The Ghost Shift

by John Gapper

  “Stop.” She pulled her hand from his.

  “What, baby?”

  “I can’t talk now.”

  “We must. You made me sick with worry.”

  She grasped his soft, downy cheek.

  “We’ll chat tomorrow. Look at me, I’m a mess, and I need a shower. I have to clean up. I’m a woman, silly.”

  He nodded and she seized the opening, limping across the road as the cart stopped for passengers on its path to the exit.

  Mei’s head ached and her ankle throbbed. She squinted at her alarm clock, which she had set to seven o’clock after returning to the compound in the early hours. Nodding to the guard, she had tried to look like she’d been out on a job. She figured it was true, in a way.

  Pipes shuddered as a hundred taps were turned on at the same time and the water spurted out unpredictably, first icy, then burning. You had to be ready to jump to avoid being frozen or scalded. She let the jets strike the back of her neck, appreciating the force this time, and examined her body as the water ran down it in rivulets. A scrape on one wrist and bruises on her hips, others down her back where she had been trapped by the mesh. She tested her ankle as she stepped out. It made her wince, but the bones were intact. She’d have to bear it for a couple of days.

  Sitting in the hall after breakfast, she pretended to listen to lectures on China’s courts, techniques of surveillance, and land rights. In her mind, she replayed scenes from the night again and again—the brutality of the guard as he’d hustled her up the stairs, the Wolf’s cold stare as he’d pushed her, as if her life were of no value, the sound of the door when the other man arrived.

  It had been Chen, of course. The soft voice was different from his public tone, more subtle and pliant, but it was unmistakable. From her place in the net, she’d heard high politics at work. We don’t mind you taking a red envelope here or there. It was gentle, far from the pledge he made at Revolutionary Martyrs Park to root out the corrupt officials. But it came to the same thing—the end of the Wolf’s inquiry. She was terrified, yet Chen’s role made ghastly sense. It explained why the Wolf had sneaked out into the fields alone. He could chase after anyone he wanted in Guangdong, just not the person senior to him. It was the Party’s ultimate protection for its elite. The Commission had to clear any investigation into an official with a higher official, and Chen was the highest in Guangdong. He was beyond justice.

  The thought stayed in her mind all day, especially on the drive south to Shenzhen after class. She hardly said a word to Yao and he sat stiffly at the wheel, staring at the highway like a chauffeur who was following orders.

  They parked in the courtyard of an apartment block, between a Mercedes and a Buick. Someone here had a scam going—the block was run-down but the cars were all expensive. The spaces were clearly being rented to owners who needed a parking space in Shenzhen, and the block’s Party committee was either turning a blind eye or taking a cut. Each time Mei came to Shenzhen, another mall or development had sprung up. Towers blocked the sky, and the city’s streets buzzed with migrant accents and the roar of construction.

  “This is stupid.” Yao finally spoke, staring at the lines of balconies surrounding the courtyard.

  “One evening’s work. That’s all.”

  “You’re crazy, Mei. The Wolf is on the way out. You should keep your distance from this.”

  “He’s the boss, remember? Nothing’s changed yet.” She hoped her words did not sound as empty to him as they did to her. The Wolf had saved her from being caught by Chen, but he could not save himself.

  Yao snorted. “He took the envelope, yeah?”

  “He took it.”

  “Okay, ten minutes.” He opened the door.

  “I’ll stay here while you go up.”

  “What?” Yao was already halfway out but he sat down again, frowning. “Are you timid, suddenly? It’s not like you to hide.”

  “You don’t need me. I’ll keep watch.”

  She glanced down at her feet, embarrassed by the deception, and Yao took her chin and pulled her face to his.

  “Is this a setup? You’re scaring me.”

  “No—honestly. Just get it over with, and we’ll leave.”

  “Fuck.” Yao muttered and climbed out of the car. “This is the last favor I’m going to do for you.”

  He crossed the courtyard and took the stairs up to the third landing, where Tang Liu had lived. Mei saw him from the waist up, walking along a balcony, then stopping at a door to knock. Light flooded from inside the apartment as the door opened, but she couldn’t see the other person. After a moment, Yao went inside.

  A group of uniformed waitresses walked by Mei’s car, laughing, but the courtyard was otherwise empty. The block was eight stories high and was overlooked by towers on two sides. It was old and faded, almost swallowed up by Shenzhen’s growth. Soon, it would be demolished, replaced by a flashy tower. A developer would come, cash would change hands, the residents would be evicted.

  After ten minutes the door opened and Yao appeared. Mei watched him retrace his steps, looking as irritated as before.

  “They don’t know much. Tang Liu arrived a couple of years ago from Hunan and got a job as a waitress. Two of them still work at the same restaurant. There’s a woman there, a motherly type. She says the girl’s father got sick two months ago and she went home to help take care of him. They haven’t seen her since.”

  “She didn’t mention Long Tan?”

  “Didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Does she have a contact for her?”

  “She had a mobile number, but it’s dead. No address. Village girls pass through here all the time. It’s not unusual.”

  “That’s all they know?”

  “Oh, she had a photo. Now can we go?”

  Mei’s heart jumped, but Yao handed her the photo without interest. He started the car as she examined it. There were four women in the frame——three in their twenties, hugging and laughing, an older woman behind them. None of them was the girl on the badge.

  “Tang Liu’s on the right, they said.” He put the car in gear and started to back out of the space.

  “Wait! Stop!”

  “What now?” Yao jerked the car to a halt, exasperated.

  Mei scrutinized the photo more closely. The girl on the right was pretty, with pale skin, wide eyes, and perfect teeth. She smiled, showing no sign of distress. There was no doubt. She might have been the Tang Liu who was born near Changsha nineteen years earlier, but she wasn’t the dead woman and her face wasn’t the one on the badge. The badge was a forgery.

  “I need to ask her something.” Mei opened her door and started to jog across the courtyard.

  “Where are you going now?” Yao opened his window and shouted at her but she ignored him.

  Mei climbed up the stairs two at a time. As she reached the third-floor balcony, she smoothed her skirt and walked to the door. Below her, she heard Yao revving the engine threateningly.

  The woman who answered had a gentle face. She wore a green tunic and pants, and her hair was shorn at the neck, as if she’d given up trying to make the most of her looks.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you. I work with my colleague.” Mei showed the woman her card. “I have a few questions.”

  Inside, a bucket rested in a tiled shower, and the kitchen was piled with pots and plates. There was no living room, just a single bedroom with four beds crammed up against each other, and a balcony at the back. The girls on the lower bunks had draped fabrics for privacy. One of them was sleeping; two fluffy toys were propped by her pillow. The only place to sit was on a bunk, and Mei took one, with the woman opposite.

  Mei pointed at the photo. “My colleague said this is Tang Liu—the girl on the right. That’s correct?”

  The woman smiled fondly. “Yes, that’s Liu. She was a sweet girl. She went home to help her father. Not many of these girls are so dutiful to their parents. They do bad things.”

  “How long have you been he
re?”

  “Ten years. My husband’s at home in Sichuan. He’s been sick for a long time. I must keep working. My son wants to join the army. We have to find the money for his place. He’s a good boy.”

  “I believe Liu went to work at Long Tan after she left here. You didn’t know? She didn’t say anything?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “She wouldn’t do that. These girls don’t want to work in factories. It’s better to be a waitress, they have more freedom. Liu had a good job and the men liked her—she got plenty of tips.”

  “She looks pretty in the photo.”

  “It’s not even a good shot. She had lots of admirers.”

  “But she went to take care of her father?”

  “That’s right.”

  Mei looked over the balcony when she emerged—Yao was still parked below. The woman sounded genuine. She had liked Liu and she had not known about the factory or the disappearance. But her story didn’t hang together. Why would the girl go home to care for her father when her mother was there? She had been making good money by the sound of it, and she didn’t look tired of Shenzhen in her photo.

  The gaggle of young women she’d seen by the car emerged onto the balcony, laughing and screaming. One of them playfully slapped another on the shoulder. As they approached, Mei stood in their path.

  “Do any of you know Tang Liu?”

  The laughter broke off. The five women stared at her, trying to work out who she was. One glanced away; Mei wondered if her papers were in order. She gave her card to the tallest one and they all shuffled closer to gaze at it, looking solemn.

  “Don’t worry. She’s not in trouble. We’re checking on some of the restaurants. They’ve taken money and not declared it—tips that ought to go to staff. Maybe you’re owed money.”

  One girl nodded. “I am. My boss has no quality.”

  “I can make trouble for him. I just need some help. The woman inside said that she was a waitress.”

  Two of the women exchanged glances and smiled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Liu didn’t tell her everything. She worked at a restaurant for a while and then got bored. The men liked her. She moved to the karaoke bar in the Golden Dragon Hotel. She made more money.”

  “Is it well-paid work?”

  “It depends on how you treat the customers. Liu was nice to them. She didn’t just sing. She played the bamboo flute.”

  The group dissolved into laughter.

  “She said that Tang Liu went home to take care of her father.”

  “She’s easy to fool. Her husband eats soft-boiled rice.”

  A girl at the back of the group who hadn’t yet said anything suddenly spoke up. “Liu told me she’d met a western guy—a diamond bachelor. He didn’t want her to keep on working.”

  “Did she tell you about him?”

  “She wouldn’t say. He wanted to be discreet.”

  “Thank you,” Mei started walking to the stairs, her pace quickening as she went.

  “What about my boss?” shouted the first girl who’d spoken.

  “We’ll talk to him,” she called back.

  The Golden Dragon Hotel was perched by a canal next to a six-lane highway that cut through the Luohu district. She’d had trouble directing a sullen Yao to the right place, but the hotel was impossible to miss. It was ten stories high, shaped like a flag waving in the breeze and tiled in glittering neon. A neon dragon was draped from the roof, its jaws enclosing a pink and blue banner: Karaoke—12 floors of VIP rooms—Shenzhen’s best KTV.

  As they pulled up, a couple emerged from the foyer. A girl in her twenties, wearing a miniskirt and a fur vest, was clutching a balding man, trying to keep him upright. He was pitching from side to side like a ship in a storm. Russian, Mei thought, or Kazakh. His suit and tie were brown, his face sweaty. The girl was struggling to stop him tumbling down the slope into the canal. She wore a determined smile as she whispered in his ear.

  “I’m done with this,” said Yao. It was the first time he had spoken since she gave him directions.

  “Don’t worry. Leave it to me.”

  There were a dozen nationalities in the reception area, lining up to check in with suitcases or drinking in groups in the bar. They were traders passing along the New Silk Road—Americans, Europeans, Africans in long robes. The woman at the desk pointed Mei to an elevator with glossy black doors—the entrance to the KTV club. As she emerged six stories up, there was a second lobby with a podium to welcome visitors. Beyond, the lights dimmed into a dark hallway.

  Nobody was around, so Mei walked past the podium along a line of doors with porthole windows. Hearing a thumping beat, she peered into a cabin that pulsed with yellow light. Five men lounged on chairs inside. Four were Chinese and one western. The westerner, no longer wearing his jacket and tie, was bouncing a young woman on his knee. Another woman in her twenties was swaying in front of a karaoke screen, crooning an Eason Chan ballad. The man was singing along with the melody, staring drunkenly at her.

  “You want work?”

  Mei turned. A woman in a satin blue dress embroidered in silver braid looked at her inquiringly. She was glossily made up, with black hair, blue mascara, and a slash of lipstick—she could have been a karaoke girl herself in the past. She had the eyes of a survivor.

  “I’m interested, yes.”

  “Are you working now?”

  “In an office. It’s boring.”

  “Okay. Come with me.”

  The woman led her into another of the hallway rooms, this one smaller, with only three chairs. A video was playing with the mute on, the lyrics passing across the screen. The woman sat down and twirled her index finger. Mei obliged by turning in a slow circle, showing off her body.

  “You’re a tall girl. That’s good. My name’s Madame Zhou. That’s what you call me. Where are you from?”

  “Guilin.”

  “Take your jacket off.”

  The woman stood and examined her, running a finger down the front of her blouse and squeezing one breast appraisingly. Mei flinched but then pushed herself forward again.

  “Your clothes are dull.”

  “I came from work. I like to dress up.”

  “You know how to make men happy?”

  “I make my boss happy.”

  “What special things do you do for him?”

  Mei reached into her jacket and showed her card.

  “I eliminate antisocial behavior. Criminality, prostitution.”

  “Fuck. I should have known it from that terrible suit.” The woman sat down again. “Listen, honey. There’s nothing to interest you here. The cops know us well—they’re our friends.”

  “I bet they are.”

  “The Party bosses too. They like to relax. They don’t want us to be shut down. Don’t make trouble for yourself.”

  Madame Zhou smiled tightly. She looked as if she had plenty of contacts she could call in an emergency. Mei guessed she was right—she ran a brothel with flashing neon lights in the middle of Shenzhen, and nobody had closed it down yet.

  “You help me and it won’t happen. A girl called Tang Liu used to work here, didn’t she?”

  “The men liked Tang Liu. She got plenty of calls.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “They all leave. I guess she got bored.”

  Mei sat opposite. “I heard she found herself a boyfriend.”

  Madame Zhou shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “A westerner? In town for business?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What happens when your girls find a special man? Do you let them go and wave goodbye?”

  Madame Zhou grimaced. “Young girl, you’re crazy. I take good care of them. I tell them, don’t give a man your number. Don’t get trapped in a hotel where no one can see. Some men think they can do what they want with you. Don’t want to get into trouble? Better be careful. If he wants to visit you, he can call Madame Zhou and make an appointment. I’m your chape
rone.”

  “And you take the money.”

  As if on cue, there was a bang and a scream from the hallway. Madame Zhou was at the door in an instant. Mei followed her into the hallway. The businessman she had seen in the VIP room with a girl on his lap was splayed on the ground, held down by a youth in a black T-shirt.

  Madame Zhou chuckled icily. “Who’s been a silly boy? It’s time to drink water. Enough fun for the night.”

  She turned to Mei. “See? I care for them. I cared for Tang Liu.”

  Mei nodded. “So you’ve got her boyfriend’s number.”

  Madame Zhou regarded her carefully, weighing her best strategy, and then she nodded.

  Lockhart was standing by the window when the phone rang. He was on the sixteenth floor of the Peninsula Hotel in Kowloon, watching the Star Ferry plow its way across Victoria Harbor to Hong Kong Island. A southern wind was blowing, pushing the smog toward the mainland.

  Hong Kong’s skyscrapers gleamed in the dark—the lattice of the Bank of China and the white-tipped International Financial Center tower. The water was covered with ferries, lit with neon colors. When he’d come to China, Hong Kong had been an island of wealth in a sea of poverty. Now Kowloon was rich and Shenzhen’s skyline had erupted to the north. The money had moved across the water.

  The mobile phone on the bed pealed with the Nokia ringtone, and he turned in hope. Hardly anyone knew this number, and only one person was likely to be calling him. He strode across the room and threw himself on the bed, fumbling with the buttons. The terrible weight of anxiety and guilt lifted as he answered, longing for relief.

  Even in desperation, Lockhart did not say his name, nor utter hers—he was better than that. He waited for her voice.

  “Mr. Davies, how are you? It is Madame Zhou calling.”

  The voice was unbearably bright and polished, and he felt a crushing sense of misery as his hope died. He spoke instinctively, not knowing what he was saying but desperate to finish the call, to close the blinds and to lie there in darkness, shutting out reality.

  “Hello, Madame Zhou.”