by Qiu Xiaolong
“Zheng has done nothing wrong,” Shou cut in. “I wanted him to stay overnight.”
“Leave us alone, Shou,” Zheng said. “It has nothing to do with you. Go back to your room.”
As Shou left the room, looking back at them, Yu said deliberately, “A nice woman. Do you want to drag her into trouble on your account?”
“It has nothing to do with her.”
“I’m afraid it has. I will not only put you back inside, but also have the bathhouse closed on the grounds that it is a house of gambling and prostitution. She will be put behind bars, too, but not in the same cell with you, I will make sure of that. The local cops will do what I tell them.”
“You are bluffing, Officer Yu.” Zheng stared at him defiantly. “I know Sergeant Zhao.”
“You don’t believe me? Superintendent Hong is in charge of the province. You must know him, too.” Yu said, taking out his phone. “I am calling him right now.”
He dialed the number, showed Zheng the LCD display, and pressed the speaker phone button so the conversation could be heard by both of them.
“Comrade Superintendent Hong, this is Detective Yu Guangming speaking.”
“How is everything, Detective Yu?”
“No progress, and Chief Inspector Chen calls every day. Remember, this case is of serious concern to the Beijing ministry.”
“Yes, we understand. It is top priority for us too.”
“We have to exert more pressure on the Flying Axes.”
“I agree, but as I told you, the leaders are not here.”
“Any of their members will do. I’ve discussed it with Chief Inspector Chen. Lock them up, as well as the people connected with them. If we use enough pressure, they will cave in.”
“I’ll work out a plan with Zhao and call you again.”
“Now we can talk.” Detective Yu looked Zheng in the eyes. “Let me make one thing clear to you. At this moment, the local police don’t know I’m here. Why? My investigation is highly confidential. So if you cooperate, no one will talk—not you, not Shou, and not me. What you did last night is not my concern.”
“It was really nothing—last night,” Zheng said in a suddenly husky voice. “But now I remember one thing. One of the mah-jongg players, a guy named Ding, asked me about Feng.”
“Is Ding a Flying Ax?”
“I think so. I had never met him before.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked if I heard anything about Feng. I hadn’t. In fact, it was from Ding that I first learned about Feng’s deal with the Americans. And about Wen’s disappearance, too. The organization is very upset.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“Not in detail, but I can guess. If Jia is convicted, it will be a huge loss to our smuggling operation.”
“There are enough Taiwan smuggling rings to take up the slack. I don’t think the Flying Axes have to worry about that.”
“The reputation of the organization is at stake. ‘A grain of rat dung may spoil a whole pot of white porridge.’ “ Zheng added after a pause, “Perhaps it’s more than that. Feng’s role in the operation is another factor.”
“Now that’s something. What do you know about his role?”
“Once the departure time of a ship is arranged, snake heads like Jia want to sign up as many passengers as possible. They’ll lose profits if the ship is half full, so it is our responsibility to get the word around. Feng was engaged in recruiting. He developed a network and made himself useful to the village folks. They would consult him to learn, for example, which snake heads are reliable, whether the price is negotiable, what captains are experienced. So Feng has in his head a list of the people involved—on both the supply and demand sides. If he turns that over, it will be a terrible blow to the whole business.”
“He may have turned it over already.” Yu had not heard about this. Perhaps the Americans had focused on Feng only as a witness against Jia. “Did Ding tell you what the gang plans to do with his wife?”
“He cursed like mad. Something like, ‘The bitch changed her mind. She won’t get away so easily!’”
“What does that mean—changed her mind?”
“She was waiting for her passport, but she ran away at the last minute. I believe that’s what he meant.”
“So what are they going to do?”
“Feng is worried about the baby in her belly. If they get hold of her, Feng will not squeak. So they are hunting her down.”
“Almost ten days have passed, they must be really anxious now.”
“You bet. They have sent gold axes out.”
“Gold axes?”
“The founder of the Flying Axes had five small gold axes made with the inscription, ‘When you see the gold ax, you see me.’ If another organization fulfills a request made with a gold ax, they are entitled to any favor in return.”
“So other gangs are involved in the search for Wen, outside Fujian?”
“Ding mentioned some people in Shanghai. They will do whatever they can to beat the cops to Wen.”
Detective Yu was alarmed—as much on behalf of Chief Inspector Chen and his American companion as for Wen. “What else did he tell you?”
“I think that’s all. I’ve told you everything I know. Every word is absolutely true, Officer Yu.”
“Well, we will find out,” Yu said, believing that Zheng had revealed all he knew. “One more thing. Give me the address of this prostitute, Tong.”
Zheng wrote a few words on a piece of paper. “No one knows about your visit here?”
“No one. Don’t worry about that.” Yu rose from the mah-jongg table, adding his cell phone number to the card. “If you hear anything more, contact me.”
He left the bathhouse like a satisfied customer, with his hosts accompanying him to the door.
Turning to look back at the end of village, he saw Zheng still standing with Shou in the doorway, his arm grasping her waist, like a couple of crabs tied together with a straw in the market. Perhaps they did care for each other.
* * * *
Chapter 23
C
hief Inspector Chen had a terrible hangover on Sunday morning, thanks to the karaoke party the night before.
Vaguely he remembered one scene in his quick-fading dream. He had been traveling in an express train, going somewhere, though his destination did not appear on his punched ticket. It was a long, boring trip. There was hardly anything to do but stare at the unchanging aisle where changing feet were passing— in straw sandals, shining boots, leather loafers, fashionable mules. . . Then turning toward his own reflection in the window, he noticed a fly circling around a spot near the frame. The moment he raised his hand in annoyance, it buzzed away. But immediately it returned, buzzing, to the same old place. He did not see anything there to attract it. The train was still moving yet not moving...
And he wondered as the light streamed through the blinds: Is it Chief Inspector Chen that dreams of being a fly, or is it the fly that dreams of being a cop?
Some details of the party the previous night came back to him. How was he different from those depraved officials in Baoshen’s case? Of course he had visited the club for his work, he rationalized.
He had sworn that he would do everything in his power to deliver a crushing blow to the gangsters, yet he had not supposed then that he, too, would have had to descend to such deviousness, toasting to friendship with an honorary Blue.
And there was Li’s connection. Li might not have told him everything about the investigation. In fact, Minister Huang’s recommendation of him for the job and call to him at his home was suggestive. Chief Inspector Chen might well need to have a card to play against the powerful Party Secretary.
It was then, at eight thirty, that Party Secretary Li’s phone call came, which did not provide much hope of relief for his headache.
“It’s Sunday, Chief Inspector Chen. Entertain Inspector Rohn the best you can, so she won’t make troublesome demands.”
Chen shook his head. There was no arguing with Li, especially when Internal Security lurked in the background. People’s grumbled about the possibility of his succeeding Party Secretary Li, but he wondered now whether it was such a desirable position.
Inspector Rohn did not sound too disappointed at his proposal for the day. Perhaps she also realized that further interviews in Shanghai were futile. He suggested that they meet for lunch at Moscow Suburb.
“A Russian restaurant?”
“I want to show you the rapid changes taking place in Shanghai,” he said. He also wanted to bring his friend Lu some business.
He had planned to have a meeting with Old Hunter before lunch, but he did not make it. As he put down the phone, he received an express delivery. Detective Yu’s cassette tape bore a label that read: Interview with Manager Pan. Listening to it took priority. After applying a wet towel to his forehead, he sat on the sofa and played the tape. At the end, he rewound it to replay the part where Manager Pan told of learning about Feng’s deal in the United States. As he listened one more time, he made a quick, note, wondering whether Yu had noticed the point.
Glancing at his watch, he realized he had no time to ask Yu this question. He had to hurry.
* * * *
Restaurant owner Lu, expansive in the three-piece charcoal gray suit, wearing a scarlet tie fixed with a diamond pin, was waiting for them outside Moscow Suburb.
“Buddy, you’ve not been here for ages. What good wind’s brought you today?”
“Meet Catherine Rohn, my American friend. Catherine, this is Overseas Chinese Lu.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Lu,” she said in Chinese.
“Welcome. Chief Inspector Chen’s friend is my friend,” Lu declared. “A private room is reserved for you.”
They needed the special treatment. The dining hall was packed. A number of foreigners who spoke English were dining there. A Russian hostess led them into an exquisitely decorated room, her slender waist swaying like the poplar tree in a breeze. The tablecloth gleamed snow white, glasses shone under highly polished chandeliers, and the exquisite silverware could have come from the Winter Palace. The waitress planted herself behind their table, motionless.
Lu waved her away. “Come back later, Anna. I haven’t talked to my buddy for a long time.”
“How is business?” Chen asked.
“Not bad at all,” Lu beamed. “We’ve got a reputation for genuine Russian cuisine, and genuine Russian girls.”
“Well known for both!”
“Exactly. That’s why people come pouring in.”
“So you’re really a successful Overseas Chinese now,” Chen said. “I appreciate what you have done for my mother.”
“Come on. She is like my mother, too. She’s a bit lonely by herself, you know.”
“Yes, I want her to move in with me, but she says she’s used to that old attic.”
“She wants you to have the One-bedroom apartment for yourself.”
Chen knew what Lu was driving at. There was no point in bringing it up in the presence of Inspector Rohn. So he said, “I consider myself lucky to have a one-bedroom apartment just for myself.”
“You know what Ruru says? ‘Chief Inspector Chen belongs to an endangered species.’ Why? A shining key to a three-bedroom apartment would have been long since delivered by one of those upstarts to someone in your position,” Lu said with a low chuckle. “No offense, buddy. She cooks a good soup but does not understand how upright a cop you are. Oh, Gu Haiguang, of the Dynasty Club, came here yesterday, and he mentioned you.”
“Really! Do you think he dropped in by chance?”
“I don’t know. He has been here before, but yesterday he asked questions about you. I told him you helped me get started. It was like sending a poor friend charcoal in the depth of the winter.”
“You don’t have to tell people that, Lu.”
“Why not? Ruru and I are proud to have a friend like you. Come here every week. Let Little Zhou drive you. It’s only fifteen minutes. Your bureau canteen is an insult. Are you on an expense account today?”
“No, I’m not on bureau business today. Catherine is a friend of mine. So I want her to have dinner at the best Russian restaurant in Shanghai.”
“Thank you,” Lu said. “It’s a pity Ruru’s not here, or she would entertain you like at home. It is our treat today.”
“No, I have to pay. You don’t want me to lose face in front of my American friend, do you?”
“Don’t worry, buddy. You’ll have your face. And our best food.”
Anna brought them a bilingual menu. Chen ordered a broiled veal chop. Catherine chose smoked trout with borscht. Standing between them, Lu kept suggesting the house specials like someone in a TV commercial.
When they were finally left alone, Catherine asked Chen, “Is he an overseas Chinese?”
“No, it’s his nickname.”
“Does an overseas Chinese talk like he does?”
“I don’t know. In some of our movies, overseas Chinese are shown as very excited to be coming back home, exaggerating a lot. Lu talks like that on the topic of food, but he got his nickname in a different way. During the Cultural Revolution, “Overseas Chinese” was a negative term, used to depict people as politically unreliable in connection with the Western world, or in association with an extravagant bourgeois life style. In high school, Lu took obstinate pride in cultivating his “decadent” tastes—brewing coffee, baking apple pie, tossing fruit salad, and of course, wearing a Western-style suit to dinner. So he got the nickname.”
“Have you acquired all your epicurean knowledge from him?” she asked.
“You could say that. Nowadays, ‘Overseas Chinese’ is a positive term, carrying the connotation of someone rich, successful in business, connected with the Western world. Lu has turned into a successful entrepreneur with his own restaurant. So now the name fits the reality.”
She took a small sip of water, the ice cubes clinking pleasantly in the glass. “He asked you who was going to pay. Why?”
“If I’m here on bureau business, on an expense account, he will charge me two or three times more. A common practice. Not just for our bureau, but for all state-run companies. The ‘socialist expense.’ “
“But how come—I mean two or three times more?”
“In China, most people work for state-run companies. The system calls for a sort of averaging. Theoretically, a general manager and a janitor should earn about the same salary. So the former uses company money for his own benefit—for dining and entertaining: ‘socialist expense,’ even if they are treating their families or friends.”
The waitress brought in a bottle of wine in a basket and two small dishes of caviar on a silver tray. “Compliments of the house.”
They watched the waitress go through the ceremony of uncorking the bottle, pouring a bit into Chen’s glass, and waiting expectantly. He handed it over to Catherine.
She sampled it. “Good.”
As the waitress withdrew, they raised their glasses in a toast.
“I’m glad you told him that I’m your friend,” she said. “But let’s split the check.”
“No. It’s on the bureau. I told him I was paying because I did not want to incur too much expense. It would be a serious matter of loss of face for a Chinese not to pay in the company of his girlfriend—let alone a beautiful American girlfriend.”
“A beautiful American girlfriend!”
“No, I did not tell him that, but that’s probably what he imagines.”
“Life here is so complicated—’socialist expense’ and ‘face loss.’ “ She raised her cup again. “Do you think Gu came here on purpose?”
“Gu did not mention his visit to me last night, but I think you are right.”
“Oh, did you see him again last night?”
“Yes, for a karaoke party. I took Meiling, the secretary of the Traffic Control Office.”
“So you took another girl there!” She feigned shock.
“To show how serious I am about the parking lot, Inspector Rohn.”
“In exchange for information, I understand. Did you get anything new, Chief Inspector Chen?”
“Not about Wen, but he promised he would try.” He drained his wine, remembering the Mao Tai mixed with the snake blood, choosing not to talk about the karaoke party in detail. “The party did not finish until two, with all the exotic foods you can imagine, plus two bottles of Mao Tai, and a splitting headache for me this morning.”
