A Loyal Character Dancer

Zheng still standing with Shou in the doorway, his arm grasping her waist, like a couple of crabs tied together with a straw in the market. Perhaps they did care for each other.

Chapter 23
     
     
    C
    hief Inspector Chen had a terrible hangover on Sunday morning, thanks to the karaoke party the night before.
     
    Vaguely he remembered one scene in his quick-fading dream. He had been traveling in an express train, going somewhere, though his destination did not appear on his punched ticket. It was a long, boring trip. There was hardly anything to do but stare at the unchanging aisle where changing feet were passing— in straw sandals, shining boots, leather loafers, fashionable mules. . . Then turning toward his own reflection in the window, he noticed a fly circling around a spot near the frame. The moment he raised his hand in annoyance, it buzzed away. But immediately it returned, buzzing, to the same old place. He did not see anything there to attract it. The train was still moving yet not moving...
     
    And he wondered as the light streamed through the blinds: Is it Chief Inspector Chen that dreams of being a fly, or is it the fly that dreams of being a cop?
     
    Some details of the party the previous night came back to him. How was he different from those depraved officials in Baoshen’s case? Of course he had visited the club for his work, he rationalized.
     
    He had sworn that he would do everything in his power to deliver a crushing blow to the gangsters, yet he had not supposed then that he, too, would have had to descend to such deviousness, toasting to friendship with an honorary Blue.
     
    And there was Li’s connection. Li might not have told him everything about the investigation. In fact, Minister Huang’s recommendation of him for the job and call to him at his home was suggestive. Chief Inspector Chen might well need to have a card to play against the powerful Party Secretary.
     
    It was then, at eight thirty, that Party Secretary Li’s phone call came, which did not provide much hope of relief for his headache.
     
    “It’s Sunday, Chief Inspector Chen. Entertain Inspector Rohn the best you can, so she won’t make troublesome demands.”
     
    Chen shook his head. There was no arguing with Li, especially when Internal Security lurked in the background. People’s grumbled about the possibility of his succeeding Party Secretary Li, but he wondered now whether it was such a desirable position.
     
    Inspector Rohn did not sound too disappointed at his proposal for the day. Perhaps she also realized that further interviews in Shanghai were futile. He suggested that they meet for lunch at Moscow Suburb.
     
    “A Russian restaurant?”
     
    “I want to show you the rapid changes taking place in Shanghai,” he said. He also wanted to bring his friend Lu some business.
     
    He had planned to have a meeting with Old Hunter before lunch, but he did not make it. As he put down the phone, he received an express delivery. Detective Yu’s cassette tape bore a label that read: Interview with Manager Pan. Listening to it took priority. After applying a wet towel to his forehead, he sat on the sofa and played the tape. At the end, he rewound it to replay the part where Manager Pan told of learning about Feng’s deal in the United States. As he listened one more time, he made a quick, note, wondering whether Yu had noticed the point.
     
    Glancing at his watch, he realized he had no time to ask Yu this question. He had to hurry.
     
    * * * *
     
    Restaurant owner Lu, expansive in the three-piece charcoal gray suit, wearing a scarlet tie fixed with a diamond pin, was waiting for them outside Moscow Suburb.
     
    “Buddy, you’ve not been here for ages. What good wind’s brought you today?”
     
    “Meet Catherine Rohn, my American friend. Catherine, this is Overseas Chinese Lu.”
     
    “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lu,” she said in Chinese.
     
    “Welcome. Chief Inspector Chen’s friend is my friend,” Lu declared. “A private room is reserved for you.”
     
    They needed the special treatment. The dining hall was packed. A number of foreigners who spoke English were dining there. A Russian hostess led them into an exquisitely decorated room, her slender waist swaying like the poplar tree in a breeze. The tablecloth gleamed snow white, glasses shone under highly polished chandeliers, and the exquisite silverware could have come from the Winter Palace. The waitress planted herself behind their table,