“See?” he said, laughing. “Art-film lovers can’t stand to hear the truth. What’s wrong with me saying you’re young, beautiful, graceful, and refined?”
“A whole bowl of noodles can’t shut you up,” she said. “Do the dishes!”
He went to wash the dishes, but at the sink his mind wandered back to the porn. It was harder to sell than the usual movies, because you couldn’t just lay it out in the open, but the price was almost twice as high, and that was pure profit. His empty wallet was making him nervous, he wanted to make money, he couldn’t keep living out of someone else’s pocket. He hadn’t come to Beijing just to be a burden. He’d had a realization a few days ago, as he was passing Haidian bridge and thinking of Bao Ding in jail.
Bao Ding was five years older than him, and had been in Beijing for five years. He was big and powerful, built to lead a gang, so Dunhuang had thrown in with him. Back home, Dunhuang had heard about the low cost and high profit of making fake IDs — you just talked the talk, then waited for people to hand over cash. And it was more or less true. After following Bao Ding around for a couple of weeks he had grasped the basics. Bao Ding and Dunhuang were at the lowest level of the operation — bringing in the business. If they saw someone looking around expectantly they sidled over and asked, “Need an ID? We’ve got everything, even a passport’s no problem.” Then they discussed price, took an advance, and found someone to make what the customer needed. They weren’t involved in the actual making of the documents, they just negotiated the price and exchanged the cash and goods. They got a share of the proceeds strictly according to the work they brought in; the more deals they closed, the more they made. If, in the course of things, they ran across a big spender, then it was like Christmas, and the good life seemed nearly within reach. There was another similarity between selling IDs and selling DVDs, besides the fact that they were all fake — you needed to know your product. You had to know what a bachelor degree diploma looked like, all the different kinds of parking permits, what was usually in a personal document folder, and so on. You needed to be able to stand by your work, and that took experience, trustworthiness, and clear standards. None of that was a problem for Dunhuang, who soon knew the profession inside and out. The real problem was the unexpected, which usually meant the police. When you saw the police you needed to make a quick decision whether you were going to keep your head down or make a break for it; whether you’d hide the IDs on your person or toss them. If caught, different actions led to different degrees of punishment. All that took experience.
That’s where Dunhuang went wrong. On that day, he’d gone with Bao Ding to the overpass by Pacific Computer City. It was a deal he’d arranged himself and he had the document on him, a master’s diploma. The deal was supposed to take place at a quarter past nine that morning, and they arrived at ten after. They waited until nine thirty without seeing the customer, and just as they were about to leave they saw two policemen strolling in their direction. Bao Ding said, very quietly, “Careful.” Just then, the policemen broke into a run, and Bao Ding shouted, “Go!” The police were coming straight for them. Dunhuang ran after Bao Ding, passing the south gate of Peking University and heading for Haidian. As they ran, Bao Ding told Dunhuang to ditch the diploma. With no evidence, they’d just get a beating and then be released, but if they were caught red-handed there would be trouble. Dunhuang, confident they’d escape, refused, and his confidence infected Bao Ding. The police officers behind them weren’t in the least bit worrisome, they were so fat they practically had to hold their bellies as they ran. They weren’t quite able to shake them, but there was no way they’d get caught. They headed south, away from the electronics stores, hoping to get past the bridge and into Book City, where there were lots of people and lots of doors, and where they’d be harder to catch than rats.
Luck wasn’t with them, however, and as they passed Haidian Bridge they saw a police car and four officers on the street. Looking back, they found the two pigs had gained on them. Bao Ding knew it was serious, and told Dunhuang to hurry up and toss the document. Dunhuang, who’d never been caught in a police cordon before, ran with the diploma in his hand, not knowing how to get rid of it. Bao Ding snatched it from him, and he’d just tossed it when they were surrounded by the police. They’d all seen him do it, and one of them fished it out of the garbage can.
“Whose is this?” he asked.
Bao Ding glanced at Dunhuang and said, “Mine.”
The officer asked Dunhuang, “Is it really his?”
“Yes,” said Dunhuang.
Later, Dunhuang consoled himself that Bao Ding had shrugged his right shoulder twice, a signal they’d arranged for when they were negotiating with a customer. It meant: follow my lead. So, Dunhuang followed Bao Ding’s lead, right up until he finally got out of jail, three months later. That diploma meant that Bao Ding would be sent somewhere farther away, who knew for how long. When Dunhuang was released, Bao Ding’s trial hadn’t even begun.
* * *
As Dunhuang and Xiaorong passed Haidian Bridge, Dunhuang resolved to make some money and buy Bao Ding’s freedom. When you got down to it, Bao Ding had taken the fall for Dunhuang. And during their two years together in Beijing he’d taken good care of Dunhuang. Everyone in their business knew: it was better to stay out of jail, of course, but if you went in it wasn’t cause for despair. What went in had to come out. As long as you could find the right contacts, grease the right palms, your problems could be solved. It didn’t matter that Bao Ding’s trial hadn’t begun, and even if he had already been sentenced Dunhuang could still get him out with the right payoffs. But it would take money, Dunhuang thought. Money. . Dunhuang and Xiaorong lay in bed that night, covered in sweat but unwilling to move, both too lazy to get up and turn off the porn they’d put on. Eventually, they played rock-paper-scissors, and Dunhuang lost. Naked, he shut off the TV and DVD player, and as he stood with the disc stuck on his finger, about to put it back in its case, he stopped and said to Xiaorong, “I want to sell porn.”
“Are you crazy?” she said. “If they catch you there’ll be hell to pay.”
“I need money to get Bao Ding out.”
Xiaorong had been going to say that she had plenty of money, but when she heard what it was for she kept quiet. She’d saved up over the years, but she meant to use it for going back home and getting married, buying a house, and raising a child. She’d planned it for years. Kuang Shan had once nursed designs on that nest egg, but she’d batted him away, swearing that barring some disaster like her parents falling ill, no one would touch the money. Obviously, she wouldn’t volunteer it to ransom Bao Ding, and she wouldn’t be coerced, either — her mind was made up. She was also quite aware that her meager savings might not be enough. Dunhuang had once told her that you couldn’t even start a conversation without twenty or thirty thousand. Xiaorong kept quiet.
“So, I’m thinking,” Dunhuang put away the DVD and lay down on his side, holding Xiaorong. “I’ll help you sell the porn, they’re just going to waste as is. If you’re embarrassed by it. . ” Dunhuang paused, staring at Xiaorong’s ear, feeling his courage coming, “I don’t need to follow you. I’ll go off and sell them by myself.”
“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Don’t get me wrong, I just want to earn enough to get Bao Ding out as soon as possible. I’m not trying to skin you.” “I didn’t mean that,” said Xiaorong, turning her back to him. “I was just wondering why men are all like that, always insisting on striking out, going it alone, always leaving the girl behind.”