A Loyal Character Dancer

street market reflected no credit on China. If she chose to tell someone, it could be an embarrassment to the city government. But she would be able to do so even if he did not go with her. “Is it a good idea to go there, Inspector Rohn?” he said.
     
    “Why do you ask?”
     
    “You can buy such things at home. Why spend your time looking for fakes here?”
     
    “You know how much a Gucci shoulder bag costs?” She put hers on the table. “Mine is an off brand. Don’t think all Americans are millionaires.”
     
    “No, I don’t,” Chen said.
     
    “One of Wen’s classmates, Bai—I think that’s his name— sells fake stuff. No one knows where he is. So we can ask about him. These knockoff peddlers must have a network.”
     
    “We don’t have to go there to find him.” He did not think interviewing one more classmate of Wen’s could make much difference. “We deserve a break today.”
     
    “There’s also a possibility that we will spot an imitation Valentino. The victim in the park wore that brand of pajama, didn’t he?”
     
    “Yes,” he said, admitting to himself that she had a tenacious memory for detail. He had mentioned the pajama brand to her only once in passing. “As a chief inspector, I should not go there, but you are my responsibility. Party Secretary Li repeated this to me this morning. So, I’m your tour guide.”
     
    When they were ready to leave, Overseas Chinese Lu made another red-faced effort to decline Chen’s payment.
     
    “Tell you what,” Chen said, “next time I’ll come in alone, order the most expensive dish in the house, and let you be the host. Okay?”
     
    “Sure. Don’t let me wait too long.” Lu accompanied them to the door, holding a camera.
     
    “Thank you so much, Mr. Lu,” she said.
     
    “Call me Overseas Chinese Lu,” he said to Catherine, bending to kiss her hand courteously, in a gesture appropriate to an overseas Chinese in the movies. “We’re privileged to have a beautiful American guest like you. Come again. Next time, Ruru and I will prepare something special for you.”
     
    Several customers leaving the restaurant looked at them curiously. Lu stopped a young man with a crew cut and a light green cell phone in his hand.
     
    “Please take a picture of the three of us. I’ll frame it. The most distinguished guests of Moscow Suburb.”

Chapter 24
     
     
    I
    t took them less than ten minutes by subway to reach Huating Road. Chief Inspector Chen was surprised at the crowd at the street market. There were also a number of foreigners, with small calculators, bargaining or gesticulating with their fingers. They had probably read the same tourist guide book as Catherine Rohn.
     
    “You see, your Chinese is more than enough,” he said.
     
    “I was afraid I would be the only foreign devil here,” she said.
     
    The narrow street was lined on both sides with booths, kiosks, stands, barrows, and stores. Some specialized in a particular product line, like purses and shoulder bags, T-shirts, or jeans; some displayed an eclectic mixture. Armies of small vendors had created a marketplace out of a former residential area in the last few years. This had been happening throughout the city. A lot of stores were makeshift extensions, or conversions, of the original residences. Some peddlers did business on tables under awnings and umbrellas with brand logos, or simply on the pavements, giving the street the appearance of a fair.
     
    They asked about Bai, the peddler, but no one volunteered information. It was not surprising. There might be more than one knockoff market. She did not seem too disappointed. Nor did they find Valentino pajamas there. Old Hunter’s information had been reliable.
     
    She stopped at a booth to examine a leather purse. She slung it over her shoulder and appeared satisfied, but instead of bargaining for it, she left it saying, “Let me comparison shop at a few other stores first.”
     
    Entering a tiny shop, they saw various familiar-looking, inexpensive products on shelves at the entrance, most of them bearing “made in China” labels. The goods were the same as those in state-run stores. Further inside, however, appeared all sorts of copies of high-style goods. The owner, a broad-shouldered woman in her late forties, greeted them with a grin.
     
    Catherine took his arm, whispering, “For the benefit of the owner, so she won’t take me for an American sucker.”
     
    While the gesture made sense, it