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

by Qiu Xiaolong

  hairdresser.

  Yu: I know what you do. That’s not my business. As long as you

  cooperate by answering my questions, I will not bring any trouble

  down on you.

  Tong: What questions?

  Yu: Questions about Feng Dexiang.

  Tong: Feng Dexiang? Um, he used to be one of my clients.

  Yu: At this hair salon?

  Tong: No, at the massage salon in the city of Fuzhou.

  Yu: That’s where the police charged you several times. So did you

  see him a lot there?

  Tong: That was more than a year ago. He had some sort of small

  business, trading fake jade bracelets or selling mud-covered crabs.

  So for a while, about four or five months, he came to the salon

  once or twice a week.

  Yu: Give me the details of his visits.

  Tong: Well, you can guess. Do I need to tell you the details? You’re

  recording my statement. It will be used as evidence against me.

  Yu: Not if you cooperate. You know Zheng Shiming, don’t you? He

  gave me your address. I’m on a special assignment here. With

  your past record, you know how easy it would be to put you back

  in jail. No one will be able to procure your release this time.

  Tong: Don’t scare me. I was just one of the massage girls. At a

  massage salon, you know, there’s basic service and full service. A

  client pays fifty Yuan for basic, but four or five hundred Yuan for

  full, not including the tip.

  Yu: Now at the price of four or five hundred Yuan, Feng came once

  or twice a week for half a year. That was a lot of money. You must

  have some expertise. Feng had a small business, as you said. How

  could he have afforded this?

  Tong: I don’t know. Those people never tell you what they really

  do. They only tell you what they want you to do. And then they do

  whatever they like with their stinking money.

  Yu: Did you know that Feng was married?

  Tong: A massage girl does not ask such questions. But he told me

  about it the first night.

  Yu: What did he say about his marriage?

  Tong: He said he had lost all interest in Wen. A piece of dead meat

  in bed. No fresh taste or smell. No response. He got those dirty

  videotapes from Taiwan, for her to do the same hot stuff as in the

  tapes. She was unwilling, and he punished her.

  Yu: A perverted bastard. What kind of punishment?

  Tong: He bound her hands and feet, burned her breasts with a

  candle, struck her body with a piece of firewood, and fucked her

  like an animal. It’s the punishment she deserved, he said—

  Yu: Why did he want to tell you all that?

  Tong: Because he wanted to do the same things with me. You

  know what? He used to be a butcher before he became the

  commune head in the Cultural Revolution. When she bled and

  screamed like a pig, that turned him on.

  Yu: What had she done to deserve punishment?

  Tong: He believed that she ruined his career. But for the scandal

  with her, he could have stayed in power.

  Yu: He raped her. How could he have blamed her?

  Tong: That’s not the way he saw it. He called her the white tiger

  star in his life.

  Yu: Then why didn’t he divorce her?

  Tong: I think I can guess. Whenever he made some money, he

  squandered it in places like where I worked. So he wanted to keep

  something in reserve. A home to go back to, a purse to snatch, a

  body to abuse.

  Yu: I see. You understand him well. When did you last see Feng?

  Tong: About a year ago.

  Yu: Did he tell you about his plans to go to the United States?

  Tong: That’s no secret in Fujian. He promised to bring me over

  when he got there.

  Yu: What about his wife?

  Tong: He called her trash. Good riddance. I did not believe him. He

  made me that promise in exchange for free service.

  Yu: So there was no change in his feeling toward his wife before

  his departure?

  Tong: No. None at all. It’s just because of her pregnancy—

  Yu: Now wait a minute, Tong. You just said you have not seen him

  for a year. How did you know that?

  Tong: Well—I heard what other people say.

  Yu: Who? Most of the men in his village are gone. You are not

  telling me the truth, Tong. You are still in contact with Feng, aren’t

  you?

  Tong: No, I swear I have nothing to do with him now.

  Yu: Let me tell you something. Zheng’s a much harder nut to crack,

  but he cracked when he heard Superintendent Hong’s promise to

  do whatever I wanted. So Zheng told me a lot, and about you too.

  How once several people had a go at you together, Zheng said,

  Feng, Blind Ma, Shorty Yin.

  Tong: What! Zheng told you that, the thousand-ax-hacked rascal.

  He was the fourth beast that night.

  Yu: That alone would be enough to put you back behind the bars.

  Group sex is forbidden absolutely. Now I’ll tell you what. I’m here

  in plainclothes. No one knows anything about my visit. Why? I’m

  working on a case directly under the central government.

  Tong: No one knows anything about our talk?

  Yu: No one. That’s why I arranged to have this talk in a private

  room. I’ll pay you for the full service in front of other people. No

  one will suspect anything.

  Tong: Um, I’ll take your word, Officer Yu. I may have something for

  you, but I did not know anything about Feng’s current situation

  until last week. A gangster came to me.

  Yu: A Flying Ax came to you! For what, Tong?

  Tong: He asked me the same questions you have just asked.

  Yu: What is his name?

  Tong: Zhang Shan. He said he’s from Hong Kong, but he did not

  fool me that easily. From Hong Kong indeed, like I’m from Japan.

  That bastard had a face as thick as a rock wall.

  Yu: How did you know? He did not have his residence permit

  printed on his face.

  Tong: I could not give him any information, so he demanded free

  full service or he would cut my face. Do you think a Hong Kong

  man would stoop so low? A totally rotten thousand-year-egg.

  Yu: Did he tell you anything about Feng?

  Tong: In bed, he gave me no rest for half a night. Afterward, he

  mumbled something about Feng and his wife.

  Yu: That may be important. What did he say?

  Tong: The organization is really pissed off. They are leaving no

  stone unturned to dig up his wife.

  Yu: What if they find her?

  Tong: That depends on Feng.

  Yu: What does that mean?

  Tong: He did not explain. They will probably hold her hostage.

  Imprison her in a dungeon. Torture her. Anything you can

  imagine. If Feng does not cooperate, they will impose the Eighteen

  Axes, I guess.

  Yu: Eighteen Axes?

  Tong: Hack her with eighteen blows of an ax. The worst form of

  the triad’s punishment. As a warning to others.

  Yu: Now there are only two weeks before the trial. What will they

  do if they do not find her by then?

  Tong: I don’t know, but I think they are really worried about

  something. I have no idea what it is. They won’t stop until th
ey get

  hold of her. At any cost, Zhang said.

  Yu: At any cost. I see. Anything else?

  Tong: That’s all, Officer Yu. A bastard like him does not want to talk

  much when he is satiated. I did not want to appear interested in

  Feng. I did not know you would come today.

  Yu: Well, if what you have told me is true, you probably won’t hear

  from me again. But if it is not, and I find out, you know what will

  happen.

  Tong: It’s nothing but the truth.

  Chief Inspector Chen pushed the off button and lit a cigarette.

  He was depressed. He had been involved with more sordid cases, but something troubled him about this one. Sitting, resting his head against the hard headboard, he seemed to see exotic patterns of light and shadow dancing on the opposite wall, like a devil-mask dancer in a movie.

  He did not like his job.

  It more than shocked him that Wen’s life had been so horrible. Now he saw why she had not applied for the passport in January. Why should she want to join such a husband? That immediately led to another question. What had brought about her change of mind? For a once-high-spirited girl, “the prettiest leftist,” wearing the proud armband of the Red Guard, how could she have chosen to live the rest of her life like a piece of stale meat on a cutting stump, to be carved and cut by a butcher of a husband?

  The tape presented a more disturbing question. Again, here was a Hong Kong visitor, rather than a local thug. Tong’s judgment was questionable. There’s nothing too low for a gangster, whether from Hong Kong or Fujian. But why should the Flying Axes have sent a Hong Kong gangster to approach Tong, a salon girl in Fujian?

  What’s more, what was the “something” that would bother the gangsters, and make them stop at nothing to find Wen.

  Tong might not be a reliable informant. Nevertheless, Chen was struck with an ominous premonition.

  Something might be terribly wrong with his earlier hypothesis. He only knew that he was at a critical juncture. One move amiss, and the whole game would be irrecoverably lost.

  In a game of go, he would change his position by leaving that battle for the time being, to focus on another, or to start a new one. Tactical repositioning. After all, he might stage a comeback when the situation changed. So one possible option was for him to close the investigation. Give up.

  From Party Secretary Li’s point of view, Chief Inspector Chen had already done his job well enough. And Catherine Rohn’s supervisor also wanted her to return.

  As for Wen Liping, ironic as it might appear, he had to acknowledge that wherever she was, it would probably not be much worse than in Feng’s company.

  Party Secretary Li was right about one thing. Inspector Rohn’s safety was a matter of top priority, for which Chen felt immensely responsible. The gangster had said at any cost—that made him shudder. If anything happened to her, he would never be able to forgive himself.

  Not merely because of politics.

  He had sensed her sympathy earlier in the day. Particularly by his father’s grave. No one else had ever accompanied him there. The gesture had a meaning for him. He realized that despite their differences Inspector Rohn had come to mean more to him than a temporary partner.

  But it was absurd of him to be contemplating such things with his investigation bogged down in a mire of unanswered questions, inexplicable complications, unpredictable hazards, and with Wen Liping still missing.

  Could he really quit now, with what he saw as the national interest at stake, and risk Feng failing to testify against Jia? With the possibility of “eighteen axes” looming for Wen—a pregnant woman, helpless, with no money or job?

  The cigarette burned his fingers.

  He was seized with an urge. To forget those contradictory thoughts, about Wen, about politics, about himself. He longed for an evening at the Cold Mountains Temple, by the Maple River, with the moon rising, the crow calling, the frosty sky enfolding, the riverside maples swaying, the fishing lights glittering, and the arrival of a guest boat at the stroke of midnight.... To lose himself in the world of Tang poetry, for however brief a moment.

  As he stepped out of his room, he saw the light still on in Catherine’s. But he continued down the stairs to the front desk. There he picked up the phone, then hesitated. Several; people were standing around idly. Not far away, another group of people sat in front of a color TV. He put down the receiver and walked into the street.

  The city of Suzhou seemed not to have changed much in spite of China’s Open Door Policy. Here and there, new apartment buildings appeared amidst old-styled houses, but he failed to find a public phone booth. Walking, he came to the arch of an ancient white stone bridge. He crossed, coming unexpectedly into a brightly lit thoroughfare with a variety of shops. It was like a juxtaposition of different times.

  At one corner of the thoroughfare, he saw a post office open. In its spacious hall several people waited by a row of phone booths with glass doors, above each of which a strip showed the relevant city name and phone number. A middle-aged woman looked up, pushed open the door, and picked up the phone inside.

  He started to fill out a request form to call Gu. Once more he hesitated. He’d better not reveal his whereabouts to someone like Gu. So he put down Mr. Ma’s phone number. Gu might I have contacted the old doctor.

  After ten minutes, the number he had requested showed up on the screen. He stepped into the booth, closed the door behind him, and picked up the phone.

  “It’s me, Chen Cao, Mr. Ma. Has Gu contacted you?”

  “Yes, he did. I called the bureau. They told me you were in Hangzhou.”

  “What did Gu tell you?”

  “Gu seemed to be really concerned about you, saying that some people, powerful people, are opposing you.”

  “Who are they?”

  “I asked him, but he did not tell me. Instead he asked me whether I had heard anything about a Hong Kong triad called Green Bamboo.”

  “Green Bamboo?”

  “Yes. I asked several people about them this afternoon. It’s an international organization with its headquarters in Hong Kong.”

  “Anything about its activity in Shanghai?”

  “No, nothing so far. I will keep asking. You take care, Chief Inspector Chen.”

  “I will. You too, Mr. Ma.”

  As he left the post office, his steps were dragging. Various things appeared to be entangled like bamboo roots under the ground. The Green Bamboo. Chief Inspector Chen had not even heard of them until now.

  And he lost his way in the unfamiliar city. After having made a few wrong turns, he came to the Bausu Pagoda Garden. He bought an entrance ticket, though it was too late for him to go into the pagoda.

  Strolling aimlessly in the garden, in the hope that some ideas might come to him, he saw a young girl reading on a wooden bench. No more than eighteen or nineteen, she sat quietly with a book in one hand, a pen in the other, and a newspaper spread on the bench. Her lips touched the shining top of the pen, and the bow on her pony tail fluttered like a butterfly on a breath of air. This scene reminded him of his days in Bund Park, years earlier.

  What could she be reading there? A poetry collection? He took a step toward the bench before he realized how deluded he was. He saw the title of book: Market Strategy. For years, the stock markets had been closed, but now “stock madness” was sweeping the country, even this corner of the ancient garden.

  He climbed a small hill and stood on top of it for several minutes. Not far away, he seemed to hear the murmur of a cascade. He glimpsed, in the distance, a faint flickering light. On this April night, the stars appeared high, bright, whispering to him through memories . ..

  Such stars, but not that night, long ago, lost,

  For whom I stand tonight, against the wind and frost.

  But tonight it was not as bad as in Huang Chongzhe’s lines, not as cold. He whistled, trying to pull himself out of his mood. He was not meant to be
a poet. Nor was he cut out to be an overseas Chinese making a “grave-sweeping” trip with an American girlfriend—as those old women had imagined. Nor a tourist, wandering about in the city of Suzhou at leisure.

  He was a police officer, incognito, conducting an investigation, unable to make a decision until after the next day’s interview.

  * * * *

  Chapter 28

  E

  arly the next morning, they arrived at Liu’s residence in a suburb of Suzhou.

  Inspector Rohn was amazed at its Western-style grandeur. Liu lived in a magnificent mansion behind substantial walls, forming a sharp contrast to the general image of the city. The iron gate was not locked, so they walked in. The lawn looked as well-kept as a golf course. Beside the driveway stood a marble sculpture of a girl, sitting after a bath, bending her head in thought, her long hair cascading like a waterfall over her breasts.