surprises me, but it isn’t my investigation. I sighed. Maybe they are overwhelmed with prank calls and false leads. Maybe they have control of the situation and don’t need any information. I felt awkward defending this department, especially after the way they had treated me.

We talked for a couple of hours. They taught me some things about their businesses and what they knew of Asian Sin. Neither had actually worked with her. They saw her only in passing, as neither of them was high enough on the corporate ladder to attend the meetings she attended.

Keeley defrosted some and even laughed some. Manning remained polite, but still I failed to gain his trust. Before they left I asked them, Did she have an agent? I heard that actors and actresses have agents.

They both grinned. Apparently the term actress is archaic.

Manning finally volunteered, Sort of. She did most of her own contract work and negotiations, but she had an agent for screening scripts, costars, things like that. He is …

I stopped him. I put my room number and the hotel’s phone number on the back of my business cards. I gave him three of them. I said, You contact him and ask him if he would speak to me. All my contact information is on the card. I don’t want to compromise anyone. It might seem like a silly thing, but I want people to know I am legitimate.

Manning smiled and nodded. I stood, and they shook my hand and walked out together.

Before I left, I ordered some food and wrote down some notes. She hadn’t been threatened. There had been no strangers hanging around the office. Neither had heard of her having any problems with stalkers or strangers hanging around her house. Basically, our meeting was just another dead end, other than gaining some additional background information.

I finished my meal, gathered my stuff, and headed out on the street. Traffic was heavy, and the sidewalks were filled with daily workers likely heading home. I was about a block away from the hotel when I got a text message. It was from Keeley. "Check the news."

I hate texting and would have been happier with a phone call. I didn’t reply. I hurried up to my room, opened my laptop, and typed in Asian Sin news. It was an article from the San Diego paper. Porn Star Heads to Cabo San Lucas on Yacht with Lover.

I read the article. It was basically a standard police press release with some added background information. The police said they received a telephone call from a woman claiming to be Asian Sin, and she explained she was on a private yacht and wasn’t aware that she had been reported missing. They added the case would not be closed until she returned to the United States. This meant the police weren’t obligated to release additional information.

I called Keeley, but she didn’t answer. I tried Spencer Manning. He answered that he had gotten the same text, but hadn’t got home. I gave him the news.

So, I guess you’re done then? he asked.

No, not yet. I hope they’re right, but I would like a little more.

Manning told me that he had contacted Asian’s agent, who said he would be happy to talk with me. He would be calling. I thanked Manning and hung up. As I looked out my window, the streetlights began flickering in the setting sun. The dinner crowd started to fill the street.

I spotted a bar across the street. It looked inviting. I showered and decided to go over and have a drink. I sort of worried about drinking too much, but what the hell? A couple of drinks, and my concerns would go away … far, far away.

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The next morning was rough. My head throbbed in pain. I’m not sure how much I ended up drinking or why the shower was running or where the woman’s clothing on the floor came from. Slowly, it started coming back to me, especially when I recognized the clothes. They were Keeley’s.

She had called, and I had invited her over to the bar to talk. She wanted to know my perspective on the police’s revelation. I probably talked too much, but I wasn’t awake enough yet for self-castigation. Besides, I was more concerned about what I was going to do when the water stopped in the bathroom.

My cell rang. I looked down at the screen. It displayed a California number. I suspected it was the agent. Hello?

Jack Conner? a too energetic male voice asked.

Yes, I managed before I yawned into the phone.

This is Franklin Berry, Asian’s agent.

I pulled myself up in the bed and covered myself with the sheets. I could never get comfortable talking to a guy without being dressed. I know it was on the phone, but that was just me.

Yes, Mr. Berry, I am glad you called.

I understand you want to talk to me.

I was distracted with the shower stopping. Yes … yes, can we meet?

Can’t we do this on the phone? He sounded somewhat annoyed.

No, I answered. I thought briefly about adding sorry, but I wasn’t. I was taking steps to protect Asian Sin and her family.

Okay, how about your hotel’s restaurant? He paused. How about one o’clock?

I checked my watch. It was almost noon. I was stunned. Yes … that would be fine. He hung up.