Whether a target or not, Melong didn’t want to have anything to do with the police.
“But it’s just a list. That’s why we have to help each other, Melong. Once the case is solved and everything comes out, I don’t think the netcops or any of the others will waste their time on you.”
The hint was unmistakable. Given Chen’s position and connections, it wasn’t impossible for the chief inspector to help. At least this time. Melong started debating with himself.
A cell phone rang. It was Chen’s. He pulled out a white phone.
Melong moved to step out of the room, but Chen gestured for him to stay.
“Sorry, it’s just from my mother, but I have to take it.”
Chen spoke like a filial son. Melong couldn’t help noticing the change of expression on Chen’s face. It looked like one of immediate relief. The next few fragmented words and sentences that were Chen’s side of the conversation didn’t make much sense. They were, of course, out of context.
“I did… my colleague’s widow… to Mr. Gu about it… Yes, I’ll thank Dr. Hou properly… come around either tomorrow or the day after that… Yes, I will… East China… Take good care. See you.”
Chen put the phone back into his pants pocket and said, “My mother had a minor stroke, and she’s just checked out of East China Hospital. I keep the phone on at all times. She’s old and all alone, so I’m concerned.”
“She doesn’t live with you?”
“No, she insisted on not moving in, saying that she prefers to stay in the old neighborhood. But she won’t stay in the hospital too long, worrying about the cost.”
“Which hospital did you say it was?”
“East China Hospital.”
“No surprise, for a high-ranking cadre like you.”
“No, that wasn’t it. She was admitted because of a doctor I know there. He’s also the head of the hospital. It was due to connections, you might say, but I have to do whatever I can for my mother. Anyway, he’s been taking good care of my mother, whether it has anything to do with my position or not.”
“In today’s society, no one is capable of doing anything without connections, and connections come from one’s position,” Melong said, then added in spite of himself, “Not everybody is as lucky as you are.”
“What do you mean, Melong?”
“My mother has been diagnosed with lung cancer, second stage, but before any hospital in the city will admit her, she has to wait at least two months. She has no chance of getting into a top one such as East China. I feel so helpless,” he said, with a slight sob in his voice. He drained the last of the tea from his cup. “I’m a total unworthy son.”
“I understand. I feel exactly the same about myself,” Chen said; then he pulled out another phone and punched in a number.
Melong watched Chen, puzzled.
“Dr. Hou, I have to ask you for a favor,” Chen said emphatically. “A friend’s mother needs to get into the hospital as soon as possible. She has advanced lung cancer. I know how difficult it is for you to arrange an admission at East China, but I still want to beg you for it this time.”
Melong couldn’t hear Dr. Hou’s response, but it wasn’t long before Chen spoke again.
“Thank you so much, Dr. Hou. I owe you a big one.”
Apparently Dr. Hou was saying something on his end, but Chen cut him short. “We can call it even now. Don’t mention that again.”
The last part was intriguing. It sounded like an exchange of favors, but Chen was already turning back to him. “Dr. Hou will admit your mother first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t worry. He’ll take care of everything.”
“Such a huge favor,” Melong said as he stood up and bowed low. “I have to say, as in a martial arts novel, ‘If I cannot pay you back in this life, in the next I will be a horse or an ox working for you.’”
“You don’t have to say that, Melong. But in those martial arts novels, people also say, ‘The green mountains and the blue water will always be there, and our paths will cross again.’”
That quote was to the point, Melong knew.
“Now I have to go and prepare for her admission tomorrow. As a son yourself, you must understand,” Melong said. “But I’ll call you, I give you my word, as soon as I have something.”
SEVENTEEN
ON THE EVENING OF the next day, Chief Inspector Chen left the bureau and walked out into the gathering dusk, still lost in thought.
Walking sometimes helped him think, especially when he was confronted by many possible directions. It was like an English poem that he’d read back in college. The poet could afford to speculate about the consequences of a road not taken in the yellow wood; a cop could not.