The Plot Thickens
This is a picture of Inna. If you look closely you can see her, just behind the phone booths right of center. I tried to get closer but she spotted me and hopped on a Vespa with Fong and skeedattled. Or maybe she smelled me coming.
I went to the floor cleaner manufacturing plant to see Frank, but since I can't speak Chinese I couldn't explain to the receptionist why I was there and she called security so I had to wait until he got off work and follow him through the streets of the city on a bike I rented for three fish, and we stopped in this neighborhood and there was Inna at the phone booth, waiting for him. I don't know what she did with the cell phone, but she must have called him to have him pick her up.
It gets curiouser and curiouser because it turns out that El-Brazi, the French midfielder she was sacked up with last month, is here in China playing left back for some local corporate team, and making Adidas commercials in Mandarin.
This place, by the way, China, I mean, makes America look like a socialist paradise. It's business, capitalism, 24/7/365 or however many days there are in the Chinese calendar.
And mediocre French footballers are all the rage, evidently. Even if they've got no pace and no left foot to speak of.
I want my backpack. Or my pack back. I still have six fish. This is not over.