A Case of Two Cities

by Qiu Xiaolong

  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 c
heck.” 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.

  27

  THE ALARM CLOCK FRAGMENTED his dream of a black cat jumping around, almost slipping on the tile roofs in the depth of the night, under the stars, long and chill…

  Chen got up, made a pot of coffee, and took a quick shower. He had to appear in decent shape, he reflected, smelling the first pleasant aroma. He was going to see her soon, to discuss the delegation’s new activities again. He finished the first cup in a few gulps, trying to shake himself out of the fragmented memories of a long night.

  He had worked very late the previous night. Reading through the information she gave him, listening to the tape several times, he knew why she had given it to him. With his background knowledge, she hoped that he might be able to get something out of it. There was something going on, he was sure, but he failed to grasp what. Some of the names in Xing’s phone calls meant nothing to Chen, except that of “Little Tiger” in an alarming context. So he approached the
hotel manager for the use of a computer. He forwarded Yu the phone transcript, and placed a weather phone call to him, believing his partner would get it.

  Afterward he lay awake for a long while, thinking. Whether her information could lead to anything, he didn’t know. But he supposed that she had gone out of her way for him, and possibly at risk to herself. She might have done so without her boss’s permission. On campus, she hadn’t said a single word when giving him the large envelope. Instead, she held his hand in hers for a minute. He understood. He read the genuine concern in her eyes. Her eyes so blue, deep, serene, like the Beijing sky in autumn again…

  Finally he sunk into a slumber full of dreams. One of them was a recurring nightmare from his childhood. The black night rubbing its muzzle on the windowpane, licking its tongue into the corners of the moment, he found himself turning into a cat, curling itself in contentment before suddenly jumping out of the attic window, running along the tile roof, fleeing from a faceless enemy. In his then neighborhood, all the ramshackle houses were perilously connected. He kept leaping from one roof to another. Any minute, he could irrecoverably fall into the abyss, but not yet…

  The shrill of the cell phone startled him from his recollection of the broken dream. It was Catherine.

  “Can you tell me what the Chinese visitors would like to do today?”

  “Good question.” He did not have an immediate answer. She had a hard time making all the arrangements for the delegation. St. Louis was not a tourist city with many sightseeing alternatives. Shasha could spend another afternoon at the shopping mall, perhaps. She had just received her book contract with a decent advance. As for the others, he had no clue. Then he remembered what Tian had told him about other Chinese delegations in L.A.