The Gentleman from Japan

by James Church

  The mayor waited, apparently sure he had gained the upper hand. In fact, I was mildly surprised by his terrorism gambit, but even more by his complaints about the North Koreans. Once in a while he beat that drum, but had to be careful because he pocketed plenty from Chinese businessmen sending too much of one thing or another across the river, and doubled that from North Koreans who needed favors on this side of the border. If he was complaining so loudly, it must be because he’d heard from his network in Beijing that it was time to put the squeeze on again. At this point, unless someone else was writing his script, I figured his next move would be to accuse me of incompetence.

  “A concern of the state,” he repeated, with minimal reverence. “Regrettably, in this backward corner of the country, that means you. Or has a miracle happened without my lifting a finger and you’ve finally been replaced as head of the State Security detail in my city? Let me point out that neither the state nor my city is secure if people drop dead all of a sudden, especially tourists. It’s your job to protect us. The police obviously aren’t doing it, but they’re not your affair. I’ll attend to them, and that monkey’s ass of a police chief, later. What I’m most concerned about is you, Major, you and your incompetence.”

  Whenever Qin used my rank, it was always with a sneer, as if he had friends who could demote me as soon as he wanted it done. In turn, I made a point of never calling him “mayor,” not to his face anyway. I knew that rankled him. For years, every conversation I’d had with the man had been a form of guerrilla warfare. I should have been used to it by now, but his constant references to “my city” always got under my skin. He talked as if he owned the place, which to a large extent was true. What was worse, he liked to parade that in front of me, secure in the knowledge that I still hadn’t figured out how the mayor of a flea-bitten town got away with bribery, mendacity, moral turpitude, malfeasance, and—very often—murder, sometimes all on the same day.

  If I could step on this insect I would. At the moment, all I could do was argue a technicality. “You said State Security ‘detail,’ Qin. Let me remind you, this isn’t a ‘detail.’ It’s an ‘office.’ In fact, it’s a ‘special office.’ That’s why it says on our letterhead ‘Yanji Special Office.’ You know what that means? It means we keep files on everyone.”

  I paused to let that sink in, though I knew I’d laid it out for him several times before. Once, when we met in my office and I was for some reason feeling expansive, I had even let him see the two thick file folders we had on him. I had pretended to be surprised when he walked in and had made a show of moving the files off my desk, but not before I had seen him smirk when he read his name on the cover sheet. I still don’t know what I thought that would accomplish. It hadn’t been much.

  “And another thing,” I said, “according to this stack of reports in front of me, we’re only talking about one tourist, nothing plural. Just to be clear, in case the main point hasn’t come through”—I was picking up a head of steam—“even if I had a direct order to listen to you from the minister of security himself, I wouldn’t do it. Not in a thousand years, not even if Qin Shi Huangdi rose from the grave and delivered it in person. If he does come back, maybe you should ask him for his plans for a wall, though it wasn’t a great success if I recall.”

  There was a brief pause. I would have bet a week’s salary the mayor was smoothing his hair, something he did in moments of stress.

  “I’ll have you sacked,” he said finally.

  “Good. Perfect.” Not for the first time it struck me that the mayor thought he was born too late, that he should have been a prince in the kingdom of Qin, standing near the emperor, taxing the hell out of the peasants. “Sacked—nothing would please me more. It would mean finally getting out of this town. While we’re waiting for you to send the request for my transfer, I’ll wager a year’s salary that there is not a shred of paper on my desk giving you any special powers over me. Notice I said paper. If it’s not in writing, it doesn’t exist. People say all sorts of things over the phone, and sometimes the connection is not so good, so you can never be sure. Beijing is a big city, by the way. I don’t know who would possibly have fed you such a line. Face it, Qin, you are mayor of a boring town at the faraway edge of the empire. My resources are and will never be at the disposal of any minor local official, and that includes you. Especially you. On top of which, terrorists don’t mess with noodles. I think I can guarantee that. On the outside chance we pick up rumors suggesting a change in their tactics, noodle bombs or whatever, I’ll be in touch.”

  It was a long speech, longer than I normally make, and I’m not sure the mayor heard the whole thing, because the line had clicked halfway through. No matter, it was on the record somewhere.

  As soon as I hung up, the phone buzzed again. “Major, it’s Po. Can we talk? If you haven’t eaten yet, maybe I can buy you a late dinner.”

  Po Dawei was the chief of the Yanji City police. He’d been promoted two years ago after the last chief ended up in a ditch with an odd, totally fatal, and yet-to-be-explained wound on his neck. The other candidates for the job all declined, so it fell to Po, who was only a lieutenant at the time, and not actually in line for advancement. He was bright in a plodding sort of way, but too honest ever to get such a promotion. To everyone’s surprise, he got it anyway. The two of us kept our meetings few and far between. We were on cordial terms mostly because we stayed away from each other—that and the fact that he didn’t get along with the mayor. Po wasn’t much to look at, medium height, medium build, medium gait, even-tempered almost to the point you wanted to punch him just to see him react. The most distinguishing thing about him was his strange laugh, like a small dog being strangled.

  “Before we get started, Po, your people sent a couple of the reports directly to Beijing. How many times have I told you not to do that?”

  “They were stressed, Major. A lot of bodies all at once will do that.”

  “Second,” I said, “if this is about terrorism, don’t waste your breath. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I guess you’ve already talked to Qin. Listen, he’s breaking my back on this, worse than ever. Can you help me out, loan me someone part-time maybe, just for a day or two so we can go through the motions of coordinating? Just the motions, you know what I mean. I’d owe you a favor.”

  “Sorry, can’t help, Po, my basket of favors is empty. I’m shorthanded, and believe it or not, my office has work to do. The border isn’t going to take a rest while I look for a food nut with a grudge.”

  Po laughed. It sounded worse over the phone than it did in person. “Is that what you’ve concluded? A food nut? I don’t think so. Maybe I’m only a local cop, but I know what I know, and I don’t think so. I also don’t think it’s ptomaine, whatever our crazy coroner says. I’ll grant you, I’m not sure if it’s terrorism, but it sure is as close to a massacre as anyone has ever seen around here. Seven bodies, maybe eight, all in one night. It’s going to get press attention—tongues are already wagging out there, and neither of us is going to be happy at the end of the day if foreign reporters from Beijing come up here nosing around.”

  “You’re the chief of police,” I said. “Do whatever you want. If you ask my advice, shut down every restaurant in the city for a few days. If there’s no food, they’ll have to go home.”

  There was silence on the line, so I figured he was thinking it over. Finally he cleared his throat, something he always did before announcing a decision. “I can’t touch the hotel, the mayor wouldn’t like it, but I guess we can shut down all the noodle shops for a few days until we’re sure we know what happened.”

  “Excellent. And while you’re at it, double your flying squads. Have them break a few dishes and turn over some tables when they barge in. It doesn’t hurt to have people sore at you. Not really angry, just irritated.”

  “You telling me my job, Major?”

  “See? You’re irritated.”

  “I’m always irritated. Every morning I wake u
p and the first thought, always the first thought, is that some time during the day I’ll have to deal with the mayor.”

  “Listen, if your boys find dual-use items under the sink in any of the kitchens, let me know and I’ll send a special team over, but I’ll bet you it’s just dirty cutlery that caused those deaths. I can’t say sanitation is a strong point in this city.”

  “I take it,” the chief said, “this means you don’t want dinner.”

  “You mentioned other bodies?” An eighth corpse was not what I needed.

  “That’s right. I can tell you more when I see you.”

  “Noodles are out. So is Italian.”

  “Let’s meet in Fuzhou Alley in about fifteen minutes. There’s a little place right on the corner you may not have tried. It hasn’t been around long. The food isn’t great, so not a lot of people go in. That means it’s quiet. It stays open late. All night, actually.”

  “I don’t care how many go in,” I said, “as long as the same number come out. Upright.”

  “So far, you’re in luck.”

  4

  There was a full moon over Yanji that night, but it had skipped over Fuzhou Alley. A rat rummaged around in a trash can nearby. Otherwise the place was dead quiet. After a minute or two, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I sensed a soft footstep behind me.

  “Nice to see you, Major. I hope I’m not late.”

  I turned around to face the chief of police. “Even if you were late, Po, how would I know? I can’t see my arm, much less my watch. Isn’t it against the law for a street to be this dark?”

  “We like it this way. Breeds crime.” He laughed. The rats screamed and scurried away at the sound.

  The chief led the way to the restaurant. The floor was littered with discarded food and paper. It had the charm of a tomb that a lower class of robbers had looted. Vermin of all types would consider it homey. I hesitated before following Po in. My office was supposed to know all the dingy, dirty eateries in the city, but this one had fallen through the cracks. I’d never heard of it. I made a mental note to open a file and get an investigation under way, starting with simple things like who owned this hole, and what did they have against brooms?

  We found our way to a table, not difficult because there were only six of them, all empty. As soon as we sat down, the place started getting on my nerves. For some reason, it reminded me of the old-fashioned morgues out in the countryside, the ones with small restaurants out front. They were strictly illegal, not to mention unhealthy, but so are a lot of things.

  “I said the food was bad, but that might be unfair, Major.” The chief looked around for someone to take our order. “My only advice is, avoid the soup.”

  “OK, no soup.”

  “Sometimes the fish dumplings are good.”

  I wasn’t in the mood for dumplings. “They come off a truck?”

  “No, we make them here,” a young woman said, emerging from the gloom. She gave me the once-over. “But we’re out of dough, so you’ll have to sit here until tomorrow afternoon when we get some more. Or, if you want something sooner, I have fish head soup.”

  Po held up his hand. “We’ll skip the soup.”

  The woman laughed, not what you’d call musical, but not in the same league as Po.

  “Who owns this place?” I asked. “It’s filthy.”

  “You a sanitation expert?” She swept some dried noodles from the next table onto the floor. “I don’t own it. I’m the manager. In other words, I manage things. I’m in charge of operations.” She looked around and muttered something under her breath. “I also serve the food and entertain the cook when we don’t have any customers. You want to eat, or do you want to chat? We have bills to pay, you know.”

  “Sure,” said Po evenly, “we want something to eat. Just not soup. How about pork? And rice.” He looked at me.

  “Fish,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

  I shrugged. “OK, and make sure it’s a nice fish, the whole thing, not just the head. You got something fresh? Bring it out here first. I want to see its eyes.”

  “You want one with blue eyes or brown?” She tossed her head. “From what I hear, you got problems, and not with fish.”

  “Is that so?” Po asked gently. I knew the chief’s eyelids drooped when he was getting cozy with someone he thought might have information. They were drooping. “I got problems?” His voice had turned silky, an even more advanced sign that he was closing in for the kill. “Listen, darling, my problems are your problems. But you already know that. You want to tell us what you’ve heard about blue eyes?”

  “Nothing, I was just making conversation, that’s all.” The woman shrugged. “Let me go find the cook and then wake up the fish. I’ll make soothing noises so it won’t suspect anything. Maybe hum a tune. You want him smiling or just with a fish expression on his face?”

  The woman disappeared again. Po frowned and jotted down a note on a tiny paper napkin. “She’s from out of town, Harbin we think. Came here about six months ago. We’re still looking for her file. Harbin says it was transmitted, but it never got here.”

  “You believe them?”

  “The Harbin police are earnest.”

  “But…”

  “But not always very efficient. Anyway, we have been watching the lady, testing to see if we can use her. A dark place like this will sooner or later turn into a meeting place for troublemakers.”

  “And?”

  “She’s very combative, never gives an inch. The consensus is that she is probably too hard to control. The fish is usually OK, though. It’s from the river.”

  “Not much you can do wrong with river fish.” I didn’t want to get off into a long conversation about food preparation, and police sources were none of my business. “Over the phone you mentioned another body.”

  “I did, but we’re not sure yet if it’s connected with the others. Actually, we’re not sure how many bodies it might be. That’s why I needed to talk to you.”

  “I told you, I don’t want to hear you say the word ‘terrorism.’”

  “All right, I won’t. How about the word ‘bomb’?”

  I sat back. “That’s the second word I don’t want to hear. Go ahead.”

  “This other body, or bodies … There wasn’t much, not that we could find on first look, anyway. It was already past sunset, and there was no sense taking our big light trucks out there when it’s dark. Runs the hell out of the generators. We found the place about fifteen kilometers north of town. Some farmers in the area called and said they heard an explosion. Four or five calls, all at once. The dispatcher says the calls came in just about the time we got the first reports about the bodies in the restaurants, maybe a couple of minutes later. Incidentally, those calls about the restaurant bodies also came in all at once. Might be coincidence. Might not.”

  “Not much there, you said. Enough to identify?”

  “Hard to say. We’ll go looking for more bits and pieces as soon as the sun is up. I’ve told the local patrol to put tape around the scene, but that won’t keep anyone out, so we might lose a little evidence overnight.”

  “A little?”

  The chief shrugged. “Maybe most of it. Want to come along to see what’s left?”

  No, I did not want to come along to see what was left. Until they were sure it was a bomb, it was police business, and I wasn’t about to get pulled into it. “Apart from the timing of the calls, what makes you think this has anything to do with the bodies in the restaurants? The initial field reports were not very useful as far as I’m concerned.”

  “They were early, Major.” He wasn’t taking offense. “You can’t expect miracles from the street cops up here. They don’t get paid much, not after all the deductions.”

  I’d heard that excuse before. These “deductions” were vaguely worded. I was sure they went via a circuitous route into the mayor’s pocket, and I figured the chief thought so, too, though we’d never discussed it. “You’re breaking my heart
, Po. Any results from the interrogation of the chef in the hotel? Any more information on the tourist?” It wasn’t my business, but I didn’t want any unpleasant surprises.

  “The chef says he didn’t even know anyone was in the restaurant. He was preparing a sauce, he says.”

  “A sauce. Anyone check to see what kind of sauce? What about the serving staff? Were they preparing sauces, too?”

  Po turned toward the kitchen just as the woman walked out holding a medium-sized fish that was moving its tail and looking around the room.

  “It jumped into my arms,” she said. “I didn’t whistle or snap my fingers or nothing. When your time is up, it’s up, I guess.” The fish goggled at us. It didn’t look all that healthy to me.

  “Throw it back,” I said. “It might be someone’s mama. We’ll just have pork and rice if you have any. And go easy on the pork fat. I know it was Chairman Mao’s favorite dish, but tonight I’m not in the mood for a heart attack.”

  The woman looked at Po. “You want me to throw this fish back? And order pork in a fish restaurant?”

  Po shrugged. “You and the cook make yourself a meal of it if you’re hungry, but it’s on your tab. The major and I are granting it a limited pardon.”

  5

  We finished dinner without much conversation. When we were done and outside again in the dark, my mobile phone rang.

  “Yes.” No phone number showed up, but I knew who it was even before I heard the voice. “Yes, uncle, I’m working late. There were noodles and vegetables on the counter if you had wanted something. No, you won’t starve. Eat some crackers, then. I’ll call when I’m on my way.”