Qiu Xiaolong - Death of a Red Heroine

She must have had some professional training. Her toes concentrated on his trouble spots, working kinks out of his back, and reducing the tension in his body. He didn’t feel so bad anymore. Not about the case, nor the budget, nor the politics involved.

“You make my feet warm.” She was finally finished, her face flushed with exertion, her brow beaded with sweat.

“Marvelous,” he said.

“It’s good exercise for me, too.”

“It’s the first time for me.”

“I know,” she said, her hand lightly touching the knot of her robe. “What about the full service now?”

That was something he could not do. A line he must not cross. This was the time to flash his I.D. Chief Inspector Chen should now take her to the police bureau and charge her with prostitution. But what about Professor Xie? He had given her his promise. News of what had become of Xie Rong would be too terrible a blow to the old intellectual who had already suffered a lot. The arrest would also incriminate his new friend Ouyang. Also, once she was taken into custody here, he was not sure if his local colleagues would help with his investigation. He was not sure that he could work out a deal for Xie in exchange for her information about Wu Xiaoming.

“You are sweating all over.” He sounded more like a client so that she would not grow suspicious. “Take a good shower yourself. I’ll stay here and close my eyes for five minutes.”

“Yes, there is nothing like taking a short nap,” she said. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

The moment she disappeared, he took a mini-recorder out of his briefcase and put it under the pillow. He put his shirt back on and buttoned several buttons before he closed his eyes for just a minute. In spite of himself, he dozed off. When he was awakened by the slamming of the bathroom door, it took him a few seconds to realize where he was.

She stepped out of the bathroom, naked except for a large bath towel draped around her shoulders. Fine-limbed and thin, she looked more like a high-school girl waiting for a regular checkup-except for a broad patch of black hair spreading over the lower part of her abdomen. She examined herself in the mirror, the water beading on her skin under the fluorescent light, which turned her face opalescent. Then she caught him gazing at her in the mirror. Startled, she pulled the towel down to cover her hips, but then she shook her wet hair, and gave him a long, steady look.

She started slowly toward the bed. He smelled the soap on her skin, still wet from the shower. Clean, fresh. Her body glowed.

“You are special,” she said.

He was so acutely aware of her, it took all his willpower to stop her from touching him.

“Let’s talk,” he said.

“No,” she touched a finger to his mouth, “you don’t have to say anything.”

“We don’t know each other yet.”

“Haven’t we talked enough?” she said. “Unless you want to talk about money.”

“Well-”

“Mr. Ouyang has paid for a whole day’s service, and you’ve given me a handsome tip,” she said. “So you can have the whole day, and the night, too. You don’t have to worry about it. If you want to buy me a dinner afterward-”

“No.” He sat up resolutely. It was not just all the years studying the People’s Police Morals Manual that had made Chen immune to such provocation. “I want to talk to you about something else.”

“What?”

“I’m a cop.” He produced his official I.D. “I’m here to ask you some questions.”

“You S.O. B!” She put one hand over her breasts and the other over her pubic hair.

It struck him as an absurd attempt at modesty, as if his being a cop had suddenly changed her identity, too.

“You won’t get into trouble if you cooperate with me,” he said. “I give you my word.”

“Then why didn’t you say so from start?”

“When I came to you, I was not prepared to see you like this. Ouyang had just told me that you were the one I’ve been looking for. I was surprised, and you did not give me a chance to say anything.” He handed the bathrobe over to her. “Put it on before you get cold.”

“I don’t trust you,” she said, taking the bathrobe. “Why should I cooperate with you?”

“I can have you arrested,” he said, taking out the recorder from under the pillow. “Once you are put in jail, you’ll have to talk anyway, but that’s not what I want to do.”

“What a treacherous sneak!”

“I’m a police officer.”

“So why don’t you go ahead and put me there?”

“Ouyang is my friend. Besides-”

“Why did you lie to Ouyang about being a poet?”

“No, I didn’t. I am a poet.”

It took him some time to ferret out his Writers’ Association membership card from his wallet.

“Then what the hell do you want with me?”

“Just a few questions.”

“You are so horrible.” She broke down, sobbing with fear and humiliation. “When I was ready-”

He had attained authority over her with his surprise revelation of his official identity. But they were still involved in a highly dramatic scene. He, in his half-buttoned shirt and underpants; she, in a bathrobe. The knowledge of her nakedness under the robe, soft and bulging in the right places, was disturbing. He poured her a cup of tea to calm them both.

Sipping at the tea, her painted toes like fallen petals on the carpet, she regained some control.

The touch of her toes was still fresh in his memory.

“Let’s go to a restaurant,” he suggested. “I’m hungry.”

“What?”

“You mentioned dinner afterwards.”

“Why? More of your dirty tricks?”

“No. I Just want to buy you a meal. What about the White Swan Hotel? It is quiet there, Ouyang’s told me. As for your time-”

“Don’t worry about that. Ouyang has paid for the whole day.”

“So the least I can do is pay for the lunch.”

He had saved enough to be able to afford this gesture, thanks to Ouyang, who had bought him so many morning teas and dinners.

“Why can’t we stay here?”

“Listen, I’m a cop,” he said, “but I’m a man too. If I stay here with you, just the two of us, I won’t be able to help feeling distracted.”

“So I’m not repulsive to you?”

“We need to have a good talk.”

“Fine, if that’s what you want.”

She got up and went into the bathroom without closing the door. Her robe fell to the floor in a heap around her feet, her bare breasts and hips were vivid in the mirror. He turned to the window.

When she came back, she had put on a white summer dress and slung a small purse over her shoulder. She did not wear a bra, so her nipples were almost imprinted on the dress. He considered asking her to put on something else, but he held the door open for her.

On the street, he noticed she kept looking back over her shoulder, as if anxious to make sure there was no one following them. There was actually a man walking behind them at a distance, but Chief Inspector Chen did not see why they would be followed.

The White Swan Hotel was a new building on the southeastern coast of Shamian Island. It was an immense white tower, like a transplant from Hong Kong across the water. There was a dazzling waterfall in the lobby. Several Western-style restaurants were located in the eastern wing of the building, and the Chinese restaurant was tucked behind the waterfall. There was a slender hostess standing at its entrance, smiling.

He was not going to indulge himself, but he felt obliged to spend some money. He did not like the idea of having Ouyang pay for everything, even for Xie Rong’s “service.” And he had to admit the so-called foot massage had been an exciting experience,.

They selected a private room-the Sampan Chamber. It proved to be a cozy room shaped like the cabin of a sampan on the Pearl River and decorated like one, too. The table and chairs were made of cedar-rough, unpolished, like those he’d seen in early black-and-white movies. The soft scarlet carpet on the floor was the only difference, but it was a necessary one, to give the customer a feeling of luxury. They could talk here without fear of being overheard.