Shanghai Redemption Page 7

  At the end of his e-mail, he added a personal touch, talking about his father’s grave in Suzhou being in bad repair and claiming that his mother had requested that he personally oversee its renovation.

  “She’s old, in frail health, and her days may be limited. I’m not in a position to say no to her. The renovation of my father’s grave will take just about a week. While there, I can also continue reading up for the new position. The moment the project is completed, I will start working with unlimited concentration for our Party, for years to come.”

  This note sounded like an echo from Chenqing Biao by Li Mi, a Jin dynasty scholar-official in the third century. Li Mi compared his grandmother to the evening sun declining against the western hills; “The days I can serve my old grandmother are short, and the days I can serve your majesty are long, long indeed.”

  He wondered whether the superior cadre reading it would catch the reference. Still, it sound credible, for Chen was known to be a filial son, a pose in line with his bookish character. To some, it might also look like a feeble protest about his new position: Chen could easily be doing nothing more than dragging his feet, delaying the onset of his new role.

  To do nothing, it says in the Taoist classic Dao De Jing, makes it possible for one to do everything. Chen wanted to make his enemy believe that he was doing nothing, thereby allowing him to do whatever was necessary while they weren’t watching.

  He stepped outside again, this time going over to a newsstand several blocks away. He was sure no one recognized him there. He asked for several SIM cards. Theoretically, in accordance with government regulations, he should have shown ID to buy SIM cards. Those SIM cards would then be registered under his name, but newsstands usually didn’t bother to check ID. Sure enough, the young girl there sold them to him without any question.

  He started to put a new SIM card into his cell phone, but he had second thoughts. He walked down another block and went into a phone store. There he chose a couple of inexpensive cell phones. He put the new SIM card into one of them—this would be his special phone, designated for confidential calls, to avoid any possibility of his calls being tapped or traced. It would also be easier. This way he wouldn’t have to change the SIM card frequently.

  As for the other phone and cards, he kept them to use on special occasions, or perhaps to give to others.

  He used the special phone to dial Mr. Gu, a successful and well-connected businessman, who had proclaimed himself to be a staunch friend of Chen’s ever since they had worked together back in the early days of Gu’s New World project. Gu might be able to tell him something about Rong.

  Gu picked up at the first ring and, on hearing Chen’s voice, said, “Oh, you. I’ll call you back in one minute.”

  Was Gu calling back on a special phone? The businessman was a cautious one and might have heard something about Chen. The phone rang almost immediately.

  “You’re calling from a new phone? I recognized your voice, if not the number,” Gu said. He had indeed called back from another phone, one with a different number. “Oh, I got the invitation to the book party at the Heavenly World yesterday, but I had a business meeting. Sorry I couldn’t make it.”

  “You don’t have to feel sorry about missing it.”

  Chen told Gu what had happened at the Heavenly World, including the party sponsored by Rong and the raid on the nightclub. He didn’t say anything about the possibility that he himself was the target of the raid.

  “How could that be possible?” Gu exclaimed. “Shen is connected to someone at the very top. Everyone knows that.”

  The surprise in his voice sounded genuine.

  “Then why?”

  “Let me make a couple of phone calls and see what I can find out about Rong. I’ve met him before, but I don’t know much.” Gu then added deliberately, “I don’t get involved in politics, Chen, but I’ve heard some whispered words.”

  “Really!”

  “You know how businesspeople are always gossiping about one thing or another.” Gu abruptly changed the subject: “I have a new vacation center in Kunshan near Suzhou. It’s finished but not open for business yet. Why not go there and stay as my special guest? Enjoy a vacation. It’s time for you to take a break from your work—a break in absolute privacy.”

  “Absolute privacy?”

  “Well, some of the successful elite nowadays work hard to maintain a low profile. For them, staying at a five-star hotel is no longer a good idea, what with cell phone calls being monitored and surveillance cameras everywhere. So I had a vacation center built for my special guests. Each of them will have a whole floor to themselves, and from the garage, they can go directly to their designated floor. They won’t have to worry about being seen by others, and they enjoy all the services of the vacation center in complete privacy. You can stay there as long as you like, and you can drive back to Shanghai in less than an hour.”

  Gu was making the offer in spite of the “whispered words.” It was a practical suggestion, too, for Chen to lie low. Should he request additional leave? Out of sight, out of mind—and how things might change in two or three months, no one could tell. The emphasis on privacy and service, however, reminded Chen of the scene at the Heavenly World.

  “I’ll think about it, Gu. It’s so thoughtful of you, I appreciate your offer,” Chen said. “And your business has been expanding beyond Shanghai. Congratulations!”

  “You don’t have to say that to me. It’s just that I’ve been drinking wine today, and I’m a little drunk. Who cares about the flood coming to drown the world when I’m no longer here.”

  That didn’t sound like Gu. Chen waited for him to go on.

  “Surely you remember Lu Xun’s prediction. Today’s society is like a sinking ship at night, with most of the passengers in a deep sleep. It’s probably not a bad idea for them to sink into another deep sleep, so to speak. There’s no point in trying to wake them up. It would only add to their suffering if they were to become aware of the inevitable end. At the same time, however, the few who have profited are awake and are jumping ship.”

  “Imagine you saying that to me, Mr. Gu! You, the chairman of the New World Group.”

  “Well, I’m reading a book about Jiang Cun, a Qing dynasty salt merchant, who at the peak of his success said, ‘You may have mountains of silver or mountains of gold, but overnight the emperor can take it all away without even condescending to say “I owe you.”’ That was China then, and that is China today.

  “So I’m thinking of emigrating. I’ll have my wife and daughter go to the United States first. Then, if worse comes to worst, at least they’ll be safe and secure somewhere else.”

  Chen didn’t respond.

  “You have a girlfriend in the United States,” Gu went on thoughtfully. “And you once talked to me about furthering your studies there.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m planning to set up an office in New York. What about serving as the office head there? It’s condescending of me to make such a suggestion, I know, but it’s something for you to think about.”

  “I will think about it, Gu. I really appreciate your suggestion.”

  Afterward, Chen felt increasingly uneasy about what Gu had said. The well-connected businessman hadn’t tried to distance himself from the ex–chief inspector. But his suggesting instead a vacation—and then an overseas job—was a subtle warning about the terrible mess Chen had landed himself in.

  Chen looked at his watch. It wasn’t noon yet. He swallowed another two aspirin, still without eating anything. Then he set out again.

  Around one thirty, Chen got to the intersection at new Western Huaihai and Wulumuqi Roads. White Cloud’s new hair salon was there.

  He looked over his shoulder, slipped in through the front door of a packed Starbucks, then out the side door, making sure he wasn’t being followed before he turned onto a side street. Then he zigzagged along alleys and side streets, slowly making his way back to the original intersection. Chen took another l
ook around the area near the hair salon before walking inside.

  White Cloud was there, surrounded by several girls. She was standing bare-legged in a short white uniform dress, just like the others. Still, there was something that made her stand out as the proprietor. Possibly her ankle tassel sandals added a necessary distinguishing touch.

  “Welcome,” a hostess said.

  White Cloud turned around. She was opening her mouth in recognition when he made a point of saying formally, like a new customer, “I’d like to have my hair cut, madam.”

  “I’ll take him,” White Cloud said to other girls. To him, she asked, “It’s your first time here, right?”

  “Yes, a friend of mine recommended your salon.”

  “You won’t be disappointed with the service.”

  It reminded him of something the cat girls in the Heavenly World had said. If there was something dubious about this salon, he didn’t know. And he didn’t really care.

  “Please follow me,” she said, leading him to a sort of a private room in the back. It was a secluded hair-washing area, furnished with a sink, a reclining chair, a swivel stool, and a blue velvet-covered couch against the wall. She locked the door after her.

  “I just heard something about your change in position. I called you at the police bureau, and the people who answered wanted me to leave my name and number. It sounded strange, so I hung up without telling them anything.”

  “You did the right thing,” he said. “It’s a complicated story. The long and short of it is, I’m in trouble. The position I’ve been assigned at Shanghai Legal Reform Committee is just a smokescreen.”

  “But you’ve been doing an excellent job, and the people of Shanghai all know that.”

  “It’s not just that I’ve been moved out of the police department. Last night, I nearly fell into what I think may have been a trap set for me at the Heavenly World.”

  “The Heavenly World?” she exclaimed. “Yes, I remember something about a book launch party. But a trap?”

  He proceeded to tell her what had happened last night, making no attempt to play down the seriousness of the situation.

  “But for the call from my mother,” he concluded, “I might have been finished there and then.”

  “Thank Buddha,” she said, patting her chest involuntarily like a little girl. “It was a setup, no question about it. The water is so deep there.”

  “Too deep. I don’t even know who’s giving the orders behind the scenes.”

  “What can I do for you, Chief Inspector Chen?”

  The directness of her question perplexed him. There was no hesitation whatsoever in her voice.

  “Anything for you,” she repeated emphatically.

  “First, I need to learn more about the club. Last night’s raid might have nothing to do with me. If it does, though, I have to find out who is behind the Heavenly World. But I know almost nothing about the nightclub—”

  He stopped himself. His words carried unpleasant implications about her associations in that circle, past and the present. But there was no avoiding it: that insider knowledge was the reason he was here.

  “I’ll do my best to find out. I have my connections, and perhaps they can tell me something about what was going on last night.” After a short pause, she added pensively, “But I’m worried about you.”

  Once again, he was surprised by her stealing the initiative, saying what was difficult for him to say.

  “Thank you, White Cloud,” he said. “But you have to be careful. Don’t share a single word about our talk today. Not even to Mr. Gu.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  “Yes, but not like I’ve talked with you. For the sake of caution,” he said, producing a cell phone for her, “keep this. If anything comes up, I’ll call you at this phone. If you have to call me, better use a public phone.”

  “Got it.”

  “Let me know anything you find out,” he added, “or anything people are talking about at the Heavenly World.”

  “Don’t worry, Chen. Will you come back here again soon?”

  “Not anytime soon, or I wouldn’t be able to pass myself off as a customer, right?” He tried to work a humorous touch into his words. “I’m going to Suzhou for a few days. I’m too easy a target here. But I’ll travel back and forth between the two cities.”

  “Too easy a target—you’re scaring me, Chen,” she said. She paused and then produced a business card from her purse.

  The card was a simple, elegant one, black and white. It had only her name with a red seal chop hand-printed beside and a cell phone number beneath it. She scribbled several words on the back. “That’s my home address. Drop by any time you like. You don’t have to call ahead.”

  “Bingjiang—the one in Pudong? In Lujiazui?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  He’d heard of the apartment complex. It was one of the most expensive in the city and a symbol of wealth and status. Not long ago, he’d seen people at a temple burning offerings that bore the name of the subdivision—an indication of affluence for the dead. She’d been doing well, and having an apartment there was yet another indication of just how well.

  “It has a nice view of the river—and the Bund across it. You like the Bund, I know.”

  “Thanks. I’ll come to see you.”

  He was about to get up, her business card in his hand, when she put a hand on his shoulder, smiling.

  “I have to wash your hair first, Director Chen.”

  “What?”

  “You just said that we have to be careful, didn’t you? Now you’ve come to my salon and stayed for a long time. You can’t leave without having anything done to your hair. What will the others think?”

  She had a point. He had no choice but to lie down on the specially designed recliner, his head sticking out over the sink.

  She leaned over him, lathering his hair luxuriously, her fingernails scratching his scalp, her bosom almost touching his face. He caught a glimpse of her cleavage through the opening of her low-cut uniform.

  “Relax. You’re a first-time customer here. I’m doing my best, so you will come back.”

  Subconsciously, he had been aware of her feelings for him, and that was the reason—at least, one of the reasons—that he had come here. He was banking on that.

  He let his head be buried in lather. Bubbles of shame. Still, it was very comfortable with her fingers moving in his hair, and he closed his eyes as his highly strung nerves began to relax.

  He almost fell asleep, with the water gurgling overhead, as if out of a gargoyle’s mouth somewhere far away, like in a blurred dream.

  SEVEN

  OLD HUNTER WAS WORKING part-time for Zhang Zhang’s Consulting and Investigating Agency more out of boredom than anything else. It was mostly a one-man operation—the owner, manager, chief investigator, consultant, and whatnot were all one man: Zhang Zhang. Zhang Zhang, however, had declared that he needed Old Hunter, a retired cop with a lot of experience and a lot of connections—not just his own connections, but his son’s as well. Old Hunter’s son was Detective Yu Guangming of the Shanghai Police Bureau, the longtime partner of Chief Inspector Chen.

  Old Hunter was only supposed to come in a couple of days a week, and those days were flexible depending upon his availability. There wasn’t much work to do, but during slow times he enjoyed talking to Zhang Zhang, spinning tales about various investigations from his long career with the police. True to his other nickname—Suzhou Opera Singer—he indulged in long, drawn-out narratives full of tantalizing details and digressions, to his audience of one.

  Zhang Zhang was a capable entrepreneur, but he hadn’t received any formal training in investigation, so whatever stories Old Hunter could share were not merely intriguing: they were educational. In return, having such genuine attention gave the old man a boost. So Old Hunter was often at the office more than was really necessary, content with office chores, taking the occasional phone call, sharpening a pencil or two, a
nd, when Zhang Zhang wasn’t there, listening to Suzhou opera on the radio.

  For lunch, he usually went out to a cheap eatery nearby. For less than five yuan, he could get fried mini pork buns covered with white and black sesame and a bowl of beef soup strewn with chopped green onions. That was something he liked about the city of Shanghai.

  That noon Old Hunter was at his usual place, seated on the wooden bench outside, picking up a set of bamboo chopsticks and wiping them off with a paper napkin, when a middle-aged man came over, eyeing the same bench.

  “Oh—”

  It was none other than Chief Inspector Chen, who discreetly raised a finger to his lips.

  “I’ve heard a lot about this place,” Chen said, smiling, like a customer commenting casually to another, “particularly about the fried buns.”

  “Yes, the fried buns here are inexpensive and considered the best in the city: crispy at the bottom, yet the pork stuffing is juicy,” Old Hunter said, picking up on the cue. “After eating lunch here, then holding a cup of Dragon Well tea from the teahouse across the street, I don’t have anything to complain about.”

  In reality, he had his tea back at the office. And not Dragon Well tea, either, which could be expensive—not to mention the fact that, more often than not, what was sold as Dragon Well tea was fake. He made a point to purchase his tea through folks at his old home village. It wasn’t a well-known tea—and it wasn’t much cheaper—but at least it was real tea.

  Chen hadn’t bumped into Old Hunter at random, that much the old man could guess. They had better go off to a quieter place. Not here, nor back at Zhang Zhang’s office.