At that very moment Marta handed the customer a package and took his money. Then she walked back behind the counter to where García was standing. Liu had finished with the shutters and was ready to close.
“Sorry about that, Mr. Filiberto.”
“Is he a regular customer, Marta?”
“No. First time I’ve seen him.”
García went over to the front door and looked out. The Pole was entering the restaurant across the street. García turned to Mr. Liu:
“Want to have dinner with me? Tonight I feel like eating chink food.”
“Ah, Mr. García. Very honored, very honored to eat with so honorable man.”
“Let’s go. See you later, Marta.”
The Pole was sitting in the restaurant, at a table next to the window. García and Liu sat down nearby. After staring at the menu that was in Chinese and Spanish, the Pole pointed to a plate. The waiter asked him:
“With mushrooms?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Mushrooms.”
“You want bowl of soup, Mr. García?” Liu asked.
“You decide, Liu. You’re the expert.”
García’s green eyes were glued on the Pole, who was gazing absentmindedly out the window.
“Many tourists around here, Liu?”
“No. This place only for Chinamen. . and some Mexican. Almost never see foreigner, almost never.”
Silence. The good thing about these Chinamen is that you don’t have to talk when you’re with them. They seem perfectly happy when they’re quiet. García and Liu ate bird’s-nest soup and ribs with soy sauce. The Pole finished his dish, paid, and left.
“Seems he doesn’t like Chinese food.”
Liu laughed.
“I think honorable foreigner not used to poor Chinaman food.”
“Have there been other foreigners around here in the last few days?”
“Why you ask?”
“Just curious. So many tourists visit Mexico. .”
“When tourists want eat Chinese food they go Casa Han on Avenida Juárez. Only poor people eat here. . only we —”
“It’s perfectly good food.”
“Very honored, poor Chinese food very honored.”
García didn’t respond. Fucking Chinamen! But that Marta sure is fine. And the Pole looks he’s new to Dolores Street, like he doesn’t know about anything Chinese. But those three from the Outer Mongolia rumor, they’re coming from China and must know a thing or two. Fucking Outer Mongolia!
The restaurant had emptied out. García leaned over the table to speak to Liu in a low voice:
“You guys from Communist China or the other one?”
“I from Canton.”
“Don’t act dumb with me, Liu. Is your president Mao Tse Tung or the other guy?”
“General Chiang Kai-Shek.”
García forced a little laugh.
“There’s nobody can understand you Chinamen.”
“Ah! Chinese language very difficult, very difficult. Many character, Mr. García. . Very difficult.”
“Any of your compatriots around here belong to Mao Tse Tung’s party?”
“Chinese very peaceful people, very peaceful. Very happy live in Mexico.”
“What if Mao wins?”
“Chinese very happy here, very peaceful. .”
Fucking Chinamen! Can’t ever get anything concrete out of them. Or out of that fucking colonel or out of that fucking Mr. Rosendo del Valle, neither. Marta must have been surprised when I said goodbye so abruptly. But maybe it’s for the best. Got to play it tough with women, can’t let them get too sure of themselves. Fucking Pole! Why the hell is he following me around? How would he know I’m investigating this crazy shit about Outer Mongolia? I already smell a rat, and I don’t understand much about these international affairs. But they still went and hired me. I definitely smell a rat. Fucking colonel!
Liu sat deep in thought. Suddenly, he smiled:
“You go to house of honorable Mr. Yuan?”
“Just for a while. Gotta work tomorrow.”
“Very dangerous for Mr. García play poker, very dangerous.”
Liu laughed guilelessly.
“The last few games have cost me a bundle, Liu.”
“Game between friend, between friend.”
“Yeah, between friends.”
“I no go tonight. . many work. .”
García asked for the check, but Liu had already signaled the waiter that he would pay. García wanted to protest. Liu placed his hand on his arm.
“We Chinamen, we like you, Mr. García. You just like us — you no hear, no see, no talk. Three virtue every Chinese child learn. . three very good virtue.”
They left the restaurant and crossed the street. Liu said goodbye at the door to his shop.
The game at Pedro Yuan’s house was lackluster. Just him, Santiago, and Chen Po. García didn’t want to buy any chips. The sweetish smell of opium wafted down from the room upstairs. García opened a window and called Yuan over. The others stayed at the table holding their useless cards in their hands.
“I need a little information, Yuan, my friend.”
“Very honored.”
“This is serious, Yuan. I think I’ve proved that I’m your friend and I never stick my nose into what’s none of my business. .”
Yuan nodded. His face began to show signs of concern.
“There’s a rumor making the rounds that I need to clear up before the police get involved and start finding out other things they’ve got no business knowing.”
“Always bad rumor everywhere.”
“That’s why it’s best if I’m the one looking into this, Yuan, to see if there’s anything to this rumor.”
“You our friend.”
“There’s word out about there being some Communist Chinese agents among you. Know anything about that?”
Yuan sat for a moment in silence. His small dark eyes were full of sadness. When he spoke, his voice was so low García had to lean over to hear.
“We exile in strange land. Our honorable father and grandfather buried in Canton, where they suffer much in their life. Always one warlord and then another warlord, very bad thing. And then the white devil. . And always hunger, Mr. García, always hunger. We all like animal, not like men who laugh and sing song. You no know about these terrible thing, very bad. . And always one general and then another general; one party and another party, but for us always same, always very terrible. And now you say about rumor that these terrible thing follow us here.”
“Any Communist agents around here?”
“Nobody know what deep in heart of man, Mr. García.”
“True.”
Pedro Yuan was trying to control himself, but fear was spreading across his face.
“What you do if you find Communist agent among us? Agent of Mr. Mao?”
“Is there one?”
“I know nothing, Mr. García. I not political. What they do to us?”
The Chinaman’s voice was trembling with fear. Fucking Chinaman! He’s more scared than a rabbit in a foxhole. If he’s their agent, those Communists are really up shit creek.