A Loyal Character Dancer

company is not well known for its watch line. So why bother? It’s because they are manufactured in Taiwan, and sold here.”                                                         
    “Hasn’t the government tried to close this market?” Catherine said to him.
     
    “The market patrollers come here from time to time, but things can be worked out,” Oriole said glibly. “Say he takes away ten T-shirts and says, ‘I’ve confiscated five of your T-shirts, right?’ And you say, ‘Five, that’s correct.’ So instead of hauling you in, he turns in five, pockets five, and lets you off.”
     
    “Nothing else has been done here?” Chief Inspector Chen felt embarrassed.
     
    “Occasionally the cops come by. They raided Bald Zhang’s at the end of the street last month, and sentenced him to two years. It can be dangerous.”
     
    “If it’s so dangerous, why do you still do it?”
     
    “What choice do I have?” Oriole said bitterly. “My parents worked all their lives at Shanghai Number 6 Textile Mill. Laid off last year. Broken iron rice bowls. No benefit of the socialist system anymore. I have to support the family.”
     
    “Your store must make a good profit,” Chen said.
     
    “It’s not my store, but with the money I’m earning, I cannot complain.”
     
    “Still, it’s not a job—” he did not finish the sentence. He was in no position to be condescending or compassionate. Oriole might earn more than a chief inspector. In the early nineties, there was nothing like the opportunity to make money. Still, it was not a decent job for a young girl—
     
    Catherine was busy comparing watches, trying their effect, one by one, on her wrist. It might take her some time to make up her mind. How long, he wondered. Rain beat on the partially rolled-down aluminum door.
     
    As he looked out, his glance swept over a man across the street dialing his cell phone, staring in their direction.
     
    The same light green cellular phone.
     
    It was the man who had taken pictures for them in front of Moscow Suburb earlier in the afternoon, and also the man who had looked into the Oriental clothes store fifteen minutes earlier.
     
    He turned and asked Oriole, “Can you draw the fitting room curtain? I like the black slip, the Christian Dior.” He took it from the clothes stand and put it into Catherine’s hand. “Would you try it on?”
     
    “What?” She stared at Chen, aware of the pressure of his hand.
     
    “Let me pay you the tag price, Oriole,” he said, handing several bills over to the salesgirl, “I’d like to see the effect on her. It may take a short while.”
     
    “Sure, take as much time as you want,” Oriole took the money, grinned eloquently, and pulled the curtain for them. “When you have finished, let me know.”
     
    Another customer entered the store. Oriole stepped toward him, repeating over her shoulder, “Take your time, Big Brother.”
     
    There was hardly enough space for two behind the curtain. Catherine looked up at Chen with the slip in her hands and questions in her eyes.
     
    “Leave through the back,” he whispered in English and opened the door, which led to a narrow alley. It was still raining, with thunder rumbling in the distance and lightning streaking across the distant horizon.
     
    Closing the door after them, he led Catherine to the end of the lane, which merged into Huating Road. Turning back, he saw the flashing neon sign of Huating Cafe on the second floor of a pinkish building on the corner between Huating and Huaihai roads. On the first floor was another clothing store. A gray wrought-iron staircase at the back of the building led up to the cafe.
     
    “Let’s have a cup of coffee there,” he said.
     
    They mounted the slippery staircase, entered an oblong room furnished in European style, and seated themselves at a table by the window.
     
    “What’s up, Chief Inspector Chen?”
     
    “Let’s wait here, Inspector Rohn. Maybe I am wrong.” He did not go on as a waitress approached, bringing them hot towels. “I must have a cup of hot coffee.”
     
    “I could do with the same.”
     
    After the waitress brought the coffee, Catherine said, “Let me ask you a question first. This street must be an open secret. Why does the city government allow its existence?”
     
    “Where there is demand, there is supply—even for fakes. No matter what measures the city government may take,