I Love Chao Yang

By Mike Liston

I LOVE CHAO YANG, features the misadventures of Ron as told to the well-respected although seldom published author, educator and exercisist, Mike Liston. Ron, on the run from his LA bookie, takes refuge in an shipping container only to to find himself dumped on the streets of modern Beijing. Quickly finding his niche as mooch and English teacher, he comes to found, along with his kind, loving and seemingly feeble minded girlfriend, Dou Ren Shou, a chain of English Language Training schools called Liu Mang Ying Wen (Hoodlum English) During the course of this tale, we, the lucky readers, meet a wide panopoly of the native and foreign residents of a city being torn down and rebuilt sometimes it seems more than twice a day. Join us for a rollicking good time at a nice safe distance, you could regret it, but I might not. Huan Ying Huan Ying, I love Chao Yang

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Liston
• Release date: Apr 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310641039

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Melinda Alexandra Pachortski or Mindi as known to her, uh, close ‘business associates’ and partners in sub-prime crime, sighed as she glanced out the window of the shiny black stretch Hummer into the leaden rain streaked sky. The Hummer was stuck in typical post lunch mid-town Manhattan traffic which always occurred when all the executives, high rollers, and stock exchange members headed back down to the Financial District after their expensive lunches, appointments with their masseuses, and shopping binges in high priced luxury boutiques with which they had filled that very long stretch of time after the markets had closed and before it was respectably possible to knock off work at 2:30 in the afternoon.

Goddamn this fucking city, Mindi cursed with a smile. Sure, she had it tough what with those endless lunches, the even more endless workouts to work off the lunches, and all those incredibly boring meetings with rich asshole investors who had never worked a real day in their lives for all their money but who continually crabbed about how tough they had it--the fat fucking rat bastard shit head assholes--but it was all worth it because she had it made. Nipples hardened as she sat there wallowing in fantasies of fat fucking rat bastards handing her sacks of cash as they leapt from open windows, but it was just then a humble yet persistent tapping broke into her pathologically scatological dreams. Glancing up, Mindi started at the sight of a woman staring at her through the rain-streaked limo window. The woman was thin, soaking wet, terribly unfashionable and she was trying to say something. Oh, oh, downer, Mindi moaned now considering which option would least inconvenience ‘moi, le roi’. Should she let the driver trounce this sad sack bitch and /or summon the police? The woman tapped again. On a whim—she was bored--Mindi sighed, and pushed the button to let the window crack open just wide enough so Mindi could give this street creature pest a good blast of pepper spray. That should make an amusing story to tell the next fat fucking rich bastard asshole client she was scheduled to meet this afternoon for dinner, probable sex, and plenty of drinks.

Please, Ms., Street Person croaked her voice hoarse from the pollution of hundreds of carbon-belching limos, could you let me have a bit of spare change?

What’s wrong with this goddamned thing? Mindi grumbled flustered because she’d pressed the pepper spray button but nothing came out. She glanced impatiently in the direction of the driver who had shut off the intercom because he was in an animated argument with his bookie.

It’s not like I’m a beggar, stammered the woman, I mean, she giggled awkwardly, I guess I am asking you for spare change just this moment, but, I swear, it was just a year ago today, I was working, I wasn’t driving a stretch Hummer, but I did have an LE Ford Explorer and it was loaded.

Look, Mindi cleared her throat in that habitual way she had when she was getting ready to lower the ax on a less than satisfactory waiter, salesperson, office flunky, or bar fly pretty boy, I-.

I really had a job, the woman interrupted apologetically. Look, here’s my card, she said quickly pressing forward a tattered grimy scrap of paper. You see...Monica Patterslavski, Associate Manager, Blackstone Manufacturing and Creative Mortgaging.

Look, uh...person, I think, Mindi cut in, I’m very sorry you have a drug problem, mental illness, abusive husband, vote Democrat; whatever, but can’t you see I’m very busy here?

But you were just staring out the window?

I was gloating, Monica, Mindi replied quite indignant to be questioned by an obvious inferior. Gloating. Do you know how important it is for a highly placed executive, i.e. ‘moi’, to engage in high quality gloat? I tell you, Monica, aside from my huge salary, shopping junkets to Europe, and great sex if the asshole can only keep it hard, it's about all I've got to keep me sane.

I had a good job like you, the soaked thin wraith insisted. I gloated. I had people I could look down on, drug addicts, immigrants, and Democrats, but it all changed, it all changed so quickly...

Okay, why did it change, Monica? Mindi said in exasperated patience. If you can tell me in one minute or less, I’ll give you all the change I’ve got in my purse.

I can tell you in one word, the wraith hissed. Blackstone...They moved the entire company to Chao Yang.

Chao Yang? And what the fuck is that?

Yes, it’s some place, I don’t know, somewhere, but that’s where my job, my pension fund, everything; they took it all with them...

Ma’am, a menacing and electronic sounding voice broke in over the intercom, shall I call the police or would you like me to taser this street creature myself?

That’s all right, Driver, she was just, uh... Mindi fumbled in her ultra-hip high fashion house endangered species purse for which she had recently paid several thousand bucks. Searching for a quarter or something, she could only find her credit cards, a broken pen, and one used condom. Shit, she mumbled, I don’t even have a dime in this thing. She glanced out the window at the hopeful looking eyes of this, well, Monica, who had her skinny little face pressed up against the glass. Mindi felt for the used condom, but mistakenly grabbed a credit card and quickly thrust it out through the barely opened window.

Oh my God, cried out Monica once she realized Mindi had given her a super plus platinum titanium VIP visa. Thank you, thank you so much, Monica cried out. My children thank you, my husband, my parents; my brother’s family too. Oh my god, oh my god, thanks, you’ve saved us all!

That’s okay, uh, Monica, Mindi feeling uncharacteristically too embarrassed to even look at the woman. Jeez, did used condoms suddenly have some kind of street value? Hey, you, Asshole! she barked at her chauffeur tapping hard on the glass. Can’t you see the light fucking changed? Drive! The stretch Hummer screeched away leaving an ecstatic Monica weeping in gratitude at the curb. It was about halfway down the block before the Hummer did a U-turn across five lanes of traffic and sped back.

Miss, can I ask what’s wrong? the driver asked concerned.

Find that goddamned bum, Mindi hissed. She stole my ultra-platinum titanium pearl embroidered credit card.

I don’t see her, the driver said scanning the sidewalk.

Shit, I thought that bitch was a bit too happy over a used condom. Goddammit, Mindi cursed sans smile.

Just have it canceled, the driver shrugged.

That’s not the point. Little people don’t fuck me over, I fuck them. Mindi called the police. Yeah, is this the Chief of Police? This is Mindi Pachortski of Baltwise. That’s right, I am on the VIP gold service list. Look, I just had a very valuable credit card stolen by a street person named, I don’t know, Monica. Drop whatever you are doing immediately and arrest this person. Have you got that? And don’t be nice about it. That bitch not only interrupted an excellent gloat, she has caused me serious inconvenience. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I realize how grateful you are that I brought this to your attention. Get to work. She hung up and made another call. Yes, this is Mindi, Mindi Pachortski, I have your diamond encrusted platinum pearl card ultra-titanium edition. Yeah, yeah, sure, I know how grateful you are that I felt it necessary to call this matter to your attention. My card was stolen, issue a new one today. I will expect it in… she checked her watch, no later than thirty minutes from now. You can find me at Sackos Luxury Binge Buy Cashmere Emporium and Gold Plate Toe Nail Salon. Oh, and one more thing, jack up the credit limit another ten grand or so. Mama’s got stress and wants to blow some serious dough. Ending the call emphatically, she glanced out. The skies were still leaden, the gray towers of the bastions of international finance still loomed into the sky. Man, that Monica bitch was gonna be sorry she hit up Mindi for spare change. Stolen credit card, no pass word; why, dear Monica might get prison, but more likely, the cops would just cripple her and leave her bleeding in some alley as it was less a waste of tax dollars that Mindi sure as hell didn’t pay. She smiled leaning back into the soft hand-upholstered Spanish leather of the stretch Hummer. Another lesson for the lower orders: never inconvenience, delay, or irritate in any way the Mighty Uber--Lords of Empire, the Elite of The Street.

CHAPTER TWO.ONE

At first light, custom seals were cut, door handles turned; the wide rust-streaked steel doors of a freight container squealed open.

Shit, cursed a voice in Chinese, what crawled up its own rectum and died?

This is nothing. You should smell that fucking outhouse where I have to line up every morning to take a shit.

Hey, exclaimed the first guy detecting a sudden movement back inside the murk of the reeking container, what the fuck’s that?!"

Help!!! screeched a third as a ghostly apparition lurched towards them. Foreign ghost! Run!! The three workers ran off howling down the road as the foreign ghost stumbled to the lip of the container. It was filthy, stinking, reeking; dirty and that was even before a two week ocean voyage locked up in a shipping container filled with boxes of discount potato chips and Fizzy Pap orange flavor diet sodas. A shaft of rare sunlight blinded the creature for a moment. It tripped, cursed, tumbled out of the van, scrambled to its feet and ran howling the other way.

When the ‘ghost’, that is Ron, last name forgotten, recently of Greater LA, California, USA, finally came to a stop which was quite soon in fact given his advanced state of dehydration, malnutrition, and an almost allergic reaction to any sort of physical exertion-he found that he’d run into what looked like a park. In front of him stood tall ancient willow trees, a low stone balustrade, and just beyond the chipped and grimy balustrade, a canal.

Where the fuck am I? he wheezed in a parched voice. Hey!! he cried out to nobody in particular, I’d trade my left nut for a smoke! No answer. Come on, he whined, you fucking go without a smoke for...shit, how long was I in there? Hey, he said with puzzled concern. Am I’m dead? Shit, can’t be heaven, looks pretty fucking weird for hell. He wandered uncertainly towards the stone balustrade keeping a sharp eye out for cigarette butts or lost change. When he got to the balustrade, he stopped, and his thin little ferrety face wrinkled up starting from what looked like a frequently broken nose. What in the fuck is that awful smell? Raising his arm, he sniffed his pits and broke into a serious cough. Jesus fucking wow shit son-of-a-bitch, smells like I crawled up my own asshole and croaked. He stepped over the balustrade and looked down at the water in the canal. It was green, a dead fish drifted by belly up, a plastic bag, and fortunately, a few soggy cigarette butts floating in aimless circles. Hot dog," he muttered and reaching a little too enthusiastically for the floating tobacco, he fell head first into the reeking green soup of a thousand year old canal. Suddenly his water weed encrusted head came flying out of the water like a launched missile, followed by flailing limbs. He promptly belly flopped and sank again.

Just that moment Lao Wang, an elderly Chinese man wearing a tattered baseball cap, came rolling by on his large rickety tricycle. He often came down to the canal to do some fishing and had just lit himself up an extremely foul smelling cigarette when he heard something flail and thrash in the canal. Hoping for a big fish, Lao eagerly pedaled over to check, but was extremely annoyed to see it was just one of the local health nuts out having an early swim. He was just about to pedal off for a more tranquil place to drop his line when he stopped, took another long look and realized this guy wasn’t swimming, but drowning from the looks of it and so being a basically good hearted sort—a quality his wife often criticized him for—he hurried over and just when the guy was going under for the last time, Lao snagged him with a long bamboo fishing pole stout enough to snag dolphins and yanked him in.

Oh shit, Lao gasped once he had got the sodden gasping fellow by the collar and could see what he'd caught. Trust Lao’s fucking luck to rescue a foreigner! He could just see himself try to explain this to the cops. At the very least he'd have to waste an entire morning filling out papers and answering endless questions but odds were even they’d blame Lao for attempted murder or something after beating a confession out of him in a back room. Lao stood there debating quickly to himself whether to just toss the guy back in when, sure enough, goddammit, a crowd instantly appeared right out of the early morning mist gawking, spitting, and staring. Shit, witnesses. All right, all right! he cried loudly yanking his cap down to hide his face, everybody careful, stand clear, stand clear. Can’t you see this poor foreign guest is hurt? Stand back, stand back, hey, get the fuck of the way, Knot Heads! Got to get this poor unlucky foreign visitor friend to one of our wonderful Chinese hospitals. Lao tossed the still choking and wheezing foreigner onto the rear platform of his big old rusty trike, pedaled off fast as he could and didn’t stop until well down the lane.

Lao finally stopped at a deserted quiet spot where he could roll the moaning foreigner off the back of his trike into some shrubs, but he’d just slid off his seat when, sure enough, another fucking crowd appeared as if dropped from the polluted sky. Once more he was forced to pedal off making noble noises about saving the foreign friend.

After a few more attempts to ditch his unwanted and unwelcome passenger unwitnessed, Lao finally had to admit to an extremely familiar fact of his miserable existence-fucked again, and once again, he had nobody to blame for getting fucked but his own goddamned dumb ass self. He stopped pedaling, got slowly off his trike, and went to have a look at Ron. Lao had just stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it when the foreign twerp’s hand shot out and snatched the butt right out of Lao’s mouth. Instinctively Lao’s big ham fist clenched ready to pop the guy and presto, Ron, who knew the drill, rolled himself up tight like a starved armadillo sucking so hard on the cigarette it was ash almost down to the filter before Lao had a chance to snatch it back. Lao lowered his fist quickly because, of course, a crowd had gathered. Nice little foreigner, he cooed patting Ron on his weed matted head. Poor little foreign guest. I just saved him, yes, I did; yes, I did. Oh, well, got to go. Our Mister Foreign Friend needs a wonderful Chinese medical institution. He once more pedaled off as Ron lounged on the back of the trike savoring the last of his smoke. Lao Wang cursed himself and the foreigner. No way was he going to deliver this guy to a hospital where hospital admissions would use the foreigner to flay Lao financially to the bone. Lao had no choice but take the little soggy stinking bastard home. As he pedaled, he fervently prayed to God, Buddha, Mao, and whoever the hell else might listen that his wife had already left for the early morning vegetable market crush. He could just see how she’d react when she saw his new ‘foreign friend’ and for the second time that week, he’d have to buy a new broom.

Fortunately, Lao’s usually incredibly nosy neighbors were still busy sleeping, shitting, or backstabbing each other over a quiet cup of tea. Pushing open the six foot rusty iron plated wood gate he pulled his trike into a small cluttered yard surrounded by an eight foot high brick wall topped with shards of broken booze bottles and rusted barbed wire. He quickly shut the gate before a crowd could gather. Hearing a noise to his rear, he whirled around only to see the foreigner having what looked like an epileptic fit in delayed reaction to getting a gutful of canal sewage. Besides choking and clutching his throat for air, he was trying to puke up a plastic bag.

Shit! Lao cursed as he searched desperately for something to throw over the bastard’s head to shut him up. Too late. The rickety door to his house flew open with a bang.

Lao Wang, you son of a bitch, what the hell's that racket!? demanded wife, Po Da Jie who was actually almost five years younger than her husband but looked older due to her squinched up prune face which had gotten that way because she habitually complained to and about Lao. Lao Wang unsuccessfully tried to block his wife's view of the trike, but Po, now suspicious, stepped out on the stoop holding her large, well-nicked cooking cleaver. Now what are you up to? the stout, gray--haired old woman with forearms like a linebacker’s demanded as she had spotted the figure on the tricycle. As usual, she was not in the least amused.

I swear, Lao sputtered desperate to save his hide, I thought he was a fish. By the time I realized it was just a stinking foreigner, a crowd gathered. It was too late to throw him back in.

So, you just had to bring it back here so I’d have to clean up your fucking mess as usual, Po hissed malevolently stepping heavily off the stoop. Isn’t that right, you turtle’s egg son of a bitch?

Wait, stop, you can’t kill him, Lao said trying to yank the moaning groaning Ron out of reach of his approaching wife.

Why should I waste the effort? Po smiled taking a good long look at their foreign guest who seemed to have less life in him than a dog just run over by a beer truck. Looks to me if we wait five minutes, he can die on his own without any help from me. And then, late tonight, when there are no crowds watching, you can leave him out on the street.

Are you crazy? Someone will see. There’s always a crowd in Beijing.

That’s your problem, isn’t it? Po smiled and with that she turned on her heel and returned to the kitchen to finish chopping the pork for sauce. Today they’d eat Zha Jia Mian.

Lao stared down at Ron with disgust and slipped out another Guan Cai Ding cigarette from the battered pack. Once Po was inside it was safe to have another smoke. It wasn’t as if his old lady was against smoking or even interested in protecting his health, she just enjoyed making sure Lao wasn’t able to enjoy himself. Ron sputtered and made feeble clutching gestures in the direction of Lao’s cigarette. Lao spat on the pavement and turned his back.

No spitting! his wife barked out from somewhere in the kitchen. And put out that goddamned cigarette. Lao made a move for the gate. And don’t you dare leave me alone in this yard with that foreigner you turtle’s egg son of a bitch! You want me murdered and raped? Fuming yet trapped, Lao took his cigarette and jammed it in Ron’s grateful mouth.

I’m not smoking, it’s that fucking foreigner. You tell him not to smoke.

He’s a guest, responded his wife not bothering to come out. Even if he is a fucking foreigner, for him it’s okay.

2.2

Mindi approached the fifteen foot tall extinct tropical hardwood double doors guarded by two highly trained chimps in full British grenadier regalia of the Middle Victorian era. The doors swung open to the chimps’ grunts and squeals eerily mimicking the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. Mindi stepped in. These were the executive offices of the Chief Executive Officer and CEO of Baltwise Financial Consolidated Limited and Gidget Manufactures, JD. JD, the great man she had just referred to, was standing before a stunning view over New York Harbor and what had once been the World Trade Center. He was tall, bean pole thin, completely nude and while he gazed out over the stunning view of what was the greatest city in the greatest empire of the planet Earth, he absent-mindedly fondled a surprisingly small set of what appeared to be male testicles. Mindi straightened automatically feeling suddenly anxious. Everyone in the entire company knew, and it was a very big company that when JD was in one of his stand-in-front-of-the-window-nude-play- with-his-exceedingly-small-ball moods, big things were in the air. Had they audited her expense account? How could they? She had those hidden under an alias in a secret account she kept in Yemen.

It’s such a great view now, isn’t it Mindi? JD sighed in his surprisingly high voice. You know, if I’d had the slightest inkling that those Al Qaeda fellows were going to do so much to improve my view, why I would have paid them to crash those jets myself.

It certainly is something, JD, Mindi assured him. Of course, I can hardly admire the view outside when confronted with such a vision as yourself.

Oh, Mindi, the great man tittered turning slightly to favor her with a sight only the strongest of stomachs could bear, you are such a kisser of posterior.

Yes, JD, it’s a skill I pride myself on. After all, my lips placed on the appropriate butt cheeks have taken me a very long way.

You’re quite right. In fact, it’s a valuable skill that's going to take you even further, JD said cryptically as he seated himself carefully on the edge of his desk so as not to pinch his minuscule nuts.

I don’t follow you, JD, Mindi said nervously evaluating her current position in the pecking order in the never ending, extremely vicious, and even murderous world of office politics and company intrigues.

Mindi, my dear, could you repeat to me the full name of this great enterprise of ours?

Certainly JD; that would be Baltwise Financial, uh, Inc.

And...?

Uh, Baltwise Financial Inc. Consolidated?

And...?

Uh, let me, uh, oh, Baltwise Financial Inc. Consolidated Limited.

And...?

There’s more? Baltwise Financial Inc. Consolidated Limited Inc.?

Wrong again.

Wrong?

Wrong, my Dear Mindi. We are Baltwise Financial Inc. Consolidated Limited Gidget Manufactures. You forgot the gidgets.

Gidget Manufacture? I thought that was ancient history? Weren’t gidgets spun off some twenty years ago before the Great Depression or something?

Oh, Mindi, tittered the great man giving his little tiny balls a little shake in the palm of his extremely bony long fingered hand, you really know so little about this great company of ours. Gidget manufacture is the very foundation of what we do, the font of our existence, our holy of holies, our alchemist’s stone; our cash cow.

But where, why? I mean, I know our books as well as anyone, and I don’t just mean that shit we fob off on the SEC or our minority stock owners. I’ve seen the secret books that are marked top secret, internal use only.

Really? JD said displeased and surprised. And who let you do that?

Why you did, sir, Mindi lied, and there was nothing in any those documents that I can remember about gidget manufacture.

That’s because... and JD gave her a very secret smile, there is one set of books that only I, Mother, and several very well connected international financial political powers who sit on our board are aware of and if you could see those books, you would quickly see that the utter foundation of this incredibly great company of ours has been leveraged off our gidget manufacturing division.

Really? Mindi said feeling somewhat stunned and disappointed and, quite frankly, embarrassed. Gidget manufacture? But that was so not hip, so passé…

You’ll learn just how important very quickly, JD said dryly crooking his long bony finger for Monica to approach. Mindi moistened her lips and took a deep breath. Was this it? Was this her big chance? Finally, she was going to be granted that extreme mark of favor from the great leader himself, a privilege usually reserved for the heads of small nation states and US Treasury staff? Oh, my god, what a career move. Her heart raced, she approached the holy of holies, her lips parted but instead of pushing her head in the direction of the holy relic, he whispered in her ear, his breath incredibly, well, stinking and in his cracked high pitched squeaky voice, JD whispered hoarsely: Chao Yang.

NEXT

Still breathing? Po Da Jie asked coming out from the house. She glared at a water weed encrusted Ron who lay sprawled out on the worn paving stones of their courtyard just beginning to dry out in the mid-morning sun.

If he isn’t, he’s the first corpse I met that could smoke an entire pack of my goddamned smokes, her husband grumbled sullenly.

Now what are you going to do? his wife asked.

I don’t know, Lao Wang said helplessly. Truly he was stumped. It was like trying to flick off a big sticky booger that you’d just pried out of your nose, it just wouldn’t let go. Maybe somebody’s looking for him, Lao wondered.

Would you? Po asked regarding the foreigner with real distaste.

Why ask me? I’m no foreign ghost. I guess he'd be useful to somebody. Hey, maybe there’s a reward. Po laughed. Yeah, sure, laugh at me. At least I’m trying to do something.

That’s what scares me so butt out. You’ve caused enough trouble; I’ll take care of it. She bent down to have a good look at their foreign devil still holding her kitchen cleaver.

You can’t kill him, Lao Wang said quickly.

Why kill him? What’s he done? It’s you who should fear for your life.

Hell, you could've me poisoned me years ago, why do it now?

We’ve got to do something, Po said giving Ron a careful poke with the toe of her black cotton slipper. We can’t let him just suck down your smokes and eat our food. Hey, I know, I’ll call my sister. She speaks English; maybe she’s a use for him.

The poor bastard’s done nothing to you and you want to sic her on him?

At least I’m trying to think of a solution, his wife said going back in the kitchen. In moments she returned carrying a bowl of steaming soup.

Hey, thanks, Lao said gratefully assuming this was the savory pork soup she’d made last night.

It’s not for you, Po said bending down with a grunt over

Ron. Here, lift the little bastard’s head up.

One minute you want to give him to your she-devil sister and now you want to feed him Pai Gu Soup?

It’s not just pork, I added some Chinese medicine, it might keep him alive long enough to get rid of him. Drink this, you little prick, she ordered Ron, but the foreign devil refused to drink. You couldn’t blame him. The reek of the medicinal herbs in the soup made stinking canal water seem fragrant.

Hah, Lao guffawed but Po was not to be deterred. Pinching Ron’s nose which shut off his air, his mouth gasped open. Po dumped the soup down his throat then clamped his jaw shut with her bear-trap hand. Poor bastard, Lao muttered in sympathy as Ron went into another set of spasms.

It’ll keep him from dying in our yard anyway. Okay, I have to get to the market. If I don’t hurry, all those other sons of bitches will get first pick of the best deals.

See if you can find something out about the house.

Speaking of houses, that Thing..., she said jabbing her finger at Ron, is not to enter mine. Tie him up to the tree if you have to, but don’t let him into my clean kitchen. Got that? She raised a threatening fist. Ron flinched but Lao shrugged it off. Unlike her dreaded sister, Po was usually more bark than bite.

Don’t forget about the house, Lao reminded her as she scuttled off towards the gate.

You already know we’re screwed on the house, why bother?

Maybe the government changed its policy, Lao said hopefully.

You think, Genius? Po responded sardonically. Anyway, there’s a meeting at Auntie Sao’s tonight. Some officials will come to announce their final decision. We’ll see for sure then.

Yeah, right, Lao responded disconsolately, we can all get together, sing patriotic songs; then bend over and drop drawers. Eight lousy thousand RMB a square meter. Everybody knows you couldn’t buy a bird cage for that in Beijing. Screw it, maybe I’ll get lucky and die first, he muttered glumly as he fruitlessly searched his pockets for another smoke.

Why, Lao, that’s so considerate of you, his wife grinned. More room in the bird cage for me.

Hah, you grin now, but what would you do if I were dead, no one to criticize, bully, and abuse? Hell, no reason for you to live.

Crap, old idiots like you are like lice on a bum-find one everywhere you scratch.

Wearing me down to this state has taken you years. You don’t have the energy to break in another man.

And who needs another old fool underfoot? No cooking, no cleaning. Everyday play mah jong and malign all the neighbors. Life would be a damned peach garden. Lao Wang grinned ruefully and shook his head but his sudden cheerful mood evaporated when he looked down and was reminded once more that he had a half-drowned foreigner slumped against the trunk of his withered date tree.

Pei, spat the old man. Ron moaned. I was a real idiot to bring him home, wasn’t I?

Of course, you were, Po shrugged, but what can you do? A dog has to shit, monkeys screech, and you have to be a moron.

It’s just I felt sorry for him, said Lao Wang. I know what it’s like to drink canal water from the time I fell in. He shuddered. Still gives me bad dreams.

Don’t worry about it. We’ll find a way to get rid of him. After I get back from the market, I’ll give Huai another call. I have to go. Stay here, and don’t let any neighbors in, got that? Po ordered and as usual threatened him with her meaty fist. And don’t worry, were her last words before the gate slammed shut leaving Lao to stare at the foreigner sympathetically.

Poor bastard, you’ll wish you’d drowned in that canal once her sister gets her hooks in you. Stepping inside a small shed, he rummaged around for a moment and came out dragging a rusted chain. At one time it had been used to keep the dog chained up, but somebody stole the dog one night no doubt for a dog meat restaurant as all they’d left was the mutt’s head. Fixing one end of the chain around the spindly date tree, Lao wrapped the other around Ron’s leg and locked it tight. Satisfied the foreign ghost wouldn’t be able to run off, he went inside to sneak an early snort of Er Guo Tou, smoke in peace and watch the news.

Once Lao had settled down into an ancient easy chair he’d found abandoned in the alley, he stared at the wall. Po was right. He really was a soft-headed old fool. They wouldn’t have to worry about the money for the house but for the fact he’d made a few investment mistakes-the latest being the ant farm franchise in Dong Bei. That had cost a pile, and then there were all those hot bad tips in the stock market, and the money he’d sunk into that chain of Jian Bing stands and the computer repair store. That had been his dumbest move. He’d been assured he could easily learn to fix the goddamn things by the guy from He Nan who sold him the place. What had gotten into him? Computers? He couldn’t even properly fix a flat bike tire. What a goddamned idiot he’d been and now this. Shaking his head incredulously at his own stupidities, he turned on the TV to watch the latest official national bullshit news broadcast and in seconds, just as he’d intended, the endless drone of high official butt kissing and faked statistics put him into a deep snooze.

After Po Da Jie closed the gate to their yard she stood there in the alley. She really did want to get to the market. After all, the early rush at the market: knocking people out of her way, haggling with sellers, and learning the latest gossip was one of the true highlights of her day. Still, leaving her mutton-headed husband alone with that foreigner gave her a queasy feeling. Therefore, just to be safe, she turned and locked the gate from the outside. Not only would it let outsiders know that nobody was in, best of all, neither Lao nor the foreigner could go anywhere until she got back. Feeling assured, she stalked off a few stops and then stopped as a thought suddenly occurred to her. Just what was that foreigner doing drowning in the canal anyway? Sure, plenty of idiots got drunk and fell in just like Lao had, and others did it on purpose trying to snuff their miserable lives, but what if he was pushed? It was possible. There was the Black Bao Zi Gang. Maybe that stinking foreigner had crossed the wrong person, stole money maybe or somebody’s girlfriend. Everybody knew those filthy-minded foreigners couldn’t keep their things in their pants. She turned and started walking back to the gate. You didn’t want to mess with the Black Bao Zi Gang, that’s for sure. They could all get killed, and she had just opened the lock when Shuo Pi Hua, one of the neighbors came bustling out from next door. Po tried to pretend she didn’t see her, but Pi Hua didn’t care. She was well used to neighbors trying to ignore her.

Hey, get a move on, she bellowed in Po’s ear. You’ll miss the best deals.

I forgot something.

You forgot something. Stinky Mao forgot something. His wife found out about his girlfriend. You should have heard them. All night screaming and howling. I heard Stinky lost an ear.

What, what? Po demanded excitedly. Fresh dirt on the neighbors was the spice of an old lady’s life. Instantly, she forgot all about the Black Bao Zis and even the lock she’d just opened and leaving the thing dangling open in the latch, she turned to Shou with great pleasure to hear the latest dirt.

You’ll never guess, Pi Hua chortled as she took Po’s arm and the both of them scuttled down the alley, his stupid bitch of a girlfriend actually came to talk things over with his wife. What a fight. It took four cops to break it up and a fire truck. They had to use their damned hose. As they turned the corner, you could hear Po start laughing as overhead, a flock of pigeons wheeled in the sky, a dog barked, one man spat; another cursed. Good morning Beijing!

Chapter Three

Walther, Walther, it’s me, Mindi whispered into her cell phone.

Who? asked a faint scratchy voice with a faint trace of a fake British accent. Walther had learned long ago he could convince an American of almost anything as long as he sounded like he’d attended college somewhere in Great Britain.

Me, Walther. It’s Mindi.

Mindi, Mindi who? another voice in the room slurred. There were sharp whispers in the background; a sudden groan.

Mindi, your fiance! Mindi hissed loudly.

Fiance? Another long pause. I’m beg your pardon, Walther finally answered coldly. I think you must have the wrong number. I could never be engaged.

Walther, stop it with the mind games, Mindi snapped sharply. This is Mindi Pachortski; I have something important to tell you.

Wait, wait, Mindi, is that you? Walther answered quickly now fully awake or at least sober. After all, it was still early for him; that is, not quite yet three in the afternoon.

I told you it was me.

But when did we get engaged? Somehow, the endless parties, the drugs, internet shopping sprees, I-

Six months ago. Did you forget?

And you are quite sure it was me?

Of course, I’m sure.

And I suggested to you, in all seriousness, that we should marry?

No, Walther, it was I who suggested it to you in all seriousness that we should pretend to plan to get married because it was a good career move for me. And in return for your acquiescence to this agreement, I, Mindi, full name included, promised to pay off your several overextended credit cards and buy you a used Porsche. We signed a contract, Walther, which was witnessed and notarized by officials of a now defunct bank.

Oh, that’s right, I’m so sorry, uh, Darling, I was wondering where I got these keys. I have a Porsche? I wonder where I left it? Oh, Mindi, I completely forgot. I’ve been so terribly busy you know these days what with all the parties, and showings, and well, you know...

I don’t know, Walther, I haven’t seen you in months.

Really? And it seems you are once more waking me out of a sound sleep just like yesterday.

I need to talk to you, Walther. I have to make an important career decision and I need your help.

This doesn’t mean we have to get married, does it? Walther asked an unusually anxious tone creeping into his faked accent.

It might.

Oh, god, Mindi, I’m not sure I’m ready for such a big move. Did you really buy me a Porsche, Mindi? Because I do know you and it would be perfectly in character for you to get me high and only give me a set of keys.

Oh, come on, Walther, Mindi frowned. In fact, that’s exactly what she’d done but hadn’t counted on the drug-besotted Walther figuring it out. Don’t be so paranoid, honey, of course I gave you a Porsche. You just can’t remember where you parked it, and anyway, this marriage business, it’s not like we have to actually have sex and/or kids, we just have to put on a good show because the Company will probably have me tailed by their goons for at least six months and we have to show some signs that we cohabit or at least have dinner together no more than once a week.

Oh, then I suppose that’s not so bad as long as you don’t expect me to bear your child. As sex was of no significant interest to Walther, he was still a little foggy on the details.

After all the drugs you’ve ingested? You think I want a kid with two heads? No, no, if I actually do have to appear to procreate for the good of my career, I don’t want children on a permanent basis. You can rent the damned things as needed. You know, like lots of other Execs do for company picnics and Easter egg hunts in Central Park.

Really, Mindi, the more you say, the more I get confused, Walther said peevishly. Here you’ve gone and woken me up at three o’clock in the afternoon and you know I never get up until it’s time for the evening fashion report.

Oh, shut up. Just meet me at The Blades by six. I’ll tell you the rest there. Mindi ended the call and glanced at her fifty thousand dollar platinum sports watch that a client had given her for some very special laundering service she had rendered and it hadn’t been clothes. She sat back in her chair unable to stop the words: Chao Yang, Chao Yang, Chao Yang from repeating again and again in her brain like a goddamned Chinese gong. What the hell was going on? First the-out-of-work beggar executive on the street and now this new job? There were just too many coincidences popping up, and she hated that. She felt trapped in the plot of a bad book and God help the fucking author if she ever got her claws on him. Reaching over to her computer, she googled ‘Chao Yang’.

Hmm… she said checking a website in broken English on best places to avoid in Beijing. Chao Yang: municipal district of Beijing; located in the city’s northeast. Business and financial center; in the outlying areas, some factories and a population exceeding the population of greater Chicago but slightly less than New York. Hmm, she said to herself, it’s big, looks like it sucks big time and I have to make gidgets. Is this really a move up the ladder or is somebody just trying to get me out of New York? She turned off her computer and picked up the phone on her desk. Oh, well, Charley should be able to fill me in, but before she could dial, the phone rang. She glanced at it for a moment and then picked it up.

Charles, is that you?

Of course, replied a very dry and extremely humorless voice. Charles Bottensold Utterly Sexterd the Fifth was a member of the original Dutch ruling class of New York City and if only a moderately incompetent attorney in the City then certainly one of the most socially well-connected. His family had gotten extremely rich and stayed that way for generations by renting slum apartments to immigrants and in addition, controlled a very large chain of pawn shops which Charley recently sold to Baltwise in what was for him—not his family whom he’d cheated-an exceedingly sweetheart of a deal.

I was just ready to call you.

Yes, JD just communicated such to me. I’m to fill you in on Chao Yang.

Yes, I’m very curious.

You should be. You’ll be living there at least the next two years.

Two years? Really, Walther will be so pleased.

Oh, Walther? How is Walther?

I’m sure he’s fine.

When you see him, will you have him call my wife?

Your wife?

Yes, it’s something I know nothing about. Either they’re having some sort of perverse sexual affair or they sit on the same charity board.

I’m sure it’s a charity, Charles, Walther doesn’t have sex with anyone.

Then why are you two engaged?

Oh, Charles, surely I don’t have to explain to you.

I suppose not. It’s well…well, I don’t care. I don’t care to have sex with anyone myself either actually.

Who does, Charles, who does? Mindi lied. In reality, she had a very active—often bordering on criminal—sex life. It’s really so, well, messy and very passe. So…about Chao Yang?

Chao Yang is a very large district of Beijing.

Yes, I saw that, but what in the world has that got to do with Baltwise Financial and Gidget Manufacture?

Yes, Charles said after a long pause, I’m merely acting as a go-between, really. You know, corporate protocol, plausible deniability and all that. You now have to call Ed.

Ed? All right then, I suppose that means I should slip into something a little more comfortable, Mindi joked. Ed was often a defendant in sexual harassment suits. Not at Baltwise, of course, where harassing one’s subordinates in any way was entirely appropriate but Ed had a habit of going after waitresses, hotel maids, and metro-sexual deli counter clerks. This could be expensive at times for the company but a somewhat valuable employee like Ed was certainly worth all those tax-deductible legal expenses.

I really don’t care, Charles remarked sounding remarkably like Walther. How you and Ed conduct your meetings is entirely your affair. But he is scheduled to fill you in further in exactly five minutes. Do not communicate to him it was I who told you this.

Sure thing, Charles, Mindi smiled hanging up. These guys in Legal, such sticklers for the rules. Of course, he was protecting JD in case anything went wrong. Still, you could tell Charles had been subpoenaed once a little too often in financial fraud or corporate malfeasance cases as he seemed just a little shell-shocked. She went to have a quick glance at her closet. Getting dressed for a meeting with Ed was getting more and more difficult as the man aged. Back in the old days just standing in front of Ed in half a potato sack was enough to have him lunging over the desk, but these days half naked nubile eighteen-year-old receptionists could actually fondle the man's testicles and they were not so likely to get the least reaction. Right, Mindi smiled, that was the amateurs. She, on the other hand, was a master at sexually arousing useful male superiors. Now what would put him in the appropriate mood, perhaps this little satin number hot pants jump suit trimmed in bunny fur and the mid-thigh black leather boots? Hmm, what to wear, what to wear...?

FOUR

After her meeting with Ed, Mindi walked out of the elevator into the first floor lobby feeling slightly disheveled, slimy and somewhat confused. Some stared. Not surprisingly really since she hadn’t yet had the time to change and the red satin number was now somewhat in shreds and stinky old man semen was dripping down the inside of her fishnet stockinged leg. Ed, as expected, had been all over her, but what she had learned between his piggish grunts, squeals and wheezing had been highly mysterious. Truth is, he’d hardly told her anything directly except that he liked her new tits. Ed, by habit from his long association with the Republican National Committee and a host of national security organizations was accustomed to mysterious hints, obscure explanations, and bald-faced misrepresentations otherwise known as lies.

Still, what she had managed to find out, was, well, very strange. Was there some relationship between the words of the beggar woman and the fact that she had just been offered the post of Chief Executive Officer, Second Class, for Baltwise China’s newly reorganized New Oriental Division? Actually, she was not sure it was all to her advantage yet, but she would have to be absolutely positive before she made a final decision. This posed a problem. She went straight to the front door as this sort of situation called for some very expert advice.

Call you a cab, miss? PG O’Reilly, a short stocky doorman asked with a cheerful boozy wink.

PG, I need to talk to you, Mindi glanced at him holding out a five dollar bill.

Yes, ma’am, Mr. O’Reilly said suddenly his visage quite serious despite his flaming red bulb of a nose. Would you care to talk somewhere a little more, uh, secure?

I’ll meet you in the third stall of the men’s washroom on the second floor. By the way, this doesn’t have anything to do with sex. She’d added this as PG was usually the Corporation’s go-to boy when pimping services were required or maybe just a quickie in a broom closet, but especially, most especially if you wanted to know the latest office dirt because PG knew it all.

That’s no problem, Miss; the old man’s joy stick is not up to snuff this week. Must have caught something from one of those temps in janitorial.

Great, Mindi smiled as PG pocketed the cash, see you in five.

Has she agreed? asked a voice in a dark room.

I think she will, but so far, she hasn't signed the contract, another voice in the room replied.

This is very important.

Yes, sir, I know.

We need someone like her.

Of course.

If she hesitates, offer more perks.

I think she might be concerned if she’s there, she’s not here.

What the hell does that mean?

You know, sir, office politics. She’s the consummate player. And everyone knows, New York is where we play.

Really? replied one of the unseen voices giving his tiny testicles a small scratch. It seems to me that the East is where the action is. That’s the word anyway in all those blah blah business magazines. Well, who knows? It’s just a feeling I have. You know, I’ve had these dreams. Anyway, it’s exceedingly important that we have a skilled player in Chao Yang--especially someone Pachortski’s caliber.

I thought it was because she was blond, big-breasted, and willing to do anything for cash? After all, one of the key selection criteria for this job was because research reveals Chinese business executives are big into domination fantasies by sexually promiscuous Yankee blondes with big bazoombas.

That too, the small-balled voice agreed. It’s important we keep these boys happy. If they’re not happy, those fucking Russians could get a jump on us. Christ knows, their whole country is filled with big busted blond sluts.

And let’s not forgot those fucking Thais.

Thais? I must have missed that. The Thais are in play too?

Again, the Chinese, they’ve got this thing for hermaphrodites.

Jesus, it’s hard to know exactly who’s in play in this game.

It’s Chao Yang, sir.

Yes, yes, said the unseen voice still scratching his tiny nuts, I haven’t forgot.

Mindi was perched on PG’s knee sucking a hard candy. PG was stroking her hair.

So, Honey, tell Uncle PG what's bugging you this week?

Something’s up. I’ve been offered a new job.

Really. More money?

Much more money.

More money sounds good.

PG, Mindi turned and looked directly into his narrow squinty little eyes. Have you ever heard of Chao Yang? PG’s sharp little beady eyes narrowed.

CHAPTER CONTINUED

As a thin, angry faced middle-aged woman came striding up the alley, doors slammed, gates locked, and except for the sound of a child who started crying, there was an immediate and sudden silence throughout the neighborhood. It was Po Huai Rou, Po Da Jie’s middle younger sister. The youngest sister, Po Mo Gui, had shown the most promise for making life more miserable for everyone on the planet, but due to a heart defect and an overabundance of sour spleen, she had already died from a burst blood vessel in the middle of a spat with a bus conductor. Po Huai Rou stopped at her sister’s gate, looked left and right and then hammered the dented green painted metal furiously.

Po, she yelled, where the hell’s my ten kuai!? ($1.50) Open the goddamned gate! She waited two to three seconds or less for a reply; then hammered the gate again. Lao, who was inside his own house, continued snoring as the news droned on, but Ron, woken suddenly by the racket, jumped up, ran like hell to save his life and was yanked hard off his feet by the chain. Realizing he was trapped, he curled up into a tight little Armadillo ball staying absolutely quiet.

Let me in, goddammit, you deadbeat bitch, I want my ten kuai! Po hammered away and again. After a few minutes she stopped to catch her breath. I know that bitch is in there. Just ignoring me. Hah, I’ll show her. She opened her ancient purse. First, she took out the brick she always kept in the bag for those frequent occasions when she was trying to make her way through a crowd and sorting through the knife, her brass knuckles, and a small hardwood rolling pin, she finally, she found what she was looking for: a long sharp pin. Using a trick she had learned from one of her students who was eager to escape detention, she slipped the pin into the old padlock and then cursed herself and everyone else for some time once she realized it was already unlocked. Next, she yanked on the gate handle only to find it locked from the inside too. Clearly there was somebody home. She bent down to peer through the crack. Yes, the bolt had been drawn. Well, that would be easy enough. Rummaging around in her bag, she picked out another instrument she’d liberated from a student and in seconds stood in the yard.

Holding up her rolling pin in case of sudden ambush, Po Huai Rou quickly, cautiously glanced left and right. It seemed all clear. She quietly closed the gate behind her and drew the bolt. Whoever it was who’d dared to ignore her was going to pay a big price and she wanted to be sure they couldn’t escape.

Farsighted and too vain to wear her glasses, Po would never have seen the tightly rolled up figure of our foreign guest where he was half hidden in the shade of the date tree, but unfortunately whenever Ron was really afraid for his life, stink was a defense mechanism and he’d either crap his pants or blow off a hot burst of reeking methane out his tightly clenched rear end. Although Po couldn’t quite make out the source of the fart, she certainly got a good whiff. She looked puzzled. That wasn't a Chinese reek, was there a Xin Jiang person close?

Lao Wang, is that you? she asked confused. What has that cheap ass sister of mine been feeding you, pickled dead cats? Ron whimpered unable to contain himself any longer. He couldn’t understand a word of Chinese of course, but Po’s tone was so absolutely terrifying he lost any and all control. That second squeak was all she needed and primarily following her nose, Ron was quickly pinpointed. Quite carefully, she snatched up a long piece of bamboo Lao used to unclog the sewage drain and approaching the tightly rolled up and chained figure in the shade of the tree, she gave it a sharp poke.

Don’t hurt me… Ron whimpered. Po’s eye brows shot up. Was that English she'd just heard? She gave the curled-up figure another sharp jab just to see. Ow, that fucking hurt!! Ron yelped. Po smiled a smile not in the least friendly. A foreigner, speaking English, chained to a tree in her sister’s garden? She immediately forgot the ten kuai. The God of Luck had just presented her with a wonderful business and/or extortion opportunity either equally excellent.

Who you? she demanded in heavily accented English giving Ron another sharp jab. Po had formerly been an English teacher at the neighborhood high school until presented a choice: either resign and go quietly or face charges for psychological and physical abuse. The situation still rankled. All she'd done was to hang a female student out a three-story classroom window by her hair because the little bitch not only didn't finish her homework correctly, she even gave Po some deeply regretted lip.

Please don't hurt me, Ron squeaked his voice muffled as he was trying to protect his head.

Sit up, look me! Po barked loudly. Ron jumped to his feet. The last time he’d heard an order like that was from a sadistic guard in the LA Municipal County Jail. Po stepped forward to look him over. She considered Ron’s shoes, his unkempt hair, his scraggly unshaved face, his filthy clothes. Hmm, she said thoughtfully, hey, rich foreign tourist. Where credit card?

Huh? Ron said stupidly.

Credit card! Po snapped.

I, I, I, I don’t have one, he stammered. Po’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Rich foreign tourist, no credit card? Who was he trying to con?

Don’t try lie, Fancy Pants Foreign Guy. I want card, you talk!

I swear… Ron sniveled, I didn't steal your credit card. It must have been him, he pointed behind her and as Po turned to look behind her Ron tried to run once more forgetting the fact he was chained by the leg and he was knocked right off his feet.

Now know you lie kind Teacher Po only want help, Po Huai Rou said stepping forward to glare down at our trapped hero. If he was a stupid student, she wouldn't have hesitated to strip search him for contraband but the truth was she didn't want to touch a foreigner, let alone one so obviously not clean. Take off pants! she hissed. Ron stared, but did as he was told. Still, he couldn’t quite get free of one leg because of the chain around his ankle. That didn’t stop Po. Reaching down carefully, she yanked the pants in her direction. There was a ripping sound as she tore the pants free. Stepping off to a safe distance, she conducted a thorough search and pulled out a battered wallet. She looked at it carefully with distaste as dead lice dropped out. Opening it, she extracted one worn dollar, a fake California driver’s license, and assorted scraps of paper covered with barely legible betting figures. Where credit card? Where passport? she demanded angrily shoving the buck in her pocket. Get up, I talk you!

Huh? Ron said stupidly getting up. He stood there in his baggy gray underwear, eyes blinking in the sun and his pale skinny legs trembling in abject fear.

How you get China! Po shouted. Ron sprinted for safety, but once again he’d forgotten the chain and was yanked back to hit the ground with a slam.

Oh, shit… he moaned rubbing his sore bony ass.

Don’t try fool me, rich foreign tourist, Po hissed, I make you pay.

I swear, I don’t have a credit card, Ron whimpered. Leave me alone. I didn't do anything this time, I swear. He wiped a tear from his eye.

Po stood back a moment to regard him with both disgust and satisfaction. As an afterthought, she threw him his pants. Yes, she’d scared the shit out of him thus establishing dominance, but it annoyed the shit out of her he had no money. Clearly some other fortunate person had skinned the ghost of his cash first. Could it have been Lao Wang? No, no, she quickly decided. That old fool was too honest, but her sister on the other hand…no, no, she decided against that too. Her sister was ornery just like her, but basically a decent person like Lao, the two dumb suckers. Still, what was the stinking foreigner doing chained in their yard, she asked herself deeply puzzled.

What country you from? Po demanded in what she thought was a kindly tone.

Huh? Ron asked stupidly.

What country? she snapped losing patience with nice. Terror was always best.

Country?

Yes, country.

L. A.

What hell country, LA? she stared.

You know, golden state, California? Lots of sun, snotty blondes, big tits?

You mean San Francisco? she asked.

Yeah, yeah, more or less.

You know any Chinese people? she demanded.

Yeah, sure, I see a lot of Chinks at the track.

What track? Po demanded not sure of his words.

You know, race track. Watch the dogs, or the horses run around in circles. They bet money, sometimes win.

Lots of Chinks, huh?

Oh, yeah, them Chinks love gambling big time.

Lucky Chinks, Po said wistfully green with envy. So, she said finally, you gamble, you must big rich.

Me rich? Hell no, I gamble, I lose my ass mostly. You know how many times I get my ass kicked by bookies? More than I know.

"So, you gamble, you lose? Stupid. Bad luck? You cheat, that's