by Liu Zhenyun
His fever vanished at the sight of the thief, and he was energized; locating him was like finding his pack, and finding his pack was getting his money back. But all that paled in significance compared to the IOU it held. He was overjoyed, as if he hadn’t been looking for his pack, but for the world at large. When a lost object is found, it seems to double in value.
Liu took a deep breath to calm himself, wondering if he should just pounce on the man, but a glance around the area changed his mind. The place was packed nearly to capacity with diners, and the thief might escape again if they got into a fight. Taking another look, Liu realized that the man wasn’t eating, but, like him, was checking his surroundings, as if searching for someone.
Cautiously pulling down the bill of his cap, Liu strode to the next stall and ordered a bowl of wontons. He took his time eating while watching the thief, biding his time; he’d make his move once the crowd thinned out.
Now that he’d found the thief, he had to make sure he didn’t get away again. The thought occurred to him that if he made his move out in the open, the thief could get away during a struggle. A better course of action was to watch him and follow him back to his place. When the thief went to bed he’d return to the construction site to get some help and corner him in his own house, like catching a tortoise in a water vat. That would be the only guarantee that he’d catch the thief. Finally hitting on the right solution, he stopped worrying; the idea of following the thief, not fighting him, erased his fears.
Now with his mind at ease, he realized that he hadn’t had a thing to eat all day, so he settled down to enjoy the wontons. But then, worried that the bandage might draw unwanted attention, he took off his cap and unwound it before putting the cap back on. It had been two days since his unfortunate visit to the shed, and a scab had formed over the wound; it had stopped hurting, and the cap felt looser.
When Liu finished his wontons, Yang the thief was still sitting at the hotpot stall, showing no sign of leaving. By eleven o’clock, Yang was still there, so was Liu, neither in any hurry to leave. The owner of the hotpot stall was upset that by sitting there all night, Yang was interfering with his business.
“It’s getting late,” he said to Yang coldly. “No need to wait any more. If they’re not here by now, they’re not coming.”
Yang stood up and looked around before heading toward the Tonghui River bridge, followed by Liu, who had quickly paid and retrieved his bike. After crossing the bridge and heading down a lane, Yang walked out onto the street and boarded a bus. Liu quickly gave chase. At every stop, people got off and people got on. Luckily for Liu, it was nighttime, and there weren’t so many people; he’d have lost Yang if it had been daytime.
After five stops, Yang got off and took another bus to the suburbs, alighting after six stops. He entered a small lane, the sight of which had Liu breathing a sigh of relief. Finally they were at the thief’s place. He secured his bike to a locust tree before following Yang into the lane, a filthy place with three public toilets from which dirty water flowed into the street. The streetlight was broken, so he had to watch his step.
When they reached the end, Yang turned and walked into another lane, all the way to the end, where there was a house whose door faced the lane. Liu noticed that the wall was haphazardly whitewashed, a clear sign that the door, a sheet of particleboard in a frame of three wooden slats nailed to the wall, had been newly opened on the wall. It was padlocked. Liu knew it was the right place—it had the look of a thief’s den.
What he hadn’t expected was to see the thief, instead of bending down to unlock the door, press his face against the window to look inside. Maybe this wasn’t his place after all. Then the thief tried the lock, and when it didn’t budge, he aimed a frantic kick at the door, which wobbled a bit. It broke after the second kick and fell open with the third. Feat accomplished, he spat and stopped. From his hiding place, Liu was confused. After kicking in the door, the thief walked off with his head down, and Liu had no choice but to keep following him now that he knew this was not where the thief lived.
He relaxed his personal state of alert at the thief’s dejected appearance and wondered if he should just pounce on him and settle things once and for all. How long would he have to follow him otherwise? What if he wandered the streets all night long? He’d have no trouble fleeing the next morning, surrounded once again by crowds. As the thief turned into another lane, Liu sped up to get closer to him, but two men suddenly emerged and blocked the thief’s way. Stunned, Liu ducked into the toilet closest to the lane entrance and peeked out at this new development.
One of the men blocking the thief was Baldy Cui, and the other, unknown to Liu, looked like a student in a restaurant uniform. Cao’s people had also been looking for Yang for a few days, but to settle a score, not to help Liu find his pack. They were searching for the same person and, though for different reasons, their efforts overlapped and could have been combined, if not for the furor Liu had raised at the shed.
Yang Zhi was from Shanxi, while Brother Cao and his gang of thieves were from Tangshan; different places of origin meant different territories. One must always think twice before provoking people from Tangshan, a fact known to every thief in Beijing. If you did, you were either obliterated or decamped over to their side. It was simple: do not venture into Tangshan territory and everyone can practice their craft in peace, like well water not mixing with river water.
When Yang came to Beijing some six months earlier, neither the area nor the rule was familiar to him. His expertise was picking locks. After someone was caught trying to break in, Yang could go to the same house the following day and emerge loaded with loot. Emboldened by his superb talent and gutsy attitude in lock picking, he gave little thought to the Tangshan gang and operated in their territory four times in a month. Nothing happened at first, but after the fourth time, he was caught by Cao’s people, who took all his loot before hanging him up to whip him with a belt.
“Brother,” Cao sighed, “I let you go three times.” He continued, “You’re a smart man, so how could you not know that three times is the limit?”
That taught Yang that Cao was not someone to mess with, and he knew he had two options: one, stay away from Tangshan territory, like other thieves, or two, join them and share in the profits. The territory under their control was residential housing for the rich and some high-end business districts, also frequented by the rich, both of which offered great potential. What could he expect to get if he went to places for the poor? But he’d have to follow their rules once he joined them, which would mean unwanted restrictions. He could not make up his mind.
After getting to know Cao’s gang from the run-in, Yang became a frequent visitor to the shed—on his days off, of course. They played mahjong, which, unlike picking locks, was not Yang’s forte, and within weeks he had racked up a debt of forty thousand yuan. He tried to win it back, and the more he played the more he lost, until the debt was over two hundred thousand by the end of the month.
It finally dawned on him that it might have all been a setup, but it was too late for him and he couldn’t say anything. From then on, he began to steal for Brother Cao, whom he paid back whenever he got something. Stealing for the Tangshan gang but not in their territory meant he had to limit himself to the areas of the poor for petty cash. How would he ever be debt-free that way?
A loathing for the Tangshan gang’s sinister scheme began to rise inside him. Who qualified as a real thief? Not someone who stole from ordinary people. No, a real thief was someone who stole from other thieves. Ordinary victims could go to the police, but someone in his shoes had to swallow the losses. Only by robbing a bank could he ever hope to pay off his debt. So to avoid his debtors, Yang stayed away from the shed, which led Cao’s people to come after him. That was why he had been preoccupied.
Yang thought that Cao’s people were after him for the money he owed, but it was actually about something else, and they were in a hurry to find him, for something had come up and
the pressure to find him had intensified. Ordinarily, they might give up after failing to find him after a few days. This was something Brother Cao knew but Yang did not. There was no need to search for Yang during the first half of the month, but now something was up. Hong Liang, the duck butcher, had sneaked out that night, which was a violation of the rules. Baldy Cui caught him when he returned and slapped him around, and Hong Liang, given his guilty conscience, mistakenly took that as a sign that Cui knew everything.
“Who did you go see?” Cui wanted to know.
It was a casual question, but Hong confessed, revealing Yang’s whereabouts, but omitting the deal he’d made with Liu, for fear that Cui would confiscate the hundred yuan. So when Yang Zhi left the snack stall, he was unaware that he was being followed by Liu Yuejin, who did not know that Yang had grown two additional tails. The only difference was that Liu was on a bicycle while Cui and his lackey were in a used VW. With one on the pedestrian walkway and the other in the fast lane, they were oblivious of each other’s presence. Yang was not alone in being startled when Baldy Cui blocked his way at the lane entrance. Liu was equally surprised. The appearance of Brother Cao’s people told Yang that he had been found out, so he tried to talk his way out of it.
“Can we talk later, Baldy? I’m looking for someone. It’s urgent.”
He took out a penknife from the small of his back. It reflected a cold glint under the streetlight but had no effect on Cui, who took the knife from him and ran his finger along the edge of the blade. Liu Yuejin was the one who was frightened; he was lucky Baldy and his lackey had shown up first, for who knew what might have happened if he’d gone up against the knife-carrying thief?
“Who are you looking for?” Cui asked, still fingering the blade.
Yang had wanted to tell them about the stolen pack and the scare he’d endured, but he stopped at the last minute. For one thing, it wasn’t something he was proud to bring up, and besides, talking would solve nothing. Most of all, his problem down below could easily be turned into a joke.
“None of your business. Just someone who’ll be in big trouble when I find him.”
“Let’s forget your business for now.” Cui stopped him. “What about our business? You owe us money and it’s long past due.”
Now somewhat fearful, Yang continued to explain:
“If you kill someone you pay with your life; if you owe money you pay your debt. I understand the rules, Baldy. I’m not trying to get out of anything.”
“As Brother Cao said, money is a small matter; being upright is more important.”
“It’s an important principle I uphold.”
Baldy was about to say something, when the young fellow in the restaurant uniform stopped him.
“Since Lao Yang here knows the principle, let’s not belabor the point, Baldy Cui. We should get to the more important matter.” He took out a piece of paper.
“We need you to do something for us tonight, Lao Yang.”
He spread the paper out to show him a sketch.
“This here is Beethoven Villa.” He pointed to a spot. “The people in this house play mahjong and order in food every night.”
“Brother Cao’s idea is for you to make up for your mistake with this.” Cui jabbed at the paper. “An indoor job, your kind of work.”
Cui took out a cigarette and said, “You’re one of us. This is Brother Cao’s territory.” He added, “It’s for your sake, too. A rich family and an easy job. After that, we’ll forget the money you owe us.”
Yang was speechless. Liu, on his part, was too far away to hear what they were saying; all he could see was three men jabbing at a piece of paper, a disquieting sight.
15
Yang Zhi
Yang Zhi changed into a restaurant uniform and got on a delivery bicycle, followed by Liu, who had a different purpose for tailing Yang now. Earlier, when finding his pack was the sole aim, he’d hoped to catch Yang at a quiet moment and place. Now the plot had thickened and the thief was on the move, engaged in something else, which Liu needed to keep track of before he could recover his pack. He had lacked the nerve to intervene and Baldy had returned the knife to Yang, who had then put it back in his pocket; now Liu had to follow Yang to keep from losing him after going through all the trouble to find him. So all he could do was watch the man until he finished whatever he needed to do, when he’d be easier to deal with—either that or wait to catch him where he lived.
Yang turned into a different person in his uniform. Puzzled, Liu wondered where he was going and what he planned to do there. In the meantime, Liu was sure that the thief was onto something big, for he wouldn’t need to change clothes for a small job.
With Yang going at a measured pace, Liu had no trouble keeping up on his bike; it was so much easier than trying to follow a bus. When they reached Honglingjin East Bridge, Yang looked at his watch and got off, parked the delivery bike, and sat down on the curb to smoke. Liu had to get off on the other side of the bridge to wait. Yang smoked and gazed vacantly at the passing pedestrians and vehicles. It was getting late and the traffic was thinning out. Staring at the increasingly deserted street, he sighed and mumbled something to himself before lowering his head to continue smoking. All that was familiar to Liu, who was also given to gazing into the distance, sighing and mumbling to himself whenever something bothered him. Surprised to find similarities between them, Liu sighed.
But the man was a thief, no matter what, and Liu was determined to catch him and get his pack back. Yang finished his smoke and got back on the bicycle; Liu followed suit. They rode down the main street through seven intersections before turning left, and after three more intersections they turned into an alley that led to another lane.
An open vista greeted them once they emerged from the lane. It was a gated community fronted by a fountain, where a pair of stone lions spewed water even late at night. Colorful lights swirled on the gate, and the wall below was inscribed, Beethoven Villa. Two security guards in berets and puppet army uniforms stood at the gate.
Yang had appeared listless on the way, but the bright lights seemed to animate him, energizing Liu at the same time. At a leisurely pace, Yang rode up to the gate, while Liu got off his bike and hid in the lane to watch the man’s movements. Pointing to a piece of paper he took out of his pocket, Yang said something to the guards, one of whom spoke into his walkie-talkie, after which he waved Yang inside. The thief pushed the bicycle through the gate and got back on to ride into the villa.
Liu was able to see him at first, but he soon disappeared from sight, which caused Liu considerable anxiety. After following him for half the night, he’d hate to lose him now, but he had no reason to enter the villa to keep track of him. Even if he could make up an excuse, he might do such a terrible job telling his lie that the guards would make him out to be a thief. Besides, Yang was bound to finish whatever he went in to do, and once he was done, he’d have to come out through the gate. So Liu parked his bike and crouched down to smoke as he waited patiently. At some point, he sighed and, like Yang before him, muttered to himself:
“What the hell is going on here?”
Unaware of his tail, Yang rode up to the villa feeling uneasy, but not because he was about to do a job. It was because of what had happened in recent days. He still hadn’t found the gang that stole his pack after searching for four days. As he stewed in anger, his problem down below was getting worse; at first it was all right when he was alone and only stopped working when he was with a woman. But since the day before, it even refused to respond while he was alone. It was clear that he was spiraling down an abyss, and he was worried that if he couldn’t locate Zhang Duanduan soon, he’d be beyond salvation by the time he found and killed her.
As if that weren’t enough, now there was a new problem: Brother Cao’s people had tracked him down and sent him to burgle a house in Beethoven Villa. He’d considered killing himself, and was in no mood to burgle, yet he had no choice, because Brother Cao’s people would never ta
ke no for an answer.
Luckily, he was a professional, able to forget his troubles and worries and focus once he was on a job. The impressive villa enlivened him and helped him concentrate, like a ball player walking onto a brightly lit ball field. That was the difference between a pro and an amateur. Concentrating on the job forced all worries to the back of his mind, which in turn helped him relax. So he felt he had the job to thank for forgetting his problems. Why had he become a burglar? To forget his troubles.
Now energized, he wanted to do an especially good job this time, so he paid close attention to the buildings as he rode along. After seven or eight turns, he reached the clubhouse, which, at this hour, was shrouded in darkness. He rode past and got off his bike to look at a number on one of the buildings. After checking it against his paper, he went up and rang the doorbell twice before the door opened. He could hear the sounds of mahjong tiles and of men and women talking and laughing. In the open door a longhaired man in his PJs raised his head and yawned grandly for a minute or longer, until he was all snot and tears. Finally finished with his yawn, he began exercising his neck, making loud cracking noises. Obviously, they had been playing for quite some time. With all that done, the man finally looked at Yang, who knew he had to be in character immediately, quickly becoming a deliveryman.
“Same as yesterday, Boss,” he said guilelessly. “Eight orders of fried rice and five fried noodles.”
Yang opened the warming case on the back seat and took out thirteen boxes. The man took the boxes while Yang put the order form on a pad, took a pen from his pocket, and uncapped it with his teeth before handing it over for the man to sign. The man sized him up while taking the pen.