proffering a receipt.
The manager thanked her and offered to accept the money on behalf of his driver. Grace apologized profusely, citing her own inadequacy and stupidity, while firmly insisting she pay the driver directly herself.
“It is most unfortunate,” the manager said, speaking more slowly. “Afraid this is not possible. Lin Qiu has had misfortune, I am so sorry to say.”
“Is he ill?” Grace asked. “Perhaps balancing his debts might cheer him up.”
“An accident, I am so sorry to say. Badly injured. Many broken bones. Bad luck.”
“I see.”
“You will be kind enough to allow me to pass along your generosity.” The manager was no longer asking. His patience had worn thin.
“I would so like to apologize in person.”
“Not possible.”
“And to think just yesterday I saw him riding on Nanjing Lu. It reminded me of the debt, you see?”
“Yesterday?” the manager inquired.
Knox was impressed that she attempted to nail down the date of the driver’s injuries.
“I am afraid that is impossible, cousin,” the manager said. “The accident occurred Thursday.”
“Thursday?” she repeated.
“Exactly so. Late afternoon.”
“But I was so sure.”
“I think not,” he said.
“Here, then,” she said. “The debt plus a little something for his troubles.”
“Generous, indeed.”
“You will see he receives it?”
“By my honor, of course. I have someone going that way now. You needn’t trouble yourself with it a moment longer.”
Grace exited the storefront along with the manager, who leaned over to one of his riders and handed him what had to be the money.
Knox rocked the scooter off its stand and rode past, making sure Grace had a chance to see him. They met minutes later at the far corner. She climbed onto the back of the bike, saying, “The driver’s wearing a green tam.”
“Saw him.”
“Headed west on Xincun.”
Knox steered the bike around the block.
“Hurry!” she said. “We’ll lose him!”
“Seriously? Do you think I’ll lose him?”
Knox gunned the scooter, forcing her to grab him around his waist. He weaved through oncoming traffic into the westbound bike lane.
They caught up to the delivery man and followed the bright orange box strapped to his rear fender. He collected a take-out order from an Indian restaurant on Dagu Lu near the Four Seasons Hotel and headed northeast. His next stop was at a Thai restaurant—a second pickup. They rode behind him for another fifteen minutes. His first delivery was made in Huangpu District, the second in Changning. From there, the driver headed to Putuo District and a crumbling lane neighborhood destined for the wrecking ball.
Knox slowed, allowing the rider a substantial lead.
“We’re here,” he said over his shoulder.
The old lilong’s lanes were narrow and cluttered with rusted bikes and scooters. Houses sagged, bowing to gravity. Roofs were patched together with corrugated tin and blue drop cloths. Such neighborhoods existed as islands bound within the clusters of newly erected apartment towers, the contrast startling.
Knox and Grace putted down the lane, passing three intersections with even narrower sublanes running off to the right.
She tapped him on the shoulder.
Knox braked and backed up using his feet.
“I saw him turn left,” Grace said.
A moment later, Knox, too, swung the bike left at the end of the sublane. The delivery man was just pulling to a stop. He left his scooter and entered a rundown stairwell, reappearing briefly on the second-floor balcony.
“We wait,” Knox said, sneaking a look at his wristwatch.
Grace absorbed every detail of their surroundings—the hung laundry, the decrepit scooters, the timeworn faces in the open windows. A minute later, the delivery man reappeared. He drove past them, the sound of his engine growing distant.
Knox and Grace climbed the dingy stairs. Sounds of people coughing wetly behind closed doors mixed with a baby’s crying over a
The manager thanked her and offered to accept the money on behalf of his driver. Grace apologized profusely, citing her own inadequacy and stupidity, while firmly insisting she pay the driver directly herself.
“It is most unfortunate,” the manager said, speaking more slowly. “Afraid this is not possible. Lin Qiu has had misfortune, I am so sorry to say.”
“Is he ill?” Grace asked. “Perhaps balancing his debts might cheer him up.”
“An accident, I am so sorry to say. Badly injured. Many broken bones. Bad luck.”
“I see.”
“You will be kind enough to allow me to pass along your generosity.” The manager was no longer asking. His patience had worn thin.
“I would so like to apologize in person.”
“Not possible.”
“And to think just yesterday I saw him riding on Nanjing Lu. It reminded me of the debt, you see?”
“Yesterday?” the manager inquired.
Knox was impressed that she attempted to nail down the date of the driver’s injuries.
“I am afraid that is impossible, cousin,” the manager said. “The accident occurred Thursday.”
“Thursday?” she repeated.
“Exactly so. Late afternoon.”
“But I was so sure.”
“I think not,” he said.
“Here, then,” she said. “The debt plus a little something for his troubles.”
“Generous, indeed.”
“You will see he receives it?”
“By my honor, of course. I have someone going that way now. You needn’t trouble yourself with it a moment longer.”
Grace exited the storefront along with the manager, who leaned over to one of his riders and handed him what had to be the money.
Knox rocked the scooter off its stand and rode past, making sure Grace had a chance to see him. They met minutes later at the far corner. She climbed onto the back of the bike, saying, “The driver’s wearing a green tam.”
“Saw him.”
“Headed west on Xincun.”
Knox steered the bike around the block.
“Hurry!” she said. “We’ll lose him!”
“Seriously? Do you think I’ll lose him?”
Knox gunned the scooter, forcing her to grab him around his waist. He weaved through oncoming traffic into the westbound bike lane.
They caught up to the delivery man and followed the bright orange box strapped to his rear fender. He collected a take-out order from an Indian restaurant on Dagu Lu near the Four Seasons Hotel and headed northeast. His next stop was at a Thai restaurant—a second pickup. They rode behind him for another fifteen minutes. His first delivery was made in Huangpu District, the second in Changning. From there, the driver headed to Putuo District and a crumbling lane neighborhood destined for the wrecking ball.
Knox slowed, allowing the rider a substantial lead.
“We’re here,” he said over his shoulder.
The old lilong’s lanes were narrow and cluttered with rusted bikes and scooters. Houses sagged, bowing to gravity. Roofs were patched together with corrugated tin and blue drop cloths. Such neighborhoods existed as islands bound within the clusters of newly erected apartment towers, the contrast startling.
Knox and Grace putted down the lane, passing three intersections with even narrower sublanes running off to the right.
She tapped him on the shoulder.
Knox braked and backed up using his feet.
“I saw him turn left,” Grace said.
A moment later, Knox, too, swung the bike left at the end of the sublane. The delivery man was just pulling to a stop. He left his scooter and entered a rundown stairwell, reappearing briefly on the second-floor balcony.
“We wait,” Knox said, sneaking a look at his wristwatch.
Grace absorbed every detail of their surroundings—the hung laundry, the decrepit scooters, the timeworn faces in the open windows. A minute later, the delivery man reappeared. He drove past them, the sound of his engine growing distant.
Knox and Grace climbed the dingy stairs. Sounds of people coughing wetly behind closed doors mixed with a baby’s crying over a
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