A Loyal Character Dancer - [Chief Inspector Chen Cao 02] (29 page)

“I see.” That was why Pan called him so early in the morning. A sly dog. After a night of mah-jongg, a six-thirty visit was well-calculated to catch them off guard.

“Oh, you didn’t hear anything from me, Detective Yu.”

“Of course not. Thanks.”

“Thanks to you. If you hadn’t saved me, I would have died of food poisoning at your hotel.”

Detective Yu was past the stage of feeling disappointed with the local police for withholding information from him. A person like Zheng could not have been overlooked. He decided to go to Tingjiang Village without notifying Sergeant Zhao. After a second’s thought, Yu also took his pistol with him.

The village was no more than fifteen minutes’ walk away. It was difficult to believe that there was a public bathhouse there. Indeed, the wheel of change turned nonstop in the world of red dust—that of the common people—both forward and backward. The renewed prosperity of the bathhouse business in the nineties owed less to old people’s nostalgia than to its new service. For the newly rich, it was a place where they were able to buy the satisfaction of being served from head to foot, and sometimes served in other parts as well. Detective Yu had received reports about those indecent services. There must be some wealthy customers in this area as money poured in from abroad.

When he reached the village, the first thing he saw was a bright red motorcycle standing by a white-painted house that displayed the image of an enormous bathtub. Apparently this bathhouse had been converted from a residence. Through the partially open door, he saw a small stone courtyard littered with coal, wood, and stack upon stack of bath towels. He walked in. A huge white tile tub occupied the space of the original living room and dining room. Deck chairs were lined up against the wall. There was another room with a bamboo-beaded door curtain and a sign saying, long happiness room. The private room for wealthy customers.

He pushed aside the curtain and saw a folding table with several chairs. The table was littered with pieces of a mah-jongg set, teacups, and ashtrays. Judging by the lingering traces of smoke in the air, the game could not have finished too long ago. Then he heard a man’s voice coming from a room upstairs. “Who’s there?”

Whipping out his gun, Yu ran upstairs and kicked open the door. He saw what Pan had led him to expect: a naked man entangled with a naked woman on a rumpled bed. Their clothes lay on the floor. The woman tried to cover herself up with the sheet, and the man reached for something on the nightstand.

“Don’t move. I will shoot.”

At the sight of the gun, the man withdrew his hand. The woman frantically attempted to cover her groin, forgetting about her slack breasts with dark, hard tips and the other parts of her angular body. A mole under her rib cage produced a weird three-nippled effect.

“Cover yourself.” Yu threw a shirt to the woman.

“Who are you?” The man, a muscular hunk with a long scar above his left eyebrows, pulled on his pants. “The axes fly down from the sky, I’m third-story high.”

“You must be Zheng Shiming. I am a cop. Drop your gang jargon.”

“You’re a cop? I’ve never seen you before.”

“Take a close look.” Yu produced his badge. “Zhao Youli is my local assistant. I’m here on a special case.”

“What do you want with me?”

“Let’s talk—in another room.”

“Fine,” Zheng said with recovered composure, casting a glance at the woman as he was ready to step out. “Don’t worry, Shou.”

As soon as they moved down into the private room, Zheng said, “I don’t know what you want to talk to me about, Officer Yu. I have done nothing wrong.”

“Oh, really? You gambled last night, and you were in jail for that same reason.”

“Gambling? No. We played for fun.”

“You can explain that to the local police. In addition, I am an eyewitness to your fornication.”

“Come on. Shou and I have been seeing each other for several years. I’m going to marry her,” Zheng said. “What do you really want?”

“I want you to tell me what you know about Feng Dexiang and the Flying Axes.”

“Feng is in the United States. That’s all I know. As for the Flying Axes, I have just gotten out of prison. I have nothing to do with them.”

“You did some business with Feng a couple of years ago. Start by telling me about that. Tell me how you met him—when and where?”

“Well, it was about two years ago. We met in a small hotel in the city of Fuzhou. We were in a deal for some American cigarettes shipped in from Taiwan.”

“Smuggled in from Taiwan? So you were his partner in illegal business.”

“Only for a few weeks. After that, I never worked with him again.”

“What kind of man is Feng?”

“A stinking rat. Rotten from head to foot. He would betray you for a bread crumb.”

“A stinking rat?” That was the description used by several other villagers, Yu remembered. “Did you meet his wife while you were partners?”

“No, but Feng showed her picture to me several times. Fifteen years younger. Really gorgeous.”

“So he carried Wen’s picture around with him. He must have cared a lot for her.”

“No, I don’t think so. He wanted to brag about what a beauty he had deflowered. The way he talked about her was so dirty. He described in detail how she struggled, screaming, bleeding like a pig when he forced himself on her the first time—”

“What a bastard, to boast of such things to others!” Yu cut Zheng short.

“He also slept around. With half a dozen girls. I happened to know one of them, Tong Jiaqing. What a nymphomaniac! Once several guys had a go at her all together, Feng, Blind Ma, and Shorty Yin—”

“Did he talk to you about his plans to go to the United States?

“That’s common knowledge here. Most of the men in his village are gone. Like everybody else, Feng talked about becoming a millionaire in the United States. Anyway, he’s politically finished here.”

“You’re both Flying Axes,” Yu said. “He must have talked to you about his travel racket.”

“I have had nothing to do with those arrangements. Feng once boasted to me about his close relationship to some of the big bugs, that’s about all I know.”

“Including Jia Xinzhi?”

“Jia is not a member of our organization. He’s more like a business partner, responsible for the ship. I do not remember Feng mentioning Jia. I’m telling you the truth, Officer Yu.”

What Zheng had so far said could be true, Yu judged; he had revealed nothing crucial to the organization. As for a notorious scum like Feng, knowledge of some further evils in his personal life would not change anything. “I know you’ve just come out, Zheng, but I can easily put you back in if you refuse to cooperate. I need more than what you’ve told me.”

“I’m a dead pig anyway. It makes no difference if you throw me into the boiling water,” Zheng said stonily. “Put me back in prison if you can.”

Detective Yu had heard of gang
yiqi.
Still, few would be a boiled pig rather than a betraying rat. Perhaps Zheng thought Yu was merely bluffing. A Shanghai badge might mean little to a local gangster, but Yu was not anxious to call in Sergeant Zhao.

The deadlock was broken by Shou’s entrance, her wooden slippers clicking on the hardwood floor. Dressed in blue-striped pajama tops and pants, she carried a tea pot and two cups on a black lacquer tray.

“Comrade Officer, please have some Oolong tea.”

That Shou would chose to come into the room was unexpected. Another woman would have remained sobbing upstairs, too ashamed to reappear before the cop who had just seen her naked. Now with her body concealed by her pajamas, she appeared presentable, decent, not the lascivious woman Pan had suggested. She had fine features, though worries had etched lines around her eyes. She might have been eavesdropping.

“Thanks.” Taking a cup, Yu pushed on. “Let me put it this way, Zheng. Have you heard anything about what the gang may do to Feng or his wife?”

“No, I’ve heard nothing. Since I came out, I’ve been living with my tail tucked in.”

“With your tail tucked in? What you did last night with your tail sticking out was enough to put you back inside for years. Playing mah-jongg is a serious parole violation. Use those dead pig brains of yours, Zheng.”

“Zheng has done nothing wrong,” Shou cut in. “I wanted him to stay overnight.”

“Leave us alone, Shou,” Zheng said. “It has nothing to do with you. Go back to your room.”

As Shou left the room, looking back at them, Yu said deliberately, “A nice woman. Do you want to drag her into trouble on your account?”

“It has nothing to do with her.”

“I’m afraid it has. I will not only put you back inside, but also have the bathhouse closed on the grounds that it is a house of gambling and prostitution. She will be put behind bars, too, but not in the same cell with you, I will make sure of that. The local cops will do what I tell them.”

“You are bluffing, Officer Yu.” Zheng stared at him defiantly. “I know Sergeant Zhao.”

“You don’t believe me? Superintendent Hong is in charge of the province. You must know him, too.” Yu said, taking out his phone. “I am calling him right now.”

He dialed the number, showed Zheng the LCD display, and pressed the speaker phone button so the conversation could be heard by both of them.

“Comrade Superintendent Hong, this is Detective Yu Guangming speaking.”

“How is everything, Detective Yu?”

“No progress, and Chief Inspector Chen calls every day. Remember, this case is of serious concern to the Beijing ministry.”

“Yes, we understand. It is top priority for us too.”

“We have to exert more pressure on the Flying Axes.”

“I agree, but as I told you, the leaders are not here.”

“Any of their members will do. I’ve discussed it with Chief Inspector Chen. Lock them up, as well as the people connected with them. If we use enough pressure, they will cave in.”

“I’ll work out a plan with Zhao and call you again.”

“Now we can talk.” Detective Yu looked Zheng in the eyes. “Let me make one thing clear to you. At this moment, the local police don’t know I’m here. Why? My investigation is highly confidential. So if you cooperate, no one will talk—not you, not Shou, and not me. What you did last night is not my concern.”

“It was really nothing—last night,” Zheng said in a suddenly husky voice. “But now I remember one thing. One of the mah-jongg players, a guy named Ding, asked me about Feng.”

“Is Ding a Flying Ax?”

“I think so. I had never met him before.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked if I heard anything about Feng. I hadn’t. In fact, it was from Ding that I first learned about Feng’s deal with the Americans. And about Wen’s disappearance, too. The organization is very upset.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“Not in detail, but I can guess. If Jia is convicted, it will be a huge loss to our smuggling operation.”

“There are enough Taiwan smuggling rings to take up the slack. I don’t think the Flying Axes have to worry about that.”

“The reputation of the organization is at stake. ‘A grain of rat dung may spoil a whole pot of white porridge.’ “ Zheng added after a pause, “Perhaps it’s more than that. Feng’s role in the operation is another factor.”

“Now that’s something. What do you know about his role?”