A Loyal Character Dancer - [Chief Inspector Chen Cao 02]

by Qiu Xiaolong

  “It’s their choice.”

  “But in what context?” he retorted. Last night Li had warned him not to go out of his way for the American. And here he was, being lectured to by an American about China’s human rights problem. “China does not have a lot of arable land. Less than ninety million hectares, to be exact. Do you think poor farmers like the Qiaos can afford to take good care of five or six kids in an impoverished province like Guangxi?”

  “You’re using the numbers from the People’s Daily.”

  “Those are facts. If you had lived as an ordinary Chinese for more than thirty years, you might view the situation from a different perspective.”

  “How, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen?” For the first time since they had returned to the car she looked up at him.

  “You would have seen a few things for yourself. Three generations squeezed under one roof, and that a single room, buses packed with people like sardines in a can, and newly married couples obliged to sleep on their office desks as a protest to the housing committee. Detective Yu, for example, does not have a room of his own—the one his family now lives in used to be Old Hunter’s dining room. Yu’s nine-year-old son, Qinqin, still sleeps in the same room as his parents. Why? Because of overpopulation. Not enough housing or even space for the people. How can the government afford not to do something about it?”

  “Whatever excuses you may have, basic human rights cannot be denied.”

  “Such as the right of people to pursue happiness?” He found himself getting heated.

  “Yes,” she said. “If you don’t acknowledge that, there’s nothing we can discuss.”

  “Fine, then what about illegal immigration? According to your Constitution, there’s nothing wrong with people seeking a better life. America should welcome all immigrants with open arms. Then why are you pursuing this investigation? Why must people pay to be smuggled into your country?”

  “That’s different. There must be international law and order.”

  “That’s exactly my point. There are no absolute principles. They are always being modified by time and circumstances. Two or three hundred years ago, no one was complaining about illegal immigration to North America.”

  “When did you become an historian?”

  “I’m not.” He tried to control himself as he turned onto a road lined with new industrial buildings.

  She did not try to conceal the sarcasm in her voice. “Perhaps that’s what you want to be, a celebrated mouthpiece for the People’s Daily. Still, you cannot deny the fact that poor women are deprived of their right to have babies.”

  “I’m not saying that the local cadres should have gone that far, but China must do something about overpopulation.”

  “I’m not surprised to hear this brilliant defense from you. In your position, Chief Inspector Chen, you must identify with the system.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said, somberly. “I cannot help it, just as you cannot help seeing things here from a perspective formed by your system.”

  “Whatever. I’ve had enough of your political lectures.” Her blue eyes were ocean-deep, unfathomable, antagonistic.

  It bothered Chen, who was still aware of her attractiveness despite her being so critical of China.

  A couplet from an anonymous Western Han dynasty poem came to his mind.

  The Tartar horse rejoices in the north wind.

  The bird of Yueh nestles on the south branch.

  Different attachments. Different places. Perhaps Party Secretary Li was right. There was no point in his going out of his way to pursue this investigation.

  Two thousand years ago, what was now the United States of America might have been called the Land of Tartars.

  * * * *

  Chapter 14

  I

  t never rains but it pours.

  Chief Inspector Chen’s phone started ringing.

  It was Mr. Ma. “Where are you, Chief Inspector Chen?”

  “On the road back from Qingpu.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “No, with Catherine Rohn.”

  “How is she?”

  “Much better. Your paste is miraculous. Thank you.”

  “I’m calling about the information you wanted yesterday.”

  “Go ahead, Mr. Ma.”

  “I’ve got a man for you. He may know something about the woman you are looking for.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I have one request, Chief Inspector Chen.”

  “Yes?”

  “If you get what you need, will you leave him alone?”

  “I give you my word. And I’ll never mention your name.”

  “I do not want to be a stool pigeon. It’s against my principles to provide information to the government,” Mr. Ma said earnestly. “His name is Gu Haiguang, a Mr. Big Bucks, the owner of the Dynasty Karaoke Club on Shanxi Road. He has his connections in the triad world, but I don’t think he is a member. In his business, he has to be on good terms with the black way.”

  “You’ve taken a lot of trouble for me. I appreciate it, Mr. Ma.”

  He turned off the phone. Chen didn’t want to discuss Ma’s information with Catherine immediately though he knew she must have overheard some of the conversation. He took a deep breath. “Let’s stop here, Inspector Rohn. I’m thirsty. What about you?”

  She said, “A fruit juice would be fine.”

  He pulled up at a convenience store, where he bought some drinks, together with a paper bag of fried mini buns. As he entered, another car drove by slowly, then reversed and pulled into the lot.

  “Please help yourself,” he said when he returned, holding out the buns covered with minced green onion, colorful, but greasy.

  She took only the drink.

  “The call was from Mr. Ma.” He opened his cola can with a pop. “He asked about you.”

  “It’s very kind of him. I heard you thank him a couple of limes.”

  “Not just that. He has found someone connected with the gang who will speak to us.”

  “A Flying Axes member?”

  “No, probably not, but we should interview him, if you’re no longer mad.”

  “Of course we will interview him. It’s our job.”

  “That’s the spirit, Inspector Rohn. Please eat some buns. I don’t know long it will take. Afterward, I will buy you a better meal—one fit for a distinguished American guest.”

  “There you go again.” She picked up a bun with a paper napkin.

  “Whatever I say during the interview, Inspector Rohn, please don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For one thing, the tip came from Mr. Ma. I do not want to bring any trouble down on him.”

  “I see. You must protect your source.” She stuffed a bun into her mouth. “I’ve no objection to that. I owe him a favor. Who is this mysterious man we are going to see?” She added, “And what will my role be?”

  “He is the owner of the Dynasty Karaoke Club. It’s a hot place for young people. To sing along, to dance along. You won’t need to do anything. Just relax and enjoy the place as our American guest.”

  They pulled onto the road. He checked his rearview mirror from time to time. A half hour later, they reached the intersection of Shanxi and Julu Roads. There, he made a right turn and pulled up by the half-open gate to a wall-enclosed mansion. A vertical white sign read: shanghai writers’ association. The doorman recognized Chen and opened the gate wide.

  “You’re bringing an American guest today?”

  “Yes, for a visit.”

  She looked at him in puzzlement as the car rolled along the driveway to a stop alongside of a parked car. “Did you want to show me around the Writers’ Association first?”

  “There’s no place to park near the Dynasty. We’ll leave the car here and take a shortcut through the back. It’s only a two or three minutes’ walk.”

  It was only one of the reasons for leaving the car at the Association. Chen did not
want to park a car with a bureau plate at the club. It might be recognized. And he could not shake off the feeling that they had been followed, though he wondered how a Fujian gang could have been so resourceful so far from their home territory. As they drove, he had been checking in the rearview mirror, but with such heavy traffic, it was difficult for him to be sure.

  He let her through a hallway, and then out of a back door.

  The new five-story building of the Dynasty Karaoke Club came in sight. Entering the spacious lobby, they found themselves standing on a vast marble floor that shone like a mirror. At one end of the main room, there was a stage with a band sitting underneath a huge TV screen, which showed singers performing along with the captions. In front of the stage were about thirty tables. Some people were sitting, drinking, while others were dancing in the space between the stage and tables. At the other end a marble staircase led to the second floor. This was different from the arrangement of the other clubs Chen had visited.

  A young man in a white T-shirt and black jeans appeared on stage and made a gesture toward the band. The band started playing a jazz piece adapted from the modern Beijing Opera Taking Tiger Mountain by Surprise. It had been extremely popular during the early seventies, and told of a small detachment of the People’s Liberation Army fighting the Nationalist troops. Never had Chen imagined that a melody about PLA soldiers chasing tigers and bandits in snowstorms could be adapted so successfully into a piece to dance to.

  “Chairman Mao’s words warm my heart,/ bringing spring to melt the snow away . . .”

  How many times had he heard this refrain, sitting with his high-school friends in the movies? For a second, the past and the present were fused into one swirling scene. The fashionably dressed dancers, but also the soldiers in uniforms, pranced frenziedly before his eyes—trendy young people doing wild, exotic steps.

  Then a stout, unshaven man glided to the center of the floor, clicking his fingers, drawing a great roar from the bystanders. The dancer’s features were oddly similar to Comrade Yang Zirong, the hero of the original Beijing Opera.

  Chen gestured toward a young hostess in a purple velvet dress, who came over, bowing. “What can I do for you?” she inquired.

  “We need a private room. The best.”

  “The best, of course. There’s only one left.”

  They were led upstairs, and along a curving corridor lined with private chambers, into a lavishly decorated room, with a flat Panasonic TV screen set into the wall. A high capacity Kenwood stereo system with several speakers stood beside it. A remote control and two microphones lay on a marble coffee table in front of a black leather sectional sofa.

  The hostess unfolded a menu for them.

  “Bring us a fruit platter. A coffee for me and a green tea for her.” He turned to Catherine. “The food here is okay, but we’ll dine later at the Jing River Hotel, a five-star hotel.”

  “Whatever you say,” she said, intrigued by this proclamation of extravagance. And how did he know if the food was good or not?

  The room was decorated like a rendezvous for lovers. A crystal vase on the corner table held a bouquet of carnations. The floor was thickly carpeted. There was also a liquor cabinet on the wall, whose glass shelves displayed bottles of Napoleon brandy and Mao Tai. The light was lambent, adjustable to different intensities. The floral-papered walls had been specially soundproofed. With the door closed, they could not hear any noise from outside, though all the other rooms must have been occupied by karaoke singers.

  Little wonder business was thriving, even at a price of two hundred Yuan an hour, Chen thought. And this was not the peak time-period price. From seven p.m. to two in the morning it could be as high as five hundred Yuan an hour, according to Old Hunter.

  The hostess brought them another sort of menu—a list of song titles in both English and Chinese. Underneath each name was a number.

  “You may choose any song you like, Catherine,” he said. “All you have to do is push the number on the remote control, and sing along with the captions on the screen.”

  “I did not realize that karaoke was so popular here,” she said.

  Karaoke had been imported from Japan in the mid-eighties. Originally, it had been confined to a few large restaurants. Then entrepreneurs saw an opportunity. They converted restaurants into karaoke halls, open twenty-four hours a day. Next, the private room came into vogue. The hall was partitioned into many small chambers, each nicely furnished to give a sense of privacy. Some entrepreneurs went so far as to have a whole building redesigned for the purpose. Soon, people came not just for the karaoke, but for something else in the guise of karaoke.

  With hotels still requiring I.D. and marriage certificates before people could check in, these private karaoke rooms, with their locked doors, met the understood yet unstated needs of the city suffering from a housing shortage. People did not have to feel awkward here. Ostensibly, they were only attending a karaoke party.

  Karaoke girls, often abbreviated as K girls, also appeared. Nominally, they were supposed to sing with a customer who did not have a female companion. When the door was locked, however, the other services the K girls provided could well be imagined.

  Chen did not see a single K girl that afternoon. Perhaps this was due to the time of the day. Or perhaps it was because he was with someone already.

  He did not explain any of this to Inspector Rohn.

  When the hostess came back with their order, he said. “Who is your boss?”

  “General Manager Gu.”

  “Tell him to come here.”

  The hostess asked in astonishment, “What shall I say to him?”

  He cast a glance at Catherine. “I have some international business opportunities to discuss with him.”

  Almost immediately, a middle-aged man appeared, wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses, sporting a beer belly as well as a diamond ring on his finger. He held out his business card to Chen. It read: Gu Haiguang.

  Chen handed over his card in return. Gu seemed shocked, but he controlled himself, quickly waving the hostess out of the room.

  “I’m here to introduce myself to you, General Manager Gu. This is my friend Catherine. I wanted to show her the best karaoke club in Shanghai.” Chen continued, “There’s a lot we can do for each other. As the old saying goes, ‘The mountain is high, and the river is long.’”

  “Indeed, there are many possibilities in the future. I’m so honored to meet you today, and your beautiful American girlfriend. I have heard about you, Chief Inspector Chen. Your name has been in newspapers headlines. Your honorable presence lights up our humble place. Today is our treat.”

  This would not be a small sum. Chen believed. For a couple of hours in a private room, plus the food, the bill could run to a month’s salary for him. Most of the clients must be newly rich or officials spending government money.

  “You are most kind, but that’s not why I wanted to meet you, General Manager Gu.”

  “Sergeant Cai is also a regular client of ours. He patrols the area.”

  Chen had heard about cops accepting graft in the form of free entertainment from karaoke clubs. After all, a Cop deserved to sing a few songs, too. One problem with graft was, however, that it snowballed.

  “As a chief inspector, I want to do a good job.” Chen took a leisurely sip of his coffee. “But that will be difficult without people’s help.”

  “It’s the same in our business. As one of our old sayings goes, ‘At home, you depend on your parents, and out in the world, you rely on your friends.’ I am so pleased that we have become acquainted today. Your help will be invaluable to us.”

  “Now that we’re friends, General Manager Gu, I would like to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Gladly, I will tell you anything I know.” Gu was all smiles.

  “Has a gang called the Flying Axes contacted you?”

  “Flying Axes? No, Chief Inspector Chen,” Gu said, his eyes suddenly alert. “I’m a decent business man. But
a karaoke club has visitors from all walks of life. Occasionally from those secret societies as well. They come here like other customers. To sing, to dance, to have a good time.”

  “Oh yes, there are a lot of private rooms here. Private services, too.” Chen stirred his coffee spoon deliberately. “You are a clever man, General Manager Gu. We can talk plainly. Whatever you pass on to me as a friend will be kept confidential.”