She had been sitting outside for about half an hour when Chu En Li appeared, as she had suspected he might. The women walked on either side of him, leaning into him, their tight-fitting dresses patterned with big tropical flowers, his arms around their shoulders. He was moving past her, towards the end of the terrace, when his head turned. His eyes stopped on her face.
“I know you,” he said.
She looked up at him, but didn’t speak.
“I saw you in Shanghai,” he went on, “in that fancy bar on the Bund. You were with my girlfriend’s brother.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.” She paused. “I meet a lot of people.”
Since he had recognized her, she could pretend she didn’t know who he was. That way, he wouldn’t suspect that she had engineered the encounter. It was important that he saw it as a coincidence.
He signaled to the two women with a jerk of his head. They smiled and turned away and went inside.
“You were with Zhang Guo Xing.” He sat down opposite her, his arms spread along the back of the sofa, his legs wide apart.
She watched him watching her. Up close, he looked cheaper and more venal than she had expected. There was a spider tattoo on the web of skin between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.
“You don’t have a drink,” he said.
He stopped a passing waitress and ordered two cocktails. She noticed that he didn’t bother to ask her what she wanted. Not that she cared. She wasn’t going to drink it anyway.
“So what are you doing in this shithole?” he asked when the waitress had gone.
“You don’t like Manila?”
He shrugged. “It’s not Shanghai, is it.”
“Why are you here, then?”
Still leaning back, he kept his eyes on her. “You know why.”
She met his gaze, but didn’t say anything.
“Your boyfriend sent me here,” he went on. “Apparently, he didn’t like me seeing his sister.” There was no hurt in his face, and no embarrassment, only a veneer of disgust.
The drinks arrived—pink cocktails in tall glasses, the rims cluttered with fruit. She watched as he picked off the bright wedges and tossed them on the table.
“Zhang has nothing against you,” she said at last. “It was his father who disapproved.”
Chu En Li was watching her again. Something stubborn in his face told her he was unconvinced. She would have to try harder.
“He was acting on behalf of his family,” she went on. “Doing their bidding.” She paused. “You can hardly blame him for that.”
Picking up his drink, Chu En Li sucked down half of it, then he put it back on the table and leaned forwards, his elbows on his thighs, his hands dangling between his knees.
“I’m beginning to get the picture,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“I know why you came.”
“I work for a gallery. I’m here on business.”
He smiled, as if he knew better. “You want to fuck me.”
“I’m already with someone,” she said. “You know that.”
“Do you like rough sex?”
“What?”
He touched a finger to the corner of his left eye, indicating the place where Mad Dog’s punch had landed. “You have a bruise.”
“I got out of a taxi too fast. I hit my head.”
Smirking, he finished his drink and then sat back, his arms spread out on either side of him again, his black shirt pulled tight across his chest. “So you’re not going to fuck me?”
“I already told you. I’m with someone.” She glanced sideways, towards the club’s strobe-lit interior. “In any case, it seems you have that side of things taken care of.”
“Those girls?” He smoothed a hand over his hair. “They’re nothing.”
“They’re very pretty—”
“They’re not you.”
Shaking her head, she looked off into the dark.
“You don’t think I’m good enough for you,” she heard him say after a while. “I can see it in your face.”
She lit a cigarette.
“But Zhang Guo Xing,” he went on in the same sour voice, “he’s good enough…”
The mere mention of Zhang’s name, even in the mouth of this third-rate gangster, aroused a longing in her, and though she knew it was ill-advised, given everything that had happened, she determined in that moment that she would spend another night with him. Just one more night.
“You haven’t touched your drink,” Chu En Li said.
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“You talk very tough,” he said, “for someone who looks the way you do.”
He seemed to want to make her the subject of the conversation, but she hadn’t flown two thousand kilometers to talk about herself. She decided to have one last attempt.
“If you want to be angry with someone,” she said, “be angry with Qi Jing’s father. Or with your employer, Wang Jun Wei.”
Leaning forwards, she crushed out her cigarette, half smoked, then she stood up and wished him a good evening. As she turned away, he called out after her, but she paid no attention.
The two young Filipino women were sitting at the bar. They also had pink drinks.
“Maybe you should leave,” she said, “while you can.”
They smiled and waved at her with their fingers as she moved on.
Once she was downstairs, on the street, her stomach seemed to rise towards her throat. In a back alley behind the club, among restaurant dumpsters and empty cardboard boxes, she bent over and retched. Nothing came up.
AFTER WORK ON MONDAY NIGHT, Zhang joined Jun Wei at a newly opened KTV club in Putuo district. Like most high-end karaoke places, the decor was extravagant and overblown. With its marble floors, its mirror-paneled walls, and its lavish use of gold, it reminded him of a Saudi palace. A lift took him to a room where Jun Wei and several members of his inner circle were lounging on golden sofas, each of which must have been at least ten meters long. Hennessy X.O was being served by three or four pretty girls in short black dresses.
When Jun Wei saw him, his face opened wide. “You came!”
He made it sound as if Zhang had surmounted unbelievable odds to be with him.
“You’re my brother,” Zhang said. “Of course I came.”