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

by Qiu Xiaolong

  “We don’t have to do that today,” Gu said, waving the girl out. “Tell the chef to do his best.”

  “Is she really a Fudan student?” Meiling asked.

  “Oh yes. She’s majoring in Chinese literature. A clever girl. And practical too,” Gu said. “In one month here, she can earn about one year’s salary as a high-school teacher.”

  “She works to support her studies,” Chen concluded rather uncomfortably.

  White Cloud came back carrying a large tray with several small bowls and cups on it. One bowl contained snake blood, another held something like a small greenish ball immersed in liquor. At Gu’s request, she started listing the wonderful effects of the snake as medicine.

  “Snake blood is good for blood circulation. It is useful in treating anemia, rheumatism, arthritis, and asthenia. Snake gall bladder proves especially effective in dissolving phlegm and improving vision—”

  “You have to have the gall, Chief Inspector Chen,” Gu insisted. “The gall is associated with yin and has a special effect on human health.”

  This medical theory did not appeal to Chen. He knew it was customary to save the gall for a distinguished guest. Kneeling, White Cloud held the cup out to him in both hands, respectfully. The gall looked a ghastly greenish color in the clear liquor. It was hard to imagine what it would taste like.

  With one determined gulp, he swallowed without tasting, as he used to swallow an oversized pill in his childhood. He did not know whether it was the effect of his imagination, or whether the snake gall was really that potent. It produced in his stomach an instant chill that contrasted with a burning sensation in his throat. Yin, in traditional Chinese medical theory.

  “Now you must have the blood. That’s yang,” Gu urged.

  In kung fu fiction, drinking wine mixed with rooster blood was part of the triad initiation ceremony, like a blood oath: to share weal and woe. Gu had a bowl in his hand too, perhaps in a gesture with a similar connotation. Chief Inspector Chen had no choice but to drain the bowl, trying his best to ignore the strange smell.

  Then a platter of fried slices of snake meat was set on the table. White Cloud fed him a slice with her fingers. Tender, under a golden crispy surface, it tasted like chicken with an unusual texture.

  He tried to lead the conversation in the direction he wanted.

  “We did not have enough time yesterday, Gu. There’s a lot more we could have talked about.”

  “Exactly, Chief Inspector Chen. As for what you wanted me to find out yesterday, I have done some legwork—”

  “Excuse me, General Manager Gu,” Meiling said, rising. “I think I need to take a close look at the parking lot. White Cloud may accompany me there.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Chen said gratefully.

  When they were left alone, however, Gu did not provide much new information. Gu discussed what he thought suspicious about the way Mr. Diao, that Hong Kong visitor, had appeared. A Flying Ax would not have come to Gu, since he was not really a Blue member. Diao should have gone to the Eldest Brother of the Blue. Gu was out of his element when trying to play detective, but he had learned that Diao had also visited the Red Capital Bathhouse.

  Apparently, Gu had really tried hard to get information. Chen nodded, sipping his wine. If that Fujianese was a Flying Ax looking for Wen, Diao might be from a rival organization. A third party, as Inspector Rohn had suggested.

  “Thank you, Gu. You have done great work.”

  “Come on, Chief Inspector Chen. You have taken me as a friend,” Gu declared, “and for a friend, I’m willing to have my ribs pierced with knives.” Gu had turned red in the face, beating his chest with a fist, not a gesture Chen had expected to see in a private karaoke room.

  When Meiling returned with White Cloud, another bottle of Mao Tai was opened.

  Gu kept toasting “Chief Inspector Chen’s great achievement and prosperous future.” Meiling joined in the toasts. Kneeling by the table, White Cloud busily added wine to his cup.

  Chen could not remember how much he’d had to drink. Warmed with gratification at such recognition, he was coming to terms with his status here.

  Seizing the opportunity when Meiling excused herself, he posed a question to Gu, “Has Li Guohua been here?”

  “Li Guohua, the Party Secretary of your bureau? No, not here. But one of his relatives has a bar in a very good location. It was the Eldest Brother of the Blue who told me this.”

  “Really!” That his brother-in-law had a bar was not news, but Gu had specifically mentioned the Eldest Brother of the Blue as his source. This was disturbing. Heretofore Party Secretary Li had been a prototype of Party correctness for Chen as well as a political mentor.

  Was this why Li had been so reluctant to have him pursue an investigation dealing with the triads? Perhaps why Li had insisted on assigning Qian to him as a temporary assistant?

  “I can find out more for you, Chief Inspector.”

  “Thank you, Gu,” he said.

  Meiling came back into the room. A new piece of music played. It was a tango. White Cloud, kneeling with a cup for him in her hand, looked up at him. There was a small bloodstain on her bare sole. Maybe it was blood from the big king snake. He felt tempted to have another dance with her.

  He was not drunk—not as drunk as Li Bai, beneath the Tang dynasty moon, who had written about dancing with his own shadow. In a lonely moment, Li Bai must have enjoyed his intoxicated departure from humdrum existence. Escape, though no more than momentary, seemed to be desirable tonight at the Dynasty.

  At the sight of Meiling checking her watch, Chief Inspector Chen thought about asking her to go home now, on her own. However, he rose to leave instead.

  * * * *

  Chapter 22

  D

  etective Yu was wakened by a hoarse, long-drawn-out sound.

  As he roused himself from the dream, blinking in the half-light of the room, the sound was repeated several times in the distance. Still disoriented, he had a feeling that the eerie sound came from another world. Was it the cry of a white owl? It was probably not unusual in this area. He reached for his watch. Twenty to six. Gray daylight was starting to filter through the plastic blinds.

  An owl’s hoot was supposed to be ominous, according to folklore, especially when it was heard first thing in the morning.

  In Yunnan, he and Peiqin had sometimes awakened amid nameless birds’ twittering. Different days. Different birds, too. After a night’s wind and rain, the slope outside their window would be covered with fallen petals. He was missing Peiqin again.

  Rubbing his eyes, he made an effort to shake off the feeling the owl’s cry had induced. There was no reason to suspect that it was going to be a bad day.

  Chief Inspector Chen had discussed with him the likelihood that the Flying Axes would take desperate measures. It was alarming, but understandable. Considering the huge profit in human smuggling, the gang would make every attempt to get hold of Wen, on its own or through connections, to prevent her husband from testifying.

  His phone started ringing. The number on the LCD display was a local one. The call came from Manager Pan, the first time they’d spoken since the food poisoning accident.

  “Is everything all right, Pan?”

  “I’m fine. I entertained a customer last night in a bathhouse in Tingjiang Village. And I saw Zheng Shiming playing mah-jongg there with several good-for-nothing guys.”

  “Who is Zheng Shiming?”

  “A Flying Ax. He did some business with Wen’s husband Feng two or three years ago.”

  “That’s a piece of news. You should have called me last night.”

  “I’m not a cop. I did not associate Zheng with your investigation there and then,” Pan said. “But it may not be too late. A mah-jongg game can last all the night. If you go over right now, I bet you’ll still find him there. He has a red motorcycle. A Honda.”

  “I’m on my way,” Yu said. “Anything else about Zheng?”

  “Last year Z
heng was in jail for gambling. He’s just out on probation for medical treatment. Playing mah-jongg is way out of line.” Pan added after a short pause, “Oh, I have also heard stories about Zheng and Merry Widow Shou, the owner of the bathhouse. She loves to have her legs entwined with Zheng’s.”

  “I see.” That was why Pan called him so early in the morning. A sly dog. After a night of mah-jongg, a six-thirty visit was well-calculated to catch them off guard.

  “Oh, you didn’t hear anything from me, Detective Yu.”

  “Of course not. Thanks.”

  “Thanks to you. If you hadn’t saved me, I would have died of food poisoning at your hotel.”

  Detective Yu was past the stage of feeling disappointed with the local police for withholding information from him. A person like Zheng could not have been overlooked. He decided to go to Tingjiang Village without notifying Sergeant Zhao. After a second’s thought, Yu also took his pistol with him.

  The village was no more than fifteen minutes’ walk away. It was difficult to believe that there was a public bathhouse there. Indeed, the wheel of change turned nonstop in the world of red dust—that of the common people—both forward and backward. The renewed prosperity of the bathhouse business in the nineties owed less to old people’s nostalgia than to its new service. For the newly rich, it was a place where they were able to buy the satisfaction of being served from head to foot, and sometimes served in other parts as well. Detective Yu had received reports about those indecent services. There must be some wealthy customers in this area as money poured in from abroad.

  When he reached the village, the first thing he saw was a bright red motorcycle standing by a white-painted house that displayed the image of an enormous bathtub. Apparently this bathhouse had been converted from a residence. Through the partially open door, he saw a small stone courtyard littered with coal, wood, and stack upon stack of bath towels. He walked in. A huge white tile tub occupied the space of the original living room and dining room. Deck chairs were lined up against the wall. There was another room with a bamboo-beaded door curtain and a sign saying, long happiness room. The private room for wealthy customers.

  He pushed aside the curtain and saw a folding table with several chairs. The table was littered with pieces of a mah-jongg set, teacups, and ashtrays. Judging by the lingering traces of smoke in the air, the game could not have finished too long ago. Then he heard a man’s voice coming from a room upstairs. “Who’s there?”

  Whipping out his gun, Yu ran upstairs and kicked open the door. He saw what Pan had led him to expect: a naked man entangled with a naked woman on a rumpled bed. Their clothes lay on the floor. The woman tried to cover herself up with the sheet, and the man reached for something on the nightstand.

  “Don’t move. I will shoot.”

  At the sight of the gun, the man withdrew his hand. The woman frantically attempted to cover her groin, forgetting about her slack breasts with dark, hard tips and the other parts of her angular body. A mole under her rib cage produced a weird three-nippled effect.

  “Cover yourself.” Yu threw a shirt to the woman.

  “Who are you?” The man, a muscular hunk with a long scar above his left eyebrows, pulled on his pants. “The axes fly down from the sky, I’m third-story high.”

  “You must be Zheng Shiming. I am a cop. Drop your gang jargon.”

  “You’re a cop? I’ve never seen you before.”

  “Take a close look.” Yu produced his badge. “Zhao Youli is my local assistant. I’m here on a special case.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “Let’s talk—in another room.”

  “Fine,” Zheng said with recovered composure, casting a glance at the woman as he was ready to step out. “Don’t worry, Shou.”

  As soon as they moved down into the private room, Zheng said, “I don’t know what you want to talk to me about, Officer Yu. I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Oh, really? You gambled last night, and you were in jail for that same reason.”

  “Gambling? No. We played for fun.”

  “You can explain that to the local police. In addition, I am an eyewitness to your fornication.”

  “Come on. Shou and I have been seeing each other for several years. I’m going to marry her,” Zheng said. “What do you really want?”

  “I want you to tell me what you know about Feng Dexiang and the Flying Axes.”

  “Feng is in the United States. That’s all I know. As for the Flying Axes, I have just gotten out of prison. I have nothing to do with them.”

  “You did some business with Feng a couple of years ago. Start by telling me about that. Tell me how you met him—when and where?”

  “Well, it was about two years ago. We met in a small hotel in the city of Fuzhou. We were in a deal for some American cigarettes shipped in from Taiwan.”

  “Smuggled in from Taiwan? So you were his partner in illegal business.”

  “Only for a few weeks. After that, I never worked with him again.”

  “What kind of man is Feng?”

  “A stinking rat. Rotten from head to foot. He would betray you for a bread crumb.”

  “A stinking rat?” That was the description used by several other villagers, Yu remembered. “Did you meet his wife while you were partners?”

  “No, but Feng showed her picture to me several times. Fifteen years younger. Really gorgeous.”

  “So he carried Wen’s picture around with him. He must have cared a lot for her.”

  “No, I don’t think so. He wanted to brag about what a beauty he had deflowered. The way he talked about her was so dirty. He described in detail how she struggled, screaming, bleeding like a pig when he forced himself on her the first time—”

  “What a bastard, to boast of such things to others!” Yu cut Zheng short.

  “He also slept around. With half a dozen girls. I happened to know one of them, Tong Jiaqing. What a nymphomaniac! Once several guys had a go at her all together, Feng, Blind Ma, and Shorty Yin—”

  “Did he talk to you about his plans to go to the United States?

  “That’s common knowledge here. Most of the men in his village are gone. Like everybody else, Feng talked about becoming a millionaire in the United States. Anyway, he’s politically finished here.”

  “You’re both Flying Axes,” Yu said. “He must have talked to you about his travel racket.”

  “I have had nothing to do with those arrangements. Feng once boasted to me about his close relationship to some of the big bugs, that’s about all I know.”

  “Including Jia Xinzhi?”

  “Jia is not a member of our organization. He’s more like a business partner, responsible for the ship. I do not remember Feng mentioning Jia. I’m telling you the truth, Officer Yu.”

  What Zheng had so far said could be true, Yu judged; he had revealed nothing crucial to the organization. As for a notorious scum like Feng, knowledge of some further evils in his personal life would not change anything. “I know you’ve just come out, Zheng, but I can easily put you back in if you refuse to cooperate. I need more than what you’ve told me.”

  “I’m a dead pig anyway. It makes no difference if you throw me into the boiling water,” Zheng said stonily. “Put me back in prison if you can.”

  Detective Yu had heard of gang yiqi. Still, few would be a boiled pig rather than a betraying rat. Perhaps Zheng thought Yu was merely bluffing. A Shanghai badge might mean little to a local gangster, but Yu was not anxious to call in Sergeant Zhao.

  The deadlock was broken by Shou’s entrance, her wooden slippers clicking on the hardwood floor. Dressed in blue-striped pajama tops and pants, she carried a tea pot and two cups on a black lacquer tray.

  “Comrade Officer, please have some Oolong tea.”

  That Shou would chose to come into the room was unexpected. Another woman would have remained sobbing upstairs, too ashamed to reappear before the cop who had just seen her naked. Now with her body concealed by her paja
mas, she appeared presentable, decent, not the lascivious woman Pan had suggested. She had fine features, though worries had etched lines around her eyes. She might have been eavesdropping.

  “Thanks.” Taking a cup, Yu pushed on. “Let me put it this way, Zheng. Have you heard anything about what the gang may do to Feng or his wife?”

  “No, I’ve heard nothing. Since I came out, I’ve been living with my tail tucked in.”

  “With your tail tucked in? What you did last night with your tail sticking out was enough to put you back inside for years. Playing mah-jongg is a serious parole violation. Use those dead pig brains of yours, Zheng.”