Beijing Comrades by Scott E. Myers Page B

family?”
    â€œApparently not.”
    â€œDid he see you?”
    â€œNo,” he replied. “I was driving past Fan’s shop and saw Lan Yu carrying a box inside. I think he’s doing computer installation or something. I’m not sure.”
    â€œHas he called here?”
    â€œAre you fucking kidding me? He’s called at least twenty times. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t think you wanted to know.”
    I leaned back in my chair and laughed, my eyes narrowing impishly. “What does he say when he calls?”
    When Liu Zheng saw I wasn’t rankled by his news, he laughed too. “He just asks if you’re here and that’s it. Hey, wait a minute. I thought you were through with him! Are you playing some kind of game or what?”
    â€œNow, there’s an idea!” I said, laughing. “A game! Why don’t I swing by Fan Haiguo’s shop to see if any of his employees want to play a game?” I was laughing even harder at this point, but didn’t tell Liu Zheng what game I would be playing. I wasn’t sure myself.
    Fan Haiguo was working in the back of his shop when I entered. I was curious to know where he had found the smuggled computer parts he would have needed to get his business off the ground. But at the same time I didn’t particularly feel like wasting time chatting with him, so my eyes darted around the room the instant I walked through the door. I was looking for Lan Yu.
    â€œDo you need a computer, sir?” A young shop attendant greeted me.
    â€œI’m just—I have some business to talk with the owner about.”
    When the attendant realized I was there for his boss he didn’t ask any more questions.
    Just as I was about to send the attendant off to look for Fan Haiguo, I heard the foul language of some typical Beijing punk bellowing in the back room.
    â€œWhat the fuck are you doing with that monitor? Open your fucking eyes and learn how to do your job!”
    â€œThe boss told me to put it here.” It was Lan Yu. His voice was calm and steady, but very firm. This was the first time I’d ever heard him argue with someone.
    â€œJust put it over there. And move this box.” Now it was Fan Haiguo himself, intervening in the quarrel.
    â€œStupid cunt,” the punk muttered under his breath.
    Lan Yu looked at the repugnant coworker, but didn’t say anything. He placed the monitor on a table and was about to pick up a box when he saw me. He froze, then smiled.
    Fan Haiguo was still spitting out orders to his employees.
    â€œYou two,” he said to Lan Yu and another employee with wire-rimmed glasses, “move these boxes. How am I supposed to get through here when they’re piled up like this?” When Fan Haiguo turned around and saw me standing in the doorway he broke into a wide smile. “Brother Chen! What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in a while!”
    â€œI come with business,” I said in a mock serious voice. “You interested?” I peered over at Lan Yu out of the corner of my eye. Obediently he carried out Fan Haiguo’s orders, but threw excited glances in my direction every few seconds. He was happy to see me!
    Fan Haiguo and I talked for a while about some Japanese computer components I pretended to be interested in buying. Then I said goodbye and turned around, noting with amusement the bewilderment on Fan Haiguo’s face. He must have been surprised I’d gone all that way just to talk about a purchase, especially when I could have called. Just before stepping outside, I threw Lan Yu a look that said “meet me outside” and gestured toward the door. His eyes followed my finger and he saw my dark blue Bimmer parked on the opposite side of the street.
    I sat in the car waiting. Waiting, and excited. Ten minutes later, Lan Yu came running out of the shop and jumped into my car.
    â€œI was afraid you’d already left!” I