Ghost Shift

“Why did you come to Chenggong, Mr. Liu?”

I take my time answering. Overhead, the ceiling fan turns in slow circles, clicking each time it completes a revolution. On the table in front of me sits everything that was in my backpack – my laptop, the instruction sheets, the printed circuit board in its little white cardboard box.

The policeman, assuming that’s what he is, pulls out the chair opposite and sits down. He’s in his thirties, face rather pockmarked, black hair cut short and spiky on top. He wears a leather jacket and jeans, nothing to identify him as a cop except that indefinable cop look. That and the fact that we’re in what I believe is a police station, with two uniformed men standing guard outside the door.

He pulls the box towards him and opens it, takes out the board.

“What is this, Mr. Liu?” he asks.