by Dave Buschi
Taxi drivers on the periphery were beckoning them over. A man darted in and tried to grab Lip’s bag. Lip barked at the man in Shanghainese. The taxi driver bowed and backed away.
They made their way to a man standing next to a sedan. He had a placard too, professionally printed in gold and red. It was the name of Mei Ling’s firm: Pinnacle Ventures. The logo beneath the letters were somewhere in-between a cross of a mountain and a skyscraper.
“I see you’re still working the Penis Vengeance thing,” Lip said.
Count on Lip to take advantage of any opportunity.
“And I see you are still a growing child,” Mei said.
Lip looked at Marks with a confused expression. “Did she just call me fat?”
“You are fat,” Marks said.
“Fuck you.”
The driver loaded their luggage in the trunk. Mei sat up front; Marks and Lip took the back. Before they got in, Mei whispered to them, “Keep it light, he’s a new driver.”
They nodded. Loose lips sink ships. Interesting. Fifty minutes. Approximate ride time. Would have made for the perfect opportunity to catch Mei up to speed. Course Mei might have been telling them something. Need to know. She didn’t want to join the club.
Lip got comfy and scrolled through his emails. Marks looked out the tinted windows. Fifty minutes. Just one of those details.
He’d been here before.
You’ve been here, before?
No.
Not officially.
Pole lights, like gauzy dandelions, lit up the eight-lane highway. Eight lanes with hardly a vehicle in sight. Beyond the man-made earthworks that the highway rested on, was a bleak flat landscape. Single-story homes appeared in the distance. Miles on, striated by gradients of gray, appeared the hulking forms of high-rise apartments. They passed factories; their clerestory windows blobs of bright white. Hardly any trees anywhere, instead, just scrub ground cover looking like tumbleweeds.
Didn’t take long to come to the river. It was spanned by several bridges. Factories on the banks with hundreds of smokestacks belching out soot. For the Beijing Olympics they’d closed factories for months to try and clear the skies. The Olympics were long over. Now it was back to the basics. Marks saw what looked like raw sewage being dumped. Huge churning discharges spilling into the dank dark water.
Next to him, Lip had taken his eyes from his Blackberry. It didn’t matter how many times you came here. The place had that affect.
They went over a bridge. Skyscrapers loomed out of the polluted fog. There was no sun. By his watch, sunrise had come and happened. No evidence of it.
It was hard to believe people lived in this every day. Marks had never seen the sun in Shanghai. Not once with all his visits. Rumor was it peeked its head every now and then, but he didn’t believe it for a second. Lip was of the mind it was all some propaganda pitch from The Party. Funny thing, he was probably halfway right. You just had to check out the postcards they sold in kiosks. That famous Shanghai skyline. To a tee every one of those postcards showed a vermillion blue sky—bluer than blue—while the skyscrapers were all touched with gray, not a shadow on them.
Photoshop, baby, Lip would say. Everything is beautiful in Shanghai.
They entered the city’s outskirts, and passed a man on a bicycle. Some fishnet thing on back holding bags. It was ten feet tall, perched on the back of his bicycle like some enormous bulging sack, tottering precariously. They saw more bicycles with crazy loads. Men and women taking their wares into the city. Thousands of people walking.
Next to him, Lip was quiet. No peanut-gallery comments. None of his typical bluster. Marks felt a twinge. He knew what it was, but ignored it. They were on an elevated highway now. More cars. Everyone going too fast. Through the gray gloom were the skyscrapers. More than he could count. Endless.
“Whatcha thinking?” Lip said.
“Needle,” Marks said.
“Haystack.”
“Yep.”
Twenty million people in this city, and they had to find one.
TWENTY minutes later, their driver pulled up to a building. It wasn’t a hotel. Mei turned and looked at them.
“We’re here.”
112
HERE was a beat up building. Not five star. Not even one. They were in negative territory.
“Looks like my house,” Lip said.
As he stepped out of the car, Marks made the mistake of breathing. The pollution here was unreal. Worse than he remembered. Just one suck of the lungs and it felt like he’d smoked a pack of unfiltered Camels.
Marks gave everything a once over. His partner was selling himself short. His place was a palace compared to this joint.
They were in the dregs. Place tourists never went. The ugly underbelly. You could walk the streets around here and occasionally see a dead body in an alley, or even on the sidewalk. No one stopped; wasn’t unusual. Life was hard here. Forget the news: the Shanghai story, burnished bright, city of opportunity. Opportunity for some maybe, but for millions it was just about survival. When you got twenty million, one life didn’t add up to much.
“Come,” Mei said. “We need to get out of sight.”
Mei took them inside the dilapidated building. In her pricey heels and designer clothes the contrast wasn’t lost on Marks. They rolled their bags behind them, as their driver drove off. Inside wasn’t exactly a lobby, and forget about bellhops. Lip and Marks were on their own.
“Do you have anything important in the bags?” Mei said. She was serious now. The joking and hugs of earlier was now replaced with the matter at hand. She was all business. Smart girl. She knew this wasn’t a social visit.
“I’d rather not toss it, if that’s what you mean,” Marks said. “The driver? Do you trust him?”
“He won’t betray us, but he is not in the inner circle,” Mei said. “We still have to be careful. A lot has changed since last time. Come… this way. I have another vehicle.” Mei’s cute face was no longer smiling. “They may be watching. Come. Hurry.”
Marks exchanged a look with Lip. In this business this was the deal. Everything was suspect. Even your friends.
They followed Mei through the abandoned building. She moved quickly for her size. She was slight and spry. Her porcelain skin—what little you could see of it with her high turtleneck and upturned collar—was smooth and flawless. She was in her early thirties, but looked a decade younger. Her cashmere coat fanned out behind her. Bottoms of her heels were bright red. Not that fashion was his bag, but Marks knew that signature spike. Louboutins. She was a fashionista… a hipster, hacker, and patriot of her people. And along the way she’d also become a reluctant spy.
She looked back to make sure they were following. The interior of the building wasn’t heated. The floor was marble and their rolling bags tracked easily. They passed a marble staircase with a gilded railing; a hint of this building’s former splendor. That day was long gone. Now the walls were mottled brown from rot and decay. The ceiling had caved in certain sections.
“This way,” she said. They went through a doorway and down a frigid corridor. A rotten beam was across their path at one point. They lugged their bags over it and continued down the unlit corridor to another door. Two doors later they emptied into an alley. By a loading dock was a delivery van, compact-sized, black and unmarked.
Mei pulled out some keys and unlocked the vehicle.
“You’re driving?” Marks said.
“Get in.”
Lip grumbled. Marks shoved their bags into the van, and opened the passenger door.
“No,” Mei said. “You two must sit in the back.”
There weren’t seats. It was an open cargo bay. Marks nodded and joined Lip who was already sitting down.
“Like old times,” Marks said through his teeth.
Mei glanced back, her eyes shiny and bright. “It is good to see you two.”
She started the ignition and jerked the van out into the street.
113
&
nbsp; MEI navigated through the labyrinthine corridors of streets and tired semi-decaying buildings. All around was the mass of humanity you only saw in China and areas like Mumbai and Karachi. Vehicles, motorcycles, bicycles, pedestrians. Too many of each for the tiny congested streets. Above, low-lying electrical lines tracked everywhere obscuring the gunmetal-colored sky.
About twenty minutes into the ride, Mei loosened up. “Okay, one of you can sit up front.”
Marks let Lip have the honors. Lip took a seat, adjusting his bulk in a seat that was obviously made for smaller-sized passengers. “Now what was that all about?” Lip said.
“It was necessary,” Mei said. “I had to make sure we weren’t followed.”
“Did you think we would be?” Lip said.
“As I said, much has changed. I’ll explain everything soon. There is someone you must meet. He has been expecting you.”
“Who?” Lip said.
Mei’s lips set in a line. “You will see. You’ve come for your friend, I know. He can tell you where he is.”
114
THE neighborhood changed, abruptly. There were more cars and more people, which wouldn’t have been possible if the streets hadn’t widened to accept the flood of humanity. With the larger streets came larger buildings. These were monolithic concrete structures built decades ago—not the shiny new buildings built in the last decade and a half: the ubiquitous skyscrapers that filled Shanghai’s skyline and spoke of aspirations of a more promising future—no, these were the ugly predecessors built decades before. Buildings still mired in a lesser gloomier reality, where millions lived in appalling circumstances, some without electricity or running water. Marks knew this without thinking it.
China was a great enigma. Just like their people. Two faces. One shiny, one not.
Among these buildings were also office buildings built during that same older epoch: grey, boxy and nondescript. Many of these buildings were now eerily empty. Few lights were on and even fewer workers funneled through the doors.
Mei pulled into a parking garage of one of the buildings. Its garage entrance led to a subterranean tunnel. A veritable concrete catacomb. Two levels down, Mei pulled into a compact space that left them with little room to squeeze out.
Everything, Marks knew from experience, was smaller in “Old China”, towering skyscrapers notwithstanding. From the vehicles to the parking spaces to the heights of ceilings. Marks almost scraped his head walking towards the elevator. The ceiling was remarkably low in spots for a garage. And the elevator they entered was the size of a bathtub. Marks’s head had maybe three inches of clearance, if that.
The lift rose and they emptied on the ground level. It was a compact lobby without any greeters or guards; just a tired chintzy décor with some plastic plants and pictures of palm leaves. Another elevator, almost as tiny as the one they got off, took them up their next leg.
They exited onto the sixteenth floor with their rolling bags. A pair of glass double doors led into an office area. Again, everything seemed miniaturized 80%. There was a receptionist desk, but no receptionist. In fact, no one at all. The cubicles… workstations, were all empty.
Mei led them past the receptionist desk, which was caked with a thin layer of dust. They walked back to some offices. At the end, Mei opened a door. Inside the corner office was an older, wizened looking man. Octogenarian, if he was a day. He was sitting on a small well-used couch. There was a coffee table in front of him where a tea tray was set out with a full china set. The tea looked recently brewed; wisps of steam trailed from one of the tiny porcelain cups.
“Hello Marks. Hello Lip,” the man said.
Marks had a disconnect moment. The voice didn’t jive with the body. Lip noticed it too. The man rose. Hunched over, an image of frailty and age.
“Johnny Two-cakes?” Lip said.
115
MEI giggled. Marks and Lip just stood there, open-mouthed. This man in front of them straightened somewhat and walked over.
“I suspected the worse,” the old man said. “I didn’t think any of my messages got through.”
He reached out and gripped Marks by the arm. “How are you, my friend?”
Marks recovered from his shock. “I’m good. That’s some mask… I think?”
Lip had still not recovered. “This… this is totally not cool. You mean you’re fine?”
“Would you prefer I was not?”
“Shit… bite me,” Lip said. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Then I’ll do it,” Marks said. “You got married, huh? And couldn’t find time to drop us a note?”
“Ah good, I was so worried,” Johnny Two-cakes said. He fiddled with the edges of his mask. It took him a second to pull it off. His receding hair was barely mussed, but he used his hand to pat what little he had back in order. That was him, in terms of his personal appearance and grooming, he was fastidious to a fault. It was strange to see him in clothes that weren’t ironed. Man even ironed his jeans. The clothes he had on now were a total 180 from his usual program, loose fitting and frumpy. “So Marion found you okay?”
Marks shrugged. “Guess it depends on your version of okay.”
“Oh no…” Johnny Two-cakes said. His face froze.
“Relax, she’s fine.” Marks looked at Mei. “Could have told us when Lip called you.”
Mei nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry, I would have, but it was not safe over the phone.” Her forehead bunched. She reached into her jacket and retrieved her cell.
Johnny Two-cakes began to fold his mask. “So you must have received my messages?”
“Postcard?” Lip said. “Yeah, I got it, you dick.”
“Excellent. How about the information I sent you?”
“You talking about on the stick?” Lip said. “The emails with the recipes, which weren’t recipes?”
“Good, you went to my house. Excellent, excellent.” Johnny Two-cakes nodded in approval. “We have much to catch up on. So you did get my instructions. Good. When you didn’t respond, I was concerned none of them got through.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Lip said. “We didn’t get any instructions.”
Johnny Two-cakes looked confused. “Then how?”
He was interrupted by Mei.
“Umff!” It was an odd girly sound. The three of them turned and looked at her. She raised her eyes from her phone. “We were followed.” Her eyes went to their rolling bags. “You checked them?”
Marks frowned. “No, we carried them on.”
Lip’s eyes darted to the bags. He pulled out his Blackberry.
“Your phone, then?” Mei said.
“Not with this baby,” Lip said. He walked over to the bags and thumb typed rapidly on his Blackberry.
“Shit,” Lip said, looking at his screen.
Marks frowned. “Bug?”
“Looks like it,” Lip said. “I’m picking up a signal. Dammit, I should have checked. Must have been placed during the customs search.”
Marks looked at Mei. “What’s the situation? What are we talking?”
“Three vehicles out front,” Mei said. “Twenty men have entered the lobby. I’m not happy.”
116
SO much for their reunion.
“This is most disconcerting,” Johnny Two-cakes said.
“Tell me we have something here,” Marks said. “Weapons?”
Mei shook her head. “No.”
“Great.” Marks looked at Lip. “What’s the damage?”
Lip finished his sweep and put away his Blackberry. “Your bag too. Two signals.”
“What about this?” Marks fingered the bag on his shoulder.
“That’s clean; it’s just our rolling bags.” Lip fixed his own Tumi strap over his shoulder and cinched it tight.
Johnny Two-cakes blinked twice. “You gentlemen have gotten very sloppy.”
Marks ignored the dig. Man had a point. “Grab your bag, Lip.”
“We’re not leaving ‘em
?”
“No.” Marks grabbed his rolling bag and the four of them left the office and headed towards the elevator lobby. En route, Marks looked at Mei and Johnny Two-cakes. “Any escape plan I need to know about?”
Mei shook her head. “Just the elevators.”
“Which, no doubt, they’ll be using,” Johnny Two-cakes said.
They reached the lobby. Marks tapped the button for the elevators. “So who’s coming up for us?”
“Rénmín Jifàngjkn,” Mei said.
Marks knew what that gibberish was. Rénmín Jifàngjkn was PLA. People’s Liberation Army.
The four of them quickly took positions. Lip took the elevator on the left, Marks took the middle, and Johnny Two-cakes and Mei split the right. They watched the unlit arrows waiting for one to light up.
117
LIP’S arrow lit up first. The elevator doors drew apart.
It was empty.
No time to get excited. They piled into the cab with their bags and Marks pushed two buttons. Ground and first floor. The elevator doors closed and they proceeded down.
“Now’s the time if you need anything from your bag,” Marks said.
“Hate to lose my favorite panties,” Lip said.
“You mean the ones that make your ass look big?”
Mei lost her frown. “You two never stop, do you?”
Johnny Two-cakes sighed. “Unfortunately no.”
“You missed us,” Lip said. “Admit it.”
Johnny Two-cakes sighed again. “Like a horrible rash.”
The lights in the cab were counting down. Chinese characters and numbers ticking down.
The elevator stopped. Doors opened. Christmas came early again; empty vestibule. They piled out, leaving the two rolling bags.
“Stairwell,” Marks said, as the doors closed behind them.
Johnny Two-cakes opened the stairwell door. He paused and closed it. “People coming up.”