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“You think they’re going to tell us? We might steal their ideas!” Bo Yun chortled. “You know something, Inspector Liu. We are honored by your visit, but you are talking to the wrong people.”
“You were their friends…”
“Were, Inspector Liu. We were their friends.” Bo Yun addressed the group. “Pour another round. Come on, David—can we call you David in the American way? Come on, David, have a drink with us, maybe sing us a song, and we will tell you who to talk to.”
As Ning Ning and Di Di’s serenade came to a sorrowful close, Hulan gently laid a hand on Bo Yun’s knee. The young man didn’t wince or allow his eyes to be drawn to its de
licate presence. Instead, he turned to face Hulan, looked her directly in the eyes, dropped his carefree manner, and spoke in an even voice. “I said you are talking to the wrong people. You need to talk to the Gaogan Zidi of your generation, Inspector Liu. They know Billy and Henglai. You know how to find those people just as you knew how to find us.”
“The Black Earth Inn?”
Bo Yun looked over at David and said, “That is why she is an inspector.” Then he brightened again and called out, “Ning Ning, Di Di, another one. Sing us an American song. What’s that one? ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon ’Round the Old Oak Tree’?”
A few minutes later, David and Hulan said their good-byes and headed for the lobby. “What kind of business could those two boys have been involved in?” David asked.
“I don’t know. It could be anything.”
“Smuggling the immigrants?”
“I don’t see it, David, but whatever it was probably got them killed.”
David thought for a moment, then asked, “What’s the Black Earth Inn and how does it fit in?”
“It’s a Cultural Revolution-nostalgia restaurant, but all kinds of people go there—Japanese tourists, corporate pirates, even triad leaders. It’s a place for people in trouble, people who want to get in trouble, and people who just want to do business. We’ll go there tomorrow.”
They whisked through the revolving doors and out into the brisk night air. Peter jumped to attention, stubbed out his cigarette, and opened the rear door to the Saab. Hulan extended her hand to David, which he shook without thinking. “I think we accomplished a lot today, Attorney Stark,” she said, once again adopting her formal tone. “Investigator Sun will drive you back to your hotel.”
“Can’t we be alone?” he asked, keeping his voice low so Peter wouldn’t hear him. “I want to be with you.”
Hulan ignored the desire in his voice. “Investigator Sun will call you tomorrow morning to say what time he’ll pick you up.” She pulled her lavender coat tight around her, nodded good night, gave a slight wave to Peter, and turned away. David watched the lavender apparition step onto the sidewalk and slowly disappear into the ever-present sea of people.
9
FEBRUARY 1
The Black Earth Inn
At eleven-thirty the next morning, a Saturday, Peter pulled up to the three-story Black Earth Inn. At the entrance, the owner had put up a display of Mao buttons and T-shirts silk-screened with the Black Earth slogan. That slogan was also rendered as a Cultural Revolution-style big-character poster on one of the walls: IN THOSE YEARS OUR SWEAT WAS SPRINKLED ON THE GREAT NORTHERN WILDERNESS; TODAY WE MEET AGAIN IN THE BLACK EARTH INN. Unlike the usual Chinese restaurant, where a single hall might accommodate a wedding banquet for four hundred, the inn’s dining rooms were small and decorated to resemble rustic log cabins.
The inn catered primarily to the former Red Guard of the Cultural Revolution—those who had been sent as youths to the countryside for reeducation in the late sixties and early seventies. The patina of time and age had tinged their memories with longing for a past where everyone knew their place and the young felt they were part of something exciting.
David sensed people watching them as he and Hulan followed a hostess to a table for two. Even he could see just how different the people in this restaurant were from the taizi of the night before. These patrons were rounder, softer, older—mostly in their forties and early fifties. Their clothes were not showy. The men wore hand-tailored suits, while the women dressed conservatively but expensively. Even on a Saturday, everyone here seemed to be networking, meeting with clients, or making deals.
David suspected that, as she had the previous night, Hulan wanted the two of them to be noticed, and just as they sat down, a man called out, “David Stark! Hello there! Too many years!” The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but David didn’t recognize the chubby man who hurried to their table. “David! It is you! And here you are with Liu Hulan! Ah, just like old times, no?”
“David, you remember Nixon Chen,” Hulan said.
David looked at the man again. He remembered Nixon Chen as a skinny, earnest young lawyer who worried a lot. Here he was, ten years later, plump, happy, obviously well-to-do.
“You’re not going to sit here! Come! Come to my table! You’ll see some of the old gang!”
Nixon Chen grabbed both of their arms and guided them through the restaurant to a private dining room. The whole time he kept talking. “I hear you are in Beijing! I am thinking the inspector wants to keep you to herself! I am thinking, Hulan forgets that David Stark has other friends in China, that she should arrange a banquet for old times’ sake! I am thinking, Hulan always keeps her head in the clouds! She’s too busy to think about friends! But no! Here you are! I see you walk past and I think, Ah, that Liu Hulan, she is bringing me our old friend David Stark! Here, you sit next to me. Liu Hulan, you sit there. Everyone, move over, make room for our guests!”
The round table had been set for ten, and now twelve squeezed together. Looking around at the faces, David didn’t think he recognized anyone, but he wasn’t sure. Nixon Chen wasn’t giving him any hints, except that he wasn’t switching from English to Chinese. All the while, the other guests were chattering so fast that David could barely catch what they were saying.
“Liu Hulan, too many years!”
“Liu Hulan, we don’t see you enough.”
