Two flights down, the door opened into a dark room. It wasn’t locked, or at least not very. This lock was cheaper than the one on the morgue, so it gave way after a little twist and a nudge. I stepped inside; the entryway was dark, and so was the hall, but at the end there was a faint light and the sound of music. I walked toward the music, feeling my way along the walls. A flashlight would have been good; mine was in the back of my desk drawer, with only one battery. There were none in the Ministry storeroom, and the supply clerk said none would show up until next year. He always said this with some satisfaction, as if informing us what we couldn’t have was part of his job description.
The room at the end of the hall turned out to be a drinking club, with high stools along the bar, and on the back wall a long mirror and rows of classy bottles of champagne and whiskey and expensive-looking glasses. Against the other walls were tables, some of them surrounded by velvet curtains, the rest just empty. I sat on a stool and looked down the bar. The music got a little louder, by degrees. Not like anything they played in the karaoke bars for the foreigners; it sounded deeper, maybe African. This was a bad idea, following up. It broke all of my rules about staying out of swamps. But the stocking with the monograms made me curious. I pretty much kept away from these clubs. Some inspectors liked to keep close track of the ones in their sectors. They said it was important to follow the activity; it was also a good way to get free drinks. I was more inclined to noodle restaurants, but the girls in the noodle restaurants didn’t wear monogrammed stockings, I had to admit.
“We’re not open, but what’s that to you?” From somewhere behind the bar, a voice emerged.
“The door wasn’t exactly locked. I figured it meant you were serving.”
“This is a night place, friend. We don’t serve drinks until the sun goes down. You got business here, breaking in?”
I finally located the bartender in the dark, a short man with no neck wearing a black shirt. He had a broom, but he wasn’t sweeping.
“What’s that music?” I always start with an easy question.
“It’s from the Caribbean somewhere. Any creep would recognize it. You didn’t come to listen to records, that’s for sure, and you have no cause to break into an honest establishment.” He had a funny, high voice.
“We’ll see about honest. Where’s your license? It’s supposed to be on the wall where I can see it.” I looked around for the pictures that should have been there, two of them, father and son looking down. “You also are missing some fine portraits.”
“Careful, Inspector, don’t get carried away.” Another voice from behind me, a polished voice, probably coming from a tailored cotton suit, or a herringbone sports coat and trousers with a sharp crease. I turned around slowly. None of the tables had been occupied when I came in. Now the one closest to the end had a man sitting with his back to me. He was facing a mirror that was attached to a door, maybe an office behind it. From the reflection, I knew he was smiling-his teeth were shining-but I couldn’t see his coat.
“The license must have been lost in the mail, Inspector. I arranged for it myself, went over to Changkwang the other day to make sure. They said the piece of paper was on the way. But you know, they always say that.”
The central party offices are on Changkwang Street. Heavyweight; not everyone can get past the guards. This man could do it, if anyone could. He had something unusual, a golden aura of self-confidence that surrounded him. It went beyond his trying to impress me, talking as if he went to Changkwang Street just to blow his nose. That part was just an act, I felt sure. Humble he wasn’t, but there was something judicious about him, as if he knew how far to play out his leash, a little at a time. “The mail doesn’t concern me,” I said. “My concern is making sure people follow the law, keep our city a nice place to live and a good place for foreigners to visit, so they make friends with the locals and spend money.”
“Well, what do you know, that’s exactly my concern, too, Inspector. You are an inspector, aren’t you? I hope they wouldn’t send someone of lesser rank to shake me down.” He gave a low chuckle, the way people who find themselves amusing sometimes do, though I had the feeling even that was part of his act. “Foreigners come in here to get away from politics, you understand?” He looked around the walls as if to indicate all was in order. “What’s important is not what we show but what’s in our hearts, am I right? It makes the foreigners feel more comfortable if there aren’t too many symbols around, staring them in the face. Foreigners don’t like politics. They like the music, they like the drinks and the atmosphere, they like the company. They love the company. They really love the company. And so they spend money. I make a profit, I pay my fees, I look after my friends, and they look after me. No fuss, no muss. You understand, Inspector, no fuss, no muss. We really are closed; I must ask you to leave.”
“I’d like to, but I can’t.”
The bartender started sliding toward the far end of the bar. I reached over, grabbed his wrist, and gave it a twist, hard, so he yelped in pain and dropped the broom. “Stand still, friend. I don’t like people slipping away while I’m talking.”
The man at the table got up and turned around. For a couple of seconds the crazy thought went through my mind that he might have a gun, but he only pulled a wallet from his jacket. The jacket fit him like a glove, made his shoulders look big and his chest full. The jacket was a brown herringbone; his trousers were a darker brown, the crease was so sharp he probably used it to open his mail. “Here, Inspector.” He was holding several big bills, euros. “This is for you. Just a token of my appreciation for your coming down here to see if everything was alright. You’re right, we do need a new lock. I’ll see to it. Come back tonight. The drinks will be on me, and the company will be, too.” He looked at my shirt and grinned. “Like I said, it’s what’s in our hearts that counts.”
“Kind of you”-I nodded at the bills in his hand-“but not today. You could do me a favor, though.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the silk stocking. “Would this belong to your club? It has monograms on it, CB, even one along the top edge, very sexy; not where anyone would normally look.”
“Not normally, Inspector. But it happens. People sometimes look in funny places.” He took the stocking and held it gently in the air.
“Yours?” I asked.
“I’m partial to socks, but who knows what the girls wear, or where they leave their clothing once they walk out of here in the dark of the morning. This is torn pretty bad.” He looked at the blood and then at me, a careful look, very measured, as if he were considering how much of his leash he had left. “CB, that could be us, Club Blue.” He smiled at me and handed back the stocking. “I don’t want to have to make a phone call, Inspector. Please leave.”
I looked around the room. “Nice place. Wouldn’t be so nice if it were covered with broken glass. There are some Chinese boys on Yanggak Island who love to break glass, for fun.”
As the bartender turned to look at the champagne bottles and the expensive glasses, I saw he had a long scar down the left side of his face, a scar from a knife or maybe a broken bottle. Most of the bartenders in these drinking clubs are pretty boys, white jackets on pinched waists, high cheeks and soft hands. This one was ugly. Ugly isn’t always mean, but in this case, I had a feeling it was.
“I’ll be back after I’m off duty, to collect on that drink. No doubt that license will have arrived and be on the wall by then.”
The man in the herringbone jacket nodded slightly to the bartender before he smiled at me, though it wasn’t the sort of smile that leads to long friendships. “We’ll look forward to that, Inspector.”