A Case of Two Cities

26

IT WAS STILL EARLY in the morning when the phone rang in Detective Yu’s small room. He took a look at the radio clock on the night-stand. Not six yet. Peiqin was still asleep, her bare legs and feet reaching out, so white against the light green towel blanket in the pale light. He picked up the phone and moved down, so as not to wake her up. But there was not much space for him to do so. Qinqin was asleep in the back part, which was partitioned out as his room.

“A very important development, son,” Old Hunter said. “Now I know why the Beijing government sent Chen out with the delegation. A devious conspiracy indeed.”

“What is it?” He had to push the old man. Old Hunter, otherwise nicknamed Suzhou Opera Singer, could go on delaying and digressing for an hour before coming to the point. “Please tell me, Father. I’m leaving in five minutes.”

“Now it’s from a most reliable source, this information I’m going to tell you. But I have to begin from the beginning. Now, Hua had a sworn brother at the passport office of the Shanghai City Government, Miao Zhiying. I have just learned that from Hua’s widow. Hua sheltered Miao for weeks during the Cultural Revolution. Miao was then on the wanted list issued nationwide by a Red Guard organization. Hua’s a golden-hearted guy, as I have told you. So I went to Miao, who, a man in his late fifties, burst into tears. You know what he said to me? ‘If you can do something for Hua by cutting my head off, Old Hunter, strike, and I will not groan.’ So I asked him to check any suspicious movement made of late by those rats, and he promised to help. Early this morning, through one of his colleagues, he found out that a Canadian visa-for ‘personal business’-had been recently granted to Jiang, the director of the City Land Development Office. The application and approval were conducted in a secret way, completed just two days ago. Miao called me immediately.”

“So Jiang’s trying to run out, before Chen comes back.”

“That’s possible. Those rats have had their passports ready long beforehand, Miao told me. It is said that people nowadays can sort of get Canadian citizenship through investment. Two million yuan, and the visa would be granted. Now, how has Jiang gotten all the money? We have to act quick. Or there will be another damned red-topped rat carrying its huge storage of stolen money abroad.”

“No, he won’t be able to get away,” Yu said. “I’m going to the bureau. I’ll call you back.”

“Chief Inspector Chen should be coming back soon,” Peiqin said quietly the moment Yu hung up. She must have woken up during their conversation, yet was still curled up under the blanket. “You may as well wait for a couple of days.”

“Oh, you’re awake. Old Hunter always talks like that.”

“That’s a way of prolonging his old professional pride, I understand. It wasn’t easy for him to have obtained the information,” she said, getting down and putting on a fluffy robe. “But I don’t think Jiang could have sent Chen out with the delegation.”

“Nor do I. But those rats may get away in the twinkling of an eye,” he said, reaching out to the nightstand, out of habit, for a cigarette. He picked up his watch instead. “I’d better do something.”

“What can you do?” She walked barefoot to the microwave and started warming two bowls of water-reboiled rice. “But you’re right, I think. Things can’t wait. We have to do something.”

He was pleased with her use of “we.” Like Old Hunter, she, too, had thrown herself into it. She had stayed late with Chen’s mother last night. White Cloud was too busy with her studies or something else in college. Peiqin considered her too busy and modern a girl for Chen, and for the old woman too.

“I’ll make some phone calls first,” Yu said, finishing the watery rice with a piece of pickled green cabbage. “I know someone working at China Airline. He may find out whether Jiang has booked the ticket.”

“That’s a good idea. You need to check other airlines, too,” she said. “Call me if I can do anything. I’ll be at Old Geng’s place in the morning, and at the other restaurant in the afternoon. Don’t skip your lunch.”

Around eleven o’clock, Detective Yu hadn’t received a response from his contact at China Airline. Just as he was going to go down to the bureau canteen, his phone rang.

To his surprise, it was Chen, who had made a rule of not calling into his office.

“The weather is really bad. So I think you’d better check on what the K man gave you immediately. Or the fish may go bad.”

“Yes, it’s not good here.” He was so confounded by Chen’s sudden switch back to the weather terminology, he had a hard time figuring out how to inform Chen of the latest development here in their agreed-on jargon.

“We have to be careful,” Chen moved on before Yu could respond. “Let’s hope it will change for the better-as quickly as possible.”

And with that, Chen hung up, leaving Yu in confusion.

To an eavesdropper, this international call could hardly make any sense except that the chief inspector proved to be an impossible gourmet. Thousands of miles away, he was still concerned about a fish, possibly given by a peddler in a K market. Perhaps no one would believe it. But Yu, too, failed to make heads or tails out of it, whatever fish it could be.

That was the drawback of their jargon communication. Chen must have a reason for it. Yu went over the short conversation in his mind. It was not about any fish, but who was the K man? He tried to recall all the people he had contacted, one by one, during the past week. The effort was not successful. He refocused on the people who had given him something. Then Gu and the laptop came to mind. With karaoke girls commonly called K girls, it would make sense to call Gu a K man, even though there was no such term in current circulation.

Skipping his lunch, he hurried out of the bureau, heading home.

Sure enough, he had mail from Chen on the computer that Gu had loaned him. It took him a while to download the attachment with Xing’s phone transcript. Yu didn’t know how Chen had gotten it, but he knew Chen wanted him to study it carefully.

Reading through the phone transcript, he didn’t succeed in producing a comprehensible picture. Something had been going on between Xing and his associates in China, particularly in the last few days, that Yu could tell. Many calls had been made, only most of the details were couched in triad jargon. There were names he had seen or heard before, some of them Chen had given him earlier, including Jiang and Dong. The context surrounding their names remained far from clear, except that they still had contact with Xing one way or another.

Then Yu got the call from China Airline. Jiang’s name didn’t appear on the list. It wasn’t exactly high season yet; people could get a ticket one or two days beforehand.

Lighting a cigarette, he read the transcript more closely. All of a sudden, he alighted on a name: Weici.

Weici was an extremely rare family name. Yu had heard of it only once, in a Tang dynasty story. He had not met anyone with such a family name. But at Apricot Blossom Village, the club to which An’s phone calls had led him, the general manager was surnamed Weici. So he reread the part containing the name, which happened to be in connection with Ming. He found the name of Weici was mentioned on three occasions.

“I have just learned, Xing. Weici is a man. Your little brother should be fine there,” someone said to Xing, possibly in response to his inquiry about the whereabouts of the “little boy.”

“If you persist on going with me,” Yu said reluctantly, “you have to let me do the talking there.”

“That will be fine. In a Suzhou opera, one plays the red face, and the other plays the white face. I am quite content with a white face role. It’s settled. Let us go.”

“I’ll call Little Zhou first. He’s reliable,” Yu said. “In the meantime, let’s finish the tea and discuss our tactics.”

Little Zhou, a driver at the Shanghai police bureau, soon came over to the teahouse, leaving his car parked outside.

“Both you and I are Chief Inspector Chen’s men,” Little Zhou declared at once. “You have never used my car. You say it’s for Chen this afternoon. And you don’t have to say more. It is a Mercedes, the best car of our bureau. No one knows I am here.”

They arrived at the club around three o’clock.

A hostess walked over to them. Yu recognized her as the one he had met. Handing his business card to her, he said, “Take us to your general manager Weici.”

They were led into a spacious office. Weici was a stout man in his mid-fifties, with success and confidence written on his face in spite of the heavy bags sagging under his eyes. He was taken aback by Detective Yu’s visit.

“So tell us where Ming is,” Yu said, having made clear the purpose of the visit, and produced the authorization on the Party Discipline Committee letterhead. “As you can clearly see, it is an investigation under the committee.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Officer Yu,” Weici said, taking a glance at the document. “I don’t know anything about Xing’s smuggling business, nor anything about Ming. It’s the first time that I’ve heard that he is Xing’s half brother. Before their sudden disappearance, they had a couple of parties at my club. At the time, however, they were ordinary customers like so many others. I wish I knew the whereabouts of Ming. They still owe me a large amount.”

“You are a clever man, Mr. Weici. It’s a highly sensitive case and there’s no point in getting negative publicity for your club because of an official investigation,” Yu said, producing the phone transcript. “Now, let me show you something else. The dates and the contents are all underlined in the transcript. The calls are from Xing in the United States. Undeniable evidence. Chief Inspector Chen is coming back with more.”

“What’s that?” Wei studied the lines in the transcript. “You call that evidence, Officer Yu? You must be kidding. Xing has many little brothers, if that is what “little boy” means. One of them might have visited the club. As for the calls to my office, for all I know, it could be about the money he owes me.”

“You can go on talking like that, Mr. Weici, but then we’ll have to move you to our bureau to continue the conversation,” Yu said. “It will be reported in newspapers tomorrow, I’ll make sure of it. I don’t think too many people will come to a place involved in China ’s number-one corruption case. It’s going to be a long and thorough investigation under the Party Discipline Committee.”

“Don’t think you can bluff me like that. I know your Party Secretary Li Guohua. When he comes to my place, he, too, has to show proper respect to me.”

“Calm down, both of you,” Old Hunter said, cutting in for the first time. “The club is a nice place. Why can’t we talk here? General Manager Weici is a man of the world. He’ll understand.”

“This is…” Weici said, studying the old man for the first time.

“I am an advisor to the bureau.” Old Hunter handed over a business card, which presented him as a senior advisor to the City Traffic Control, commonly considered part of the police bureau. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.

“Oh, Advisor Gu. I am honored that you are here today,” Weici said. “As an old cadre, you have to say something for me. I am a law-abiding businessman. How could I have been involved in the Xing case?”

Advisor was an honorable position, usually filled by high-ranking retired cadres like Comrade Zhao. Weici apparently showed some respect to the title in the business card. But Old Hunter’s case was totally different. While serving as temporary head of the City Traffic Control, Chen had created the position for the sake of the “advisor subsidy,” which meant more than anything else to the retired cop on a meager pension. Weici couldn’t have known that. Yu didn’t know about that impressive business card, either.

“There are so many customers here. As a general manager, Mr. Weici may not know whether Ming has come here or not. We have to take that into consideration, Detective Yu,” Old Hunter said, squeezing a smile out of all the wrinkles on his face. “It’s not easy to run a place with such a golf course. In fact, there’s not a single one in the old cadre centers.”

“Really!” Weici feigned surprise.

“Yes, I have a passion for golf. Only the membership fee here must be expensive. I don’t think I can afford it.”

Yu was amazed by the way the old man talked. The part about the membership fee came as an unmistakable hint. But the son had never worked with the father before, so he decided to say nothing.

“It’s not that expensive,” Weici said with an equally obliging smile, “not unimaginable for an old cadre like you.”

“That would be fantastic,” Old Hunter said, taking up a cigarette from a shining silver case on the desk. “Oh, Panda. The super premium brand, unavailable on the market. Manufactured only for the top leaders in Beijing.”

“Yes, top leaders come to our place too,” Weici said, lighting the cigarette for the old man. “Look at those pictures on the walls.”

Yu had noticed those pictures upon entering the office. Several politburo members stood with Weici on the green meadow stretching dreamlike toward the horizon. In another picture, a city government leader put his hand on Weici’s shoulder like a buddy.

“Oh, has Comrade Zhao Yan visited your club?” Old Hunter said, looking at the pictures. “He is in Shanghai, staying at the Western Suburb Hotel. I’ll tell him about your wonderful place.”

“Yes, I talked to Comrade Zhao this morning.” Yu tried to stage a comeback into the conversation, which had somehow become a golf dialogue between Old Hunter and Weici.

“Here are two VIP cards,” Weici said to Old Hunter, taking the cards out of the desk drawer. “Free for three months. All our services included. One for you, and one for Comrade Zhao. You can also bring your friends along with you, like Detective Yu.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll give it to Comrade Zhao,” Old Hunter said after putting the cards into his wallet. “Now let me say something, General Manager Weici. With so many things on your desk, you may not notice or remember all the details. So how about trying to think again? More closely this time. Perhaps you’ll succeed in recalling something.”

“You are just wasting your time, Advisor Gu,” Yu cut in again. “We’ll take him to the bureau, and we’ll search every corner of the club. As the proverb goes, he refuses to drink the wine I offer him, so he has to drink what I order him.”

“Come, Detective Yu. As another proverb goes, the mountain does not turn but the road turns, so people will meet one way or another. You should give him some time to think and check.” Old Hunter turned to Weici. “General Manger Weici, I also want to say a word for Officer Yu. He’s under a lot of pressure from the Party Discipline Committee. In fact, Comrade Zhao has pushed him again this morning. Comrade Zhao is like Judge Bao in the Song dynasty, always carrying the golden dragon-headed cleaver to behead criminals. The Beijing government is really furious, as you know. Anyone involved with Xing or Ming will be investigated and punished. That’s why Comrade Zhao himself has come to Shanghai, sent Chief Inspector Chen to the United States, and signed the authorization for Officer Yu. Officer Yu has to do something.”

“I understand all that. I, too, would like to help the government fight corruption. But how can I admit to something I don’t know?”

“I’m not saying that you have to admit something you don’t know. But try to help us by making an effort-check your computer and talk to your employees. If, hypothetically, you succeed in finding out something about Ming, you would be making a great contribution to our work. In our report to Comrade Zhao, I’ll make sure to mention your great help.” Old Hunter added after a pause, “And we may not have to touch on the phone call part. Am I right, Officer Yu?”

“I don’t think Comrade Zhao has the time to read the transcript line by line,” Yu said, “especially without my highlighting those lines.”

“Since you have both said so,” Weici said slowly, “let me double-check for you.”

Weici turned on the computer. With the two cops standing behind him, he keyed in Ming’s name and did a name search. Nothing matched there.

“You see, nothing has been found,” Weici said.

“He may not have used his real name,” Yu said.

“Yes, that’s possible. Let me talk to my assistants then.” Weici picked up the phone and tried several numbers, asking about the possibility of Ming having come to the club. He seemed to get the same answer. On the fifth or sixth call, however, he appeared to have a different response. Weici rose and said to the two policemen, “Wait here for me.”

In about five minutes, Weici came back into the office with an ashen look on his face.

“Officer Yu. I have to apologize. Ming contacted Zhang Boxiong, one of my assistant managers, and has been staying in an unoccupied villa here. He must have bribed Zhang with a large sum. I didn’t know anything about it. I have fired Zhang, though I don’t think he knew anything about Ming’s relationship to Xing, either.”

“Of course you didn’t know anything about it,” Old Hunter echoed. “We appreciate your help.”

“Take us to the villa,” Yu said.

They were escorted to a free-standing white villa beyond the golf course. A waitress ran up to Weici and whispered something in his ear. He turned to Yu and Old Hunter. “Ming’s on the second floor. Here is the key. I’ll stay out here. I don’t want to see that bastard.”

They moved upstairs in silence. Whipping out his gun with one hand, inserting the key with the other, Yu opened the door. In the room, they saw a man in a scarlet silk robe holding a naked girl on a rumpled bed, watching an American sex video, and imitating it. They hadn’t heard anything because of the loud moaning and groaning from the TV.

“Who are you?” the man said, his hand still on the thigh of the girl trembling beside him.

“You are Xing Ming, aren’t you? We are from the Shanghai Police Bureau. You are under arrest for sleeping with this prostitute.”

“No, she’s my girlfriend.”

“Show me your ID,” Old Hunter said to the girl.

The girl, wrapped in a blanket, took it out of a purse on the sofa and said sobbing, “I am a student, but both my parents are laid off. I have to support the family.”

Old Hunter glanced at the ID and turned to Ming. “You’re having sex with an underage girl. She’s only fifteen.”

“I didn’t know that, officers,” Ming stuttered, a broken man. “I don’t even know her name.”

That should be more than enough. The cops thought it unnecessary to even mention Xing there.

As they marched Ming out, Yu saw Weici waving at them from a distance. He understood. In the car, Little Zhou nodded without asking any questions. He waited for Yu’s instruction.

“Where are you going to put him?” Old Hunter asked.

“Where do you suggest?” Yu asked.

“Anywhere but the bureau.”

“The Western Suburb Hotel then-under the custody of Comrade Zhao.”

“Good idea,” Old Hunter agreed. “You know where it is, Little Zhou?”

“I know, though I have never been there.”

On the way to the hotel, Yu said to the old man sitting beside him, “I never expected a white face performance like that, Father.”

“You know my other nickname, right?” Old Hunter went on, not waiting for an answer: “Suzhou Opera Singer. But you may not know that, for the last five months, I have been enjoying Suzhou opera three or four times a week. What an unbelievable luxury! Guess how? Nowadays, the traditional opera is going totally to rack and ruin. People watch TV and movies and DVDs. In the increasingly fast tempo of this new age, few have the time to enjoy the slow narrative of the traditional Suzhou opera. Most of the Suzhou opera theaters have been turned into nightclubs and actors can perform only in teahouses, like the old days. They make little money, sometimes no more than their bus fare and a bowl of noodles. I’m a regular teahouse visitor, so I am a regular audience member too. It’s free.”

“I see.” Yu knew the old man’s alternative nickname hadn’t come from his enjoyment of the opera, but from his way of talking as if a character in an opera.

He started up again, more eloquently than usual. “Now for the last few months, it’s the Romance of Three Kingdoms being performed at the shabby teahouse. I have learned quite a lot from this ancient book of wisdom. As you may not know, those CEOs of large cooperation today all read the Romance of Three Kingdoms for inspiration in their business operations. For instance, when we talked at the teahouse, I too thought of something from the Suzhou opera. Cao Cao suspected Liu Bei was an ambitious rival and kept him under close surveillance. So what could Liu do? He pretended to be a greedy man, asking materialistic favors of Cao. How could such a greedy man have genuine political ambition? As a result, Cao was less on his guard, and Liu was able to get away.”

“Now I am beginning to see, Father.”

“People have to believe you are vulnerable, and then they themselves will be vulnerable. Weici is a man too familiar with those insatiable red rats in the materialistic world. A lot of them must have asked him for favors just like that. So he took me for granted, believing that he could exchange favor with us and he would get off scot-free. If he believed his cooperation made no difference, why should he give up Ming?” Old Hunter paused, taking out a pack of cigarettes-Flying Horse. “You do not really have the imperial sword, do you? No one knows a son better than his father.”

Old Hunter didn’t seem ready to stop talking about the Romance of Three Kingdoms any time soon. Yu thought the old man was entitled to his moment of triumph.