The Cook, the Crook, and the Real Estate Tycoon

by Liu Zhenyun

  “You’re new.” The man looked suspicious.

  “The regular guy isn’t feeling well, so the boss sent me.” Yang was unfazed.

  Clearly satisfied with the answer, the man signed the form, raised his head to yawn again, and went back inside with the food, trailed by the sound of the door slamming shut.

  Yang turned the order form over and looked at the paper pasted on the back; it was a sketch of the compound, with an arrow pointing from this villa to another. Hopping onto his bike, he followed the arrow to the back of the compound on small, winding, uneven paths past lawns with chirping insects. Going deep into the compound, he passed a manmade lake alive with the intermittent calls of cranes and circled round it to reach a house in the corner. After dismounting to check the number, he looked around to make sure he was alone before hiding the bike in the grass. Then he took a sack from the warming case and went around to the back of the house, where he drew a steel wire from his belt to pry open the window and crawl inside.

  It was a large house, likely over five thousand square feet, with high arched ceilings. Aided by the streetlights, he could roughly make out the furnishings in the dark—there was a pool table in the middle of the living room. He picked up a ball and sent it rolling across the felt. No dogs barked, no people moved about, and Yang was reassured that the house was empty and that Cao’s people were telling the truth. For him, there were two kinds of jobs: the ones with certainty and the ones without, depending on whether the house was occupied or not. Moreover, he always felt better about stealing from the rich. Even so, he knew he had to be in and out as quickly as possible or he’d have trouble explaining the delay to the guards.

  After determining the lay of the land, he got down to work, starting with the living room, then to the study, the sitting room, the bedrooms, the bathrooms, and the storage space; proceeding from the first floor to the second and then to the third, he worked methodically, with practice and experience, an old hand at tidying up people’s houses. Ignoring visible drawers, he went for areas that might offer surprising results, such as the inside of a bookcase, kitchen drawers, or under a sofa. In the storage space on the second floor a safe was hidden behind the mops and brooms, but it was attached to the wall, so he passed it up.

  Twenty minutes later, he had collected all the valuables—except those in the safe—including money, fine jewelry, gems, watches, cameras, video cameras, and two brand new cell phones. A rough calculation told him that the jewelry and gems alone should be enough to pay back the people at the duck pen. It had been a productive trip; the rich truly were a thief’s best friends. After he cleaned out the place, it looked neat and tidy as usual, with no sign of a break-in, which distinguished Yang from amateur burglars.

  During his search, he had unearthed a number of intriguing objects; for instance, in the bookcase in the first floor study, he found a stack of American dollars and two boxes of virility pills, which led him to wonder if the man of the house had a problem similar to his. He decided to take them. Between the mattresses in a third floor bedroom he came across two bankcards and a colorful box that held a dildo. Looking at it, he was confused at first, but it made sense when he recalled the virility pills he’d taken from the first floor. The dildo would do him no good, so he put it back. In the heater cover he rooted out some jewelry and a box of business cards. He could understand the need to hide the jewelry, but what was the point of keeping business cards out of sight? He took one out; there were words on it, but it was too dark to read them. The shape, triangular as opposed to the usual rectangular shape for cards, intrigued him enough to pocket one.

  “An upright person has nothing to hide,” he said to himself. “I’ll count this as a souvenir.”

  After a complete round, he tied up the sack, slung it over his shoulder, and got ready to go downstairs, when he heard the crunch of car tires on the road outside. The car stopped and someone unlocked the door, letting in the voices of both men and women. Yang was startled. Cao’s people had said the house would be empty, so where did these people come from?

  “Damn. Tricked me again.”

  He opened the window to jump out, but the three-story house, with its vaulted ceilings, was as high as a five-story building. He’d break a leg in the fall, and even if he lucked out, he’d make a noise when he landed. So he rushed back to the bedroom, where he planned to hide and sneak out later after the people left. To his dismay, someone was coming up the stairs, all the way to the third floor, heading in his direction. Alarmed, he hid his sack in the entertainment cabinet and, finding no better place to hide, went to stand behind the curtain.

  The bedroom door opened and the light snapped on. From behind the curtain he saw it was a woman in her thirties, heavyset but quite good-looking. She entered the room, kicked off her heels, and tossed her purse and cell phone onto the bed, before beginning to undress. Her blouse came off first, then the skirt, bra, and panties. In an instant she was stark naked, a somewhat chunky figure, but with fair skin and full, rounded buttocks. She walked into the bathroom, closed the glass door and started her shower. Through the frosted glass, he could make out her naked body, a sight that enthralled him, and before he knew it, something began to stir between his legs. He didn’t sense it at first, but was elated when he noticed. He’d thought the scare from Zhang Duanduan had completely deflated him, and he’d vowed to kill her to restore his manhood. To his surprise, that restoration came at the sight of a stranger whose house he had just burgled. It was truly a productive trip; not only was the loot enough to pay off his debt, but he was himself again. You can never predict how things might work out. Just when everything seems hopeless, there’s a turn of events.

  As Yang was waxing the moon, the cell phone on the bed began to ring, shocking him out of his reverie and sending his hand down to cover his crotch. The door to the bathroom opened and the woman, wrapped in a towel, came out to answer the phone. As the curtain fluttered from a cross current between the window and the bathroom door, she spotted a pair of feet under the curtain and, after a momentary pause screamed, effectively shrinking the growth between his legs. But that was the least of his concerns, for two men yelled out from the first floor:

  “What’s wrong?”

  Then came the hasty footsteps of people running up the stairs. Knowing he mustn’t be caught, he pulled the curtain aside, looked down, and, of course, it was still a three-story jump. With no other way out, he put his leg over the ledge and was about jump when he thought about the sack of loot; he couldn’t go back for it now, but, refusing to leave empty-handed, he picked up the woman’s purse before taking the plunge.

  The house was certainly high. He emerged unscathed, except for a sprained ankle, which he ignored as he took off running along the lake all the way up to the compound wall, which he climbed and then continued to run. A watchman at the lake spotted him and, as Yang made the climb, the gate guards sounded the alarm. The two men came running out, one heading into the compound and the other staying outside, shouting to each other through walkie-talkies the whole time.

  Instead of fleeing from the area, Yang crouched down behind a tree and waited until the guard ran past before hightailing it into a lane across the way. Then he ran as if his life depended on it, straight into Liu Yuejin, who had been lying in wait for over an hour. Liu had his eyes trained on the compound gate, and a long time had passed with no sight of Yang. He wasn’t sure if the man would come out that night or if he’d left through another gate. After following him all night, he’d lost him. What a lousy break. If he’d known this would happen, he’d have pounced on him earlier around the snack stalls. Yang had a knife, but Liu thought he might get some help from the crowd if they got into a fight. Following him had been a safe plan, but it would be a failed trip if he lost him. Besides, hiding out in the lane had drawn suspicious attention to him.

  Earlier, an old man walking by thought Liu was a thief lying in wait in the lane. He was about to ask what he was doing there when Liu stood up and b
eat him to the punch by asking for a light, then telling the man he was waiting for a friend who had delivered food to the villa compound. Liu was more or less telling the truth and the old man did light his cigarette for him, but he gave Liu another suspicious glance before walking off. Just when Liu felt it was a hopeless wait, the alarm went off inside and he saw the guards running around. A shocking development. Then he saw Yang coming toward him, a pleasant surprise. Liu had no inkling what Yang had done inside to alert the guards and set off the alarm, but he couldn’t let the opportunity pass. He had to catch him now.

  “Thief!” Liu shouted.

  He held back for fear of the knife. Yang Zhi froze at the sight of Liu, unnerved by his unannounced appearance, when he suddenly recalled how he had stolen the man’s pack. But this was not the time to mull that over. Seeing Liu block his way, he drew his knife. Not really interested in fighting, he waved it as he ran past Liu, who naturally gave chase. With his sprained ankle, Yang knew that Liu was catching up so he flung the purse at Liu’s face. Liu tried to dodge the object, slipped and fell. He got to his feet and resumed the chase, but Yang had already turned into another lane and was out of sight.

  Liu was upset at how close he’d come to nabbing Yang, though he had managed to avoid his clutches. Reminded of something by the noise at the gate, Liu returned to the lane and picked up the object, the purse Yang had used to fend him off. He then sneaked off into one of the lanes.

  16

  Yan Ge

  Yan Ge met with Lao Lin again, but not for seafood or hotpot this time. They went to Hometown Congee, where Yan had a bowl of cold congee with lotus seeds and silver fungus and Lin had hot congee with shark’s fins. After they finished, Lin looked calm and unruffled, not affected at all by the mouth-burning, nonvegetarian congee, while Yan was sweating from his cold congee, for he kept wondering if this meeting would end well.

  The last time they met, Yan had delivered an ultimatum, starting with the newspaper photo of him and the songstress and from there to the USB drive, which Lin should already have shown Director Jia. But five days had gone by and Yan had heard nothing. He was as frantic as an ant in a heated wok; the throw down had not been intended, like so many ultimatums, to break ties with Jia. But to mend the rift between them.

  Now after five days’ silence, Yan was made keenly aware that he had always played a passive role in his relationship with Jia, both in the way they became friends and the way their friendship deteriorated. He had no say in how far the deterioration would go or whether it could ever be repaired. If they both wanted a fence mending, that could be achieved. But if only Yan was interested, then the break would be irreparable.

  Another lesson he learned was that a rich man was nothing but a prostitute when dealing with the politically powerful. To be sure, a clean break did no one any good, for Jia would not have smooth sailing if Yan’s boat was overturned; worse yet, they might come to grief together. If the breakup was meant to lead to mutual destruction, then it was a matter of spite and devoid of any tactical advantage, and that was something Yan wanted to avoid. He would have been a foolish billionaire if he hadn’t understood this, and Jia would not have continued the friendship for so long.

  The problem was, the billionaire not only had lost all his money, but was in serious debt; he was no longer the Yan Ge of days past, which was why he’d issued the ultimatum. In a way, the threat was akin to cutting off his nose to spite his face, accomplishing little or nothing; he was resorting to the low-blow threat precisely because he had run out of options. That was not like him; he was an upstanding man forced by circumstances to debase his relationship with Director Jia, turning a profitable and amicable friendship spiteful and unproductive. Clearly they had both changed. Yan Ge missed the time, fifteen years before, when he’d borrowed money from a friend and delivered it to Jia, who had grasped Yan’s hands with tears in his eyes.

  Now, that was true friendship. How had a relationship with such an affecting beginning passed through many stages of transformation only to end up like this? Yan would not have minded so much if it had been merely a question of whether to repair their relationship or not. But his fate was in the hands of Jia, who, in the blink of an eye, could decide whether Yan would regain his wealth or be reduced to nothing, whether he remained a member of the upper class or was sent to prison, even whether he lived or died.

  It was complicated. If Yan had caused his own downfall, he would have no one to blame but himself. But in point of fact, Jia was largely responsible for what happened to Yan, and now he was refusing to come to his aid. No matter how Yan looked at it, Jia was the villain, having dragged Yan down to his level. So if Yan fell, pulling Jia down with him would be payback for his refusing to help and for his small-mindedness. Yan had mulled this over for five days and still found the prospect hopeless. He could not stop thinking about it, even though he knew it was pointless, since Jia had to make the first move.

  Then, on the afternoon of the fifth day, he was surprised to receive a text message from Lin: Six thirty tonight, Hometown Congee. Yan was outraged to receive a text message, not a personal call, and by the tone, which was a command, not an invitation. But being the one in trouble, the person who needed help, he had no choice but to obey.

  He was prepared for two possible outcomes. First, Director Jia had changed his mind and would help him out. Two, Jia would deliver his own ultimatum and use this opportunity to push Yan so far down he would never rise again. There would be no middle ground, now that they had shed all pretenses of nicety. Letting it drag on and waiting to see what happened was not the style of an old fox like Director Jia. Yan knew the smell of Jia’s piss. Lin was much like Jia in this regard, but not entirely. Jia was usually unambiguous in handling business, but would at least speak his mind with Lin; but that attitude did not travel through Lin, who was vague and evasive. The emotionless content of the text message gave Yan no clue as to what was on Lin’s mind, which meant he could not predict what Jia intended. He would go to the meeting bereft of confidence.

  Yan experienced a degree of nostalgia for the time when he’d been poor but free of fear and risk. Fear and risk, however, were less troubling than having to deal with so many ruthless people, people he had to watch out for all the time, some smiling as they practiced their ruthless behavior. The laborers might be hopelessly dense, but at least they were straightforward and never devious. They could not be ruthless even if they wanted to. But if they somehow did want to, they would not know how to go about it.

  Yan saw himself as a sheep that had somehow stumbled into a wolves’ den. Had he not gone to college, he would have remained in Henan as a rice farmer who rose with sun and rested at sunset, performing physical labor that would not tax his mind. He’d have married a virtuous wife and had a couple of kids; life would have been hard but happy.

  Why would he be happy? Because there would be no need to overthink everything. College had screwed him. Idle thoughts about his past and the present were useless in bailing him out of his predicament and were good only for giving him a chance to marvel over the unpredictability of life and fate. His apprehension and agitation caused him to break out in a sweat even as he downed a bowl of cool congee; this failing troubled him. Lin laughed when he saw Yan’s sweaty forehead, and after finishing his own steamy congee, calmly offered Yan a napkin to wipe his face, a gesture akin to mockery. Yan had to suppress his anger when he was reminded of the purpose of the meeting; as the saying goes, you lower your head when standing under someone’s eaves.

  “Director Jia has an idea,” Lin belched and said, “about a small business deal.”

  Yan was surprised; he hadn’t expected the negotiations to begin this way.

  “What kind of business?”

  It was a tactless question, but Lin did not mock him this time. Instead, he lit a cigarette.

  “He said he’ll help you get a loan of eighty million yuan if you turn over the USB drive.”

  This came as a surprise, a pleasant on
e, his earlier distress vanishing on the wind. The threat had obviously worked; the USB drive was more powerful than the photo. Eighty million was not enough to pay off the four hundred he owed the bank, but would serve as a stopgap solution. He could pay the interest and get construction moving again at several sites. Jia’s offer was like a nitroglycerin pill for a heart patient. Not knowing how to execute an about-face in attitude, Yan could only express his gratitude:

  “That’s not a business deal. It’s a helping hand from you and Director Jia. I’ll never forget you, or Director Jia, and must ask your and his forgiveness for my past mistakes.”

  He was, of course, referring to the photo and the USB drive, but the gratitude was lost on Lin, who replied woodenly:

  “No, helping is what we did in the past. This time it’s a business deal.”

  Yan Ge grasped the two men’s intention with absolute clarity. He had shown his hand with the photo and USB drive; they had shown theirs with the eighty million. Help and business are entirely different. Help is murky, business is clear-cut; helping hands can be extended indefinitely, business deals are concluded one at a time. The unspoken message here was: this is where everything ends. The amount Jia offered was precisely calculated as being just enough to rescue Yan from his dire situation; he would neither starve nor be sated. After the money changed hands, they would sever all ties and Yan would have to tackle whatever happened after that on his own. It was an indeed a business transaction, a bank loan in exchange for the USB drive and photo. Yan Ge finally comprehended how crafty the man was. Yet the loan was his salvation, a poison pill he would have to swallow. Knowing what the two men had in mind, he acted decorously this time:

  “Thank you, and please thank Director Jia for me.”

  The deal carried a high price tag: once it was concluded, Yan would lose Jia as a source of wealth he had enjoyed for more than a decade; he would lose not only a person, but a towering tree, not just a man, but a channel for connections he had constructed over that period. Material goods and money were easily obtained; nothing was harder to put together than a channel for connections. It would be like losing a melon and getting a sesame seed in return. For him, at this moment, the sesame seed was the life-saving tonic he had to swallow. He had no choice. As far as their relationship was concerned, Jia had always been in the driver’s seat, so it was a business deal when he said it was. If Yan Ge did not go along, the deal was off. That was how Jia’s craftiness manifested itself.