Skinner's Box (Fang Mu (Eastern Crimes))

by Lei Mi

  Bian Ping frowned. "You mean Jiang Dexian might be in on it?"

  "Correct. Otherwise this whole thing is just way too much of a coincidence – the guard just happened to leave his post, Luo Jiahai just happened to get his hands on a sharp object, Jiang Dexian's body just happened to be right in the way of the sniper's line of sight as they were walking out, a massive car accident just happened to occur right at the wrong place at the wrong time. Anyone with any common sense at all knows that the odds against this chain of events being pure coincidence are enormous."

  "What about Jiang Dexian's motive?"

  "I'm not sure." Fang Mu shook his head. "Getting yourself taken hostage by a client isn't exactly a feather in your cap, no matter what sort of attorney you are. I can't imagine why he would want to ruin his career. But I do think there's something very fishy going on with him."

  Bian Ping fell silent for a long moment, contemplating Fang Mu’s theories. "I'll make a recommendation that the Municipal Bureau look into Jiang Dexian."

  "The driver of that truck, too." Fang Mu recalled the driver, Huang Runhua, and the shocked look on his face as he sat shaking in his chair at the traffic police station. The Traffic Management Bureau had inspected the truck Huang Runhua had been driving and concluded that air bubbles blocking the brake fluid lines in the truck's brakes had caused them to fail. When Huang Runhua realized his brakes were out, he had to run through the red light in order to avoid hitting the car in front of him. He had immediately pulled down on the handbrake, but it was too late; momentum had sent the massive vehicle sliding right into the middle of the intersection. These details had led the Traffic Management Bureau to conclude that the crash had been accidental in nature and that it was up to the insurance companies to sort it out.

  Despite the enormous city-wide net the entire police force was busy casting day and night to capture Luo Jiahai, news of an escaped death row convict was not enough to disrupt the normal day to day happenings of the metropolis.

  Life went on; the endless stream of traffic still clogged the streets, and the appetites and lusts of men and women still had them scurrying back and forth like possessed rats, each trying to attain goals that appeared different to them but were inevitably the same. Not one of them seemed to doubt the neatness and tidiness of his or her life, as if their firm belief in the beauty and harmony of the city were unshakable. The death penalty, the prison break, the huge twelve-car pile-up—all of these were like events happening on another planet, as far as most people were concerned. They cared about nothing that was not eye-candy on the front page of the evening news.

  Luo Jiahai let the corner of the window curtain he had just lifted fall back into place and sighed heavily.

  He had not left his room once since the man in the baseball cap had taken him there. He was in a half-commercial, half-residential building close to downtown, and other than a phone or the internet, the room was equipped with everything a person might need. There were several simple changes of clothes in the closet and the freezer was packed full of frozen food. It really was a good place to hide out. The man in the baseball cap had told him he was not to leave the room under any circumstances; he was not even allowed to open the window curtains. The man had only visited him once over the past few days to bring groceries. After hiding in fear for several days, Luo Jiahai had gradually calmed down. And soon after the calm had come boredom.

  Luo Jiahai had questions. Who was this Jiang Dexian fellow, anyway? Who was the man with the baseball cap? Where was this place? Why had they wanted to rescue him...?

  Question after question tumbled through Luo Jiahai's mind as he tossed and turned, trying in vain to fall asleep. No matter how he thought about it, he could make neither head nor tail of his situation. He had a vague feeling that he was in the middle of a grand scheme of some sort; but as for who the conspirators were and why they would choose him as their target, he was drawing a complete blank.

  All he knew for certain was that this plan of theirs had something to do with Shen Xiang.

  That day, as soon as the guard had left, Jiang Dexian had opened up his briefcase, withdrawn two photographs from an unmarked envelope, and tossed them on the table in front of Luo Jiahai. Luo Jiahai had glanced at them haphazardly and was stunned by what he saw.

  One of the photos was of Shen Xiang, brows gently knit together, carrying a large plastic bag across the street by herself. The other photo was of Luo Jiahai and Shen Xiang walking together on campus somewhere; she had her arm locked around his and was smiling up at him, and he was grinning as he listened to whatever it was she was saying.

  Luo Jiahai stammered, "You...? How did you...?"

  "Don't say a word. From now on, you do as I say!" Then a light seemed to shine from Jiang Dexian's eyes and the short, plump little man took on a more ferocious look, like a general determined to win his war at all costs. "Take this."

  He had twisted open his fountain pen and handed it to Luo Jiahai.

  "In a few seconds, you will hold this to my neck and walk out of this detention center holding me hostage. Put some pressure into it; don't worry if you make me bleed a bit,” he said curtly. “Remember, as soon as we go through the door, turn around so that I am always between you and the watchtower, and keep as much of your body behind mine as you can. Once we're in my car, everything will be fine. Do you understand what to do?"

  Luo Jiahai had taken the fountain pen and stared blankly at it for a moment. "But…"

  "No buts!" Jiang Dexian had hissed. The sound of returning footsteps was already echoing down the corridor outside the room. "All of this is for Shen Xiang. Do you understand?"

  All of this is for Shen Xiang?

  The more Luo Jiahai thought about it, the less sense it made. Recalling the details of the photos, he realized that the bag Shen Xiang had been carrying with her that day must have been that big bag full of soap and body wash she had, and the other photo must have been taken while they were dating. He remembered something Shen Xiang had once said:

  "Every time I shower or go shopping, I always feel like someone is following me."

  Who had been following her? Was it the same person who shot the photographs? What did Jiang Dexian have to do with this?

  Turning the same questions over and over in one's brain did not make one more enlightened; it tended to have the opposite effect. Luo Jiahai felt numb. Zombie-like, he dragged himself through the same daily routine: Eat. Watch TV. Think. Fall asleep. Confined as he was, day after day, he felt like he was slowly corroding away. Occasionally he would lift up a corner of the curtain and look down on the crowded street below from his upper level room, watching the tide of people that flowed continuously from the crack of dawn to the early evening twilight and beyond, well after the streetlights and shop widows had been lit.

  He sometimes heard about those corrupt officials fleeing abroad and how they all said the life of a fugitive was no joyride. Apparently there was some truth in that.

  That night Luo Jiahai had a very late dinner. His meal consisted of a packet of frozen dumplings. After swallowing down just a few of them, he found he had no appetite, so he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and puffed on one listlessly. He had never really been a smoker, but there was nothing else to do. He sat there like that for hours trying to think, but his mind felt utterly empty; he had trouble holding on to even the simplest train of thought. The cigarette butts piled up in the half-eaten bowl of dumplings, and the air in the room became more and more choked with smoke. Luo Jiahai wanted to open the window, but he didn’t dare. He considered it for a moment, and then walked over to the kitchenette to turn on the range hood fan.

  The route to the kitchenette took him past the door to the apartment. He had just cleared it when he heard the sound of a key in the lock. A sudden fear took hold of him, causing every muscle in his body to tense up. He peered at the doorknob, dreamlike, as it opened to reveal the man in the baseball cap.

  "Wow, it's smoky in here," the man said, waving his h
and through the air in front of him as he walked in. He seemed amused when he saw the alarm written all over Luo Jiahai's face. "Don't worry, it's just me. Have you eaten?"

  "Yeah..." Luo Jiahai said, his voice trembling from fear or lack of use or both.

  The man with the baseball cap snickered. "You must be bored to death from being cooped up in here these past few days, am I right?"

  "Yeah."

  "Let's go then. I'll take you out for a little walk."

  Luo Jiahai opened the passenger-side window of the speeding car and felt the cool late autumn breeze hit his face. Now and then the man in the baseball cap would glance at the rearview mirror, after which he would return his inscrutable eyes to the road ahead.

  "Where are we going?" Luo Jiahai finally asked.

  "You'll know when we get there," the man answered, evidently not in the mood for chitchat.

  Luo Jiahai decided he would not get any more answers out of him, so he settled into his seat and watched as suburb after suburb flew past the window.

  Soon the lights of the city had faded behind them, and the warehouses and outlying residential zones had given way to darkening fields of vegetables and wheat that lined both sides of the highway as far as the eye could see. The car glided along the seemingly endless road like a wild ghost carrying a pair of lanterns.

  A tiny light appeared abruptly in front of them. As it grew in size the man slowed the car, and Luo Jiahai knew they were nearing their destination.

  As they drew closer, Luo Jiahai saw that it was one of the many roadside diners that dotted the countryside wherever one went. Judging by the several cars that were parked out front, business seemed pretty good for the time of night. After parking and locking the doors, the man in the baseball cap signaled for Luo Jiahai to follow him inside. They pushed open the diner’s door, and Luo Jiahai was surprised to find that the place was actually quite empty; there was not a single customer in sight. A single tall, powerfully-built man sat at the bar watching the television. When he saw them enter he stood up.

  "Is everyone here?" The man in the baseball cap greeted him. They seemed to know each other quite well.

  "They are, and Mr. J has just arrived."

  The man in the baseball cap nodded and waved for Luo Jiahai to follow him upstairs.

  The stairs led to a dimly lit room devoid of the tables and chairs typical of a restaurant; instead, several sturdy cushions and a couple of short foot stools were scattered about, and in the middle of a cream-colored rug was a small table on which an exquisite little tea set had been arranged. The elegant atmosphere of the room contrasted sharply with the greasy cliché that was the diner downstairs.

  Three people sat around the little table, sipping tea. They all looked up when Luo Jiahai and his guide entered the room.

  "This is Miss Q. This is Mr. Z," the man in the baseball cap introduced one by one.

  Mr. Z appeared to be about 30, wore glasses, and had quite a bookish look about him. Miss Q was the only one sitting on one of the squat little stools. She was dressed casually, making it difficult for Luo Jiahai to guess her age.

  "You know Attorney Jiang, of course. But here everyone calls him Mr. J."

  Jiang Dexian smiled and waved Luo Jiahai over to take a seat.

  While he was doing so, the lights downstairs went out and the big man from the bar came bounding up the stairs to join them, taking three steps in a stride. As he entered the room, he closed the double wooden doors behind him, completely sealing the room off from the stairwell.

  The man with the baseball cap nodded to the man who had just joined them. "This is Mr. H."

  Mr. H. smiled amicably at Luo Jiahai.

  "And yourself?" Luo Jiahai could not help but ask.

  "Me?" The man took off his baseball cap, revealing a head of multi-colored hair. "You can call me Mr. T."

  The oddly named people watched Luo Jiahai as he sat down among them, and their silence was oppressive. Miss Q poured him a cup of tea. After thanking her, he raised the cup to his lips, hesitated a moment, and then took a sip. They all broke into a loud guffaw.

  "Go ahead and give him the materials," Mr. Z said to Jiang Dexian.

  Jiang Dexian took out a large manila envelope and handed it to Luo Jiahai.

  Luo Jiahai found that inside were several photographs with text printed on them. He looked through them slowly at first, and then faster and faster as his brow crunched into a knot. When he was finished, he again picked up the first photo and stared intently at it for a while. After a long minute, he lifted his head and opened his trembling lips to speak.

  "A Skinner's Box?"

  CHAPTER

  12

  Mark

  Yang Jincheng leaned against the broad leather chair back, his eyes focused on the pages of a volume so thick and heavy that he needed to hold it with both hands. On the cover were the words, A Collection of Essays from the International Symposium on Expressive Psychotherapy and Psychodrama. The calm afternoon sunlight spilled in through the window, warming the room with a soft light that reflected off the polished mahogany floorboards.

  There was a light knock at the door. Yang Jincheng swiveled his chair around and took his glasses off. "Come in."

  His assistant, Chen Zhe, walked in and carefully placed a ring of keys on the desk.

  "Your car has been repaired, Director Yang."

  "Ah. Thank you." Yang Jincheng stood to fetch his suit jacket from the coat hanger on the wall behind him. "How much was it?"

  "No need, sir." Hands at his sides, Chen Zhe assumed an overly deferential posture. "I've already forwarded the invoice to accounting; the Institute will foot the bill."

  "No, that won't do; it had nothing to do with work." Yang Jincheng frowned. "I'll speak to accounting about it and clear it up."

  Chen Zhe’s face reddened with embarrassment. "Director Yang, you really are as honest as they come."

  Yang Jincheng shook his head. "As I should be, in my position."

  Chen Zhe's face turned even redder.

  Yang Jincheng laughed. "I appreciate your good intentions, but that sort of thing won't be necessary in future."

  Chen Zhe was opening his mouth to reply when the desk phone rang.

  "Hello?” Yang Jincheng held the receiver to his ear. “...Yes... Oh, hello, Principal Shi...." He eyed his assistant.

  Chen Zhe nodded immediately. "I'll be going then, Director Yang." With that he walked out of the office and carefully closed the door behind him.

  Five minutes later, having changed out of his white lab coat and into the freshly pressed suit jacket, Yang Jincheng strode out of his office, left some simple instructions at the front desk, and made his way to the underground parking garage. Everyone he passed either bowed or said something in greeting. Yang Jincheng continued on his way, unhurried, and with a subtle smile on his lips.

  He examined the car door as he unlocked it, but only saw his face reflecting back at him from its glossy surface; the ugly scratch mark that had blemished it before was now gone without a trace. Satisfied, he nodded at himself and got in the car.

  Half an hour later he was sitting in an office at Changsheng Elementary School across from the fat woman who was its principal. Yang Zhan stood in the corner facing the wall, now and then reaching out to pick at a loose wall tile.

  "Here's the situation, Mr. Yang," the principal began. "The other student was not hurt very badly, so his parents have decided not to take any further action. However, it is our responsibility to keep you informed, which is why we asked you to come. It is our hope that when you get home, you can come up with an appropriate plan of discipline for Yang Zhan so that this sort of thing does not happen again." She seemed rather reserved in the face of Yang Jincheng's imposing figure, and did not speak with the strict commanding tone she usually used when meeting with other parents.

  "You're right; I am the one who should be held accountable for my son's bad behavior. I will do what is necessary, " Yang Jincheng said. "You need to sto
p all this devious nonsense!"

  The principal straightened in alarm.

  Yang Jincheng explained hastily, "Sorry, I wasn't talking to you. Yang Zhan! Get your fingers off that wall!"

  Yang Zhan did not stop immediately; instead he picked at the wall even faster a few more times until a large piece of the wall tile dropped to the floor with a dull thunk.

  Yang Jincheng seethed with anger.

  The principal made a quick attempt to ease the tension in the room. "He's not a bad child at all; he's just a bit…stubborn, that's all."

  Yang Zhan sat in the backseat with his knees drawn up and looked out quietly at the passing shop fronts. The car window seemed to give everything a strange gray-blue tint, like an old black-and-white movie.

  "Why did you hit him?" Yang Jincheng said.

  Yang Zhan stared up into the rearview mirror. His father's eyes stared right back at him, stern and unyielding. Yang Zhan turned away and did not say a word.

  Yang Jincheng let out a long sigh and returned his focus to driving the car.

  They passed a KFC and Yang Jincheng slowed down. "Hungry for lunch?"

  Yang Zhan just continued to stare out the window, his bottom lip protruding slightly and tears beginning to spill down his cheeks.

  Yang Jincheng pulled over and parked against the curb. Moments later he returned grim-faced with a large paper bag. He got back in and tossed it to Yang Zhan, who tore it open and began to devour the food, leaving crumbs all over the backseat. Yang Jincheng watched his son in the mirror and cursed under his breath.

  "You have no goddamned respect, do you?" He took a few sheets from the tissue box and threw them back between the seats. "Wipe your goddamned mouth and hands, god-dammit!"

  Yang Zhan was soon full. He carefully folded the paper bag, and the sullen look returned to his grease- and sauce-smeared face.