by Ian Hamilton
He entered the apartment and went directly to the fridge, opened a bottle of San Miguel, and carried it to the living area. He took a deep swig and then put the bottle on the table to his right while he reached for his cigarettes. He lit a smoke, placed the pack and his lighter next to the ashtray on his left, and then reclined the chair until his feet were waist high.
Was that a message Ms. Gao was sending me today, or am I simply being paranoid? he thought. It was in his nature to worry. As a young triad he had learned quickly that nothing could be taken for granted, and as he rose through the ranks that belief became an irrefutable tenet. If it wasn’t the Hong Kong police looking for ways to infiltrate and bring down the gang, it was other gangs prodding and poking as they looked for weaknesses they could exploit. He had cut a deal with the police — with Zhang Delun, the man Liu Leji had spoken to — that provided them with some protection, but he knew that was good only for as long as Zhang was in place, or until some unforeseen event cratered the agreement and forced Zhang to move against them. He had also worked hard at creating alliances with other gangs. Fanling hadn’t come under serious threat for many years, but he knew all it would take to pull things apart was a new Mountain Master like Wu in Tai Wai New Village, someone with ambitions that went beyond his own borders, or a gang whose circumstances forced them to attack other gangs in order to survive.
Then there were the economic realities. He had virtually emptied the reserve fund and tapped out their lines of credit at the bank to make the investments in Shenzhen. Now the income the gang was generating in Shenzhen and Xiamen was quickly rebuilding those resources, but he was facing a dilemma that had the possibility of becoming a crisis. If the PLA, if any part of the Chinese government decided to bring down the hammer on the Ming garment factories and their warehouse operations, the gang would lose nearly all its capital, its access to credit, and a huge portion of its cash flow. If that happened, there would be only one person to blame, and that was him.
Uncle had known he was taking a risk when he put so much money into the factories and warehouses, but when he weighed the risks against the rewards, he thought the potential returns justified the investment. So far he had been proven correct, but if those businesses were closed or taken over by the Chinese government, the cash flow they generated would go up in smoke.
What was odd was that he hadn’t envisioned so much risk when it came to putting up the money to build the warehouses; all of the initial money had come from the gang, not the Liu family. He had assumed that the Liu family would make sure the warehouses were full and that profits were as good as guaranteed. It had been an accurate judgement, but he had also assumed that the Liu family was untouchable and that by proxy it would provide protection for the gang. It was those assumptions that Uncle was beginning to doubt. After learning about Peng and Lau, it hadn’t taken very long for Ms. Gao to decide to return to Beijing with Meilin and to move their share of the cash on hand out of the company bank accounts. She had agreed to leave the portion they’d decided to reinvest, but Uncle wouldn’t be surprised if, when the transfer request came through, it would be for all the money.
We are their only weakness, he thought as he finished the last few drops of his beer. No one else knows about our business relationship. Ms. Gao is afraid that the PLA will pursue our connection to Peng and get their hands on Fong or me, and that we’ll squeal. So she wants as much distance between us as fast as she can get it, and of course she wants to get her hands on the money.
Uncle lowered the chair, slid to the floor, and walked to the kitchen with the empty bottle. He placed it on the counter, opened the fridge, and took out another beer. When the cap was removed, he opened a small drawer and took out a black notebook. He turned to the back page, walked over to the phone, and called Xu’s office in Xiamen. The woman who answered told him Xu was on the factory floor with the owner.
“Get him, please. Tell him Uncle is calling and it’s urgent,” he said.
As he waited, his thoughts returned to the Liu family. Ms. Gao had disappointed him — he hadn’t expected her to panic at the first sign of trouble. While she had seemed outwardly calmer than her nephew, her actions seemed a truer indication of her feelings. That thought irked and frustrated him in almost equal measure. If she had been another Mountain Master he wouldn’t have hesitated to share his feelings. But this was different, and now something he’d always subconsciously known was glaringly obvious: he was far more dependent on the Liu family than they were on him. They could disown him at the drop of a hat and there wasn’t much he could do if they did. Hell, he might not be allowed to cross the border again, let alone find a way to retaliate. The only leverage he had was his ability to make money for them and the fact that they trusted him.
“Uncle, what’s going on? The secretary was quite alarmed,” Xu said.
“We have a problem in Shenzhen. Peng has been arrested and Lau was shot trying to escape the PLA. They’re on an anti-corruption crusade, but so far Peng and Lau are the only casualties,” Uncle said. “It happened this morning, so it’s too soon to know who else might get caught up in the mess. My hope is that the PLA will concentrate on the people taking bribes and not on those giving them.”
“Are Fong and Ming alright?”
“Ming has nothing to fear. He knows absolutely nothing about our deal with Peng,” Uncle said. “Fong returned to Hong Kong with me a few hours ago. He’ll be on his way to Macau by now to spend the weekend. Neither he nor I will be crossing the border again until we know for certain what’s going on.”
“What about the Liu family?”
“As long as Liu Huning is a member of the Standing Politburo, I can’t imagine the PLA will go near them, but the way Ms. Gao acted, you’d think they were facing imminent arrest.”
“You don’t sound pleased with her,” Xu said.
“I’m not, but there’s nothing I can do about that situation right now. All we can hope is that she’s never put in a situation where she has to choose between us and her own interests. I suspect she’d throw us over without a second thought.”
“That’s not good.”
“I know, but it isn’t something we’re facing yet. And truthfully I think Leji is made of sterner stuff. Hopefully she’ll spend more time in Beijing and leave Shenzhen to him and us,” said Uncle.
“What will happen to Peng?” Xu asked.
“He’ll be charged, tried, convicted, and then either shot or jailed.”
“He’s not a bad guy,” Xu said. “I mean, when you bribed him, he stayed bribed; he never came back for seconds and he always delivered.”
“Is your guy in Xiamen as reliable?”
“He is.”
“Is he safe? That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. It would be useful to know if this anti-corruption thing is limited to Shenzhen or if every zone is getting the same treatment.”
“He was fine when I talked to him an hour ago,” Xu said.
“That’s good to hear. I’m hoping that Peng and Lau were targeted for being overtly extravagant, which we’re told they were.”
“My guy here lives a simple life. I don’t know what he’s doing with the money he’s raking in, but for sure he’s not flaunting it.”
“Still, you should give him a heads-up about Peng.”
“I will. Have you spoken to Tse yet?”
“He’s my next call.”
“I’ll handle it if you want,” Xu said. “We’re scheduled to talk in an hour. We’re trading watches for bags.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Uncle said.
Xu was quiet for a moment, then said, “Things have been going so well that we should have expected a bump in the road.”
“As long as it’s just a bump and not a landmine that blows up in our faces,” Uncle said. He put down the phone. He’d been swigging beer while he talked to Xu and had distractedly finished the bottle. When
he went back to the fridge for another, he discovered there were none. “Shit,” he muttered.
A few minutes later he walked into the restaurant downstairs, placed an order, and then, while his meal was being made, went to the newsstand to get a racing form. When he returned to the restaurant, he bought four beers to take upstairs with his food. Going directly into the kitchen, he put three beers in the fridge and then stood at the kitchen counter to eat, the mound of glimmering slivers of wok-fried beef and soft egg noodles quickly disappearing. When he was finished, he opened another beer and retreated to his chair with the racing form and a pen.
He lit a cigarette, took a deep, satisfying puff, and opened the form. Horse racing, or more specifically betting on horse racing, was his sole hobby, and one of the few things that allowed his mind to focus on something other than business. Before the Sha Tin racetrack opened in 1978 that had entailed making the trip from Fanling to the Happy Valley Racecourse on Hong Kong Island twice a week, on Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons. Now the horses ran at Happy Valley only on Wednesdays and at Sha Tin on Sundays. Sha Tin was in the New Territories and much closer to Fanling, but that convenience hadn’t changed Uncle’s track preference. While Sha Tin was newer, could hold close to 90,000 people as opposed to Happy Valley’s 55,000, had two track surfaces that were longer, wider, and able to accommodate a greater variety of races than the tight turf course at Happy Valley, Uncle didn’t have quite the same affinity for it. Happy Valley had been built in 1845, and even though it been modernized many times, it had a historic aura, a sense of timelessness that appealed to Uncle’s romantic attraction to the spectacle of horse racing.
The opening of Sha Tin had presented another challenge for him. Now, in addition to the myriad variables he normally considered, he had to factor in the differences between the two tracks in terms of surface and configuration. Races of the same distance, even if both were run on turf, were marginally quicker at Sha Tin. As he began to analyze the Sunday card, his pen marked the pages with question marks, exclamation points, and numbers. It was a process that would continue until he was physically at the track and almost right up to post time. It amazed him that, no matter how often he read a race’s form, he always found a new nuance to consider.
It had been Fong who introduced Uncle to horse racing. For Fong it was just another form of gambling, but to Uncle each race was a mathematical puzzle that had to be dissected and understood. It was his judgement against the oddsmakers, against the betting public, and there was nothing more satisfying than handicapping a race correctly.
As was his habit, he took a preliminary look at all the races and made his initial assessment. Unusually, though, his mind wandered several times and he found himself staring blankly out the window onto the street below. The events of the day in Shenzhen had shaken him. Not so much the loss of Peng and Lau; he hardly knew Lau, Peng had never been a friend, but the two men must have been aware that their behaviour carried risks. What bothered him most and what kept creeping into his mind was the reaction of the Liu family. There had been a touch of panic in Leji’s voice when he asked about the arrangement Uncle had with Peng. And what about Ms. Gao? Uncle tried to remember her manner when she asked him to transfer the cash the gang was holding for the family. She had seemed calm enough, but there had almost been a sense of finality in her request. It was as if she were closing the door on their partnership.
“Shit,” Uncle said and sat up in his chair. He picked up the phone and called Xu.
“Hey, Uncle,” Xu answered.
“Have you spoken to your man in Xiamen?”
“I spoke to him and Tse twice,” Xu said. “All is well in both zones as far as we can tell. No one has been arrested and no one seems particularly concerned or surprised about what’s going on in Shenzhen. According to our zone contacts, Peng has been out of control for quite a while, spending money right, left, and centre. It was bound to draw attention and they’re not shocked that it has.”
“None of them are worried about Peng implicating them?”
“Implicating them in what? They operate completely independently of each other. Peng has no idea about our business arrangements here and, as you know, they’re different than they are in Shenzhen.”
Uncle nodded. Rather than paying for project approval in Xiamen, the gang was putting cash into a numbered company’s Hong Kong bank account every month. “So no worries on your end?” he repeated.
“We aren’t taking anything for granted and we’ll be alert, but so far, so good,” Xu said.
“And Tse feels the same way?”
“Nothing he’s heard from his people in Zhuhai is giving him any concern.”
“I should call him.”
“He thought you might, but he told me he’ll be out for most of the night.”
“Then I’ll call him in the morning,” Uncle said, and hesitated.
“Are you okay, boss?” Xu asked, always sensitive to Uncle’s moods.
“I’m not pleased with the Liu family’s reaction to what happened today. I can’t stop thinking about it,” Uncle said. “They’ve made a point of stressing how much our relationship depends on trust, but I sense that our definitions of trust are quite different. We value trust because in tough times it can offer protection. I can’t shake the feeling that the family has a more pragmatic attitude.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I can’t help thinking that their form of trust is somewhat less binding. I can imagine it changing depending on the circumstances,” Uncle said. “Bluntly, I have my doubts that these are people we can count on in a difficult situation.”
“What does this mean for our business with them?”
“Right now it means nothing until the dust settles and we know where we are with the PLA,” Uncle said. “But once things calm down, we need to talk about how we move with the Lius. We have too much capital tied up in projects with them to become hostages to their whims.”
Xu was the one person within the gang structure whom Uncle felt comfortable sharing his concerns with. Xu never overreacted; he understood that just because Uncle was talking about something didn’t mean change was imminent. “We are making a lot of money with them, though, and the only people listed as owners of those warehouses are us.”
“Both things to be considered when the time is right,” Uncle said. “Now listen to me, if you get wind of a problem emerging in Xiamen, I want you on the first plane for Hong Kong out of there.”
“You can count on that.”
“Good. Let’s stay in touch even more than usual,” said Uncle, and then put down the phone.
He looked at his bottle of beer. It was empty. Three down and three to go, he thought. Even with the racing form to distract him, it was going to be a long night. As he got up to walk to the fridge, the phone rang. He turned back and picked up the phone, expecting it to be Xu. Instead he heard Wang’s worried voice.
“Boss, we have a problem. That fucker Wu has been at it again,” Wang said.
“What’s he doing?” Uncle asked.
“Tai Wai has been selling drugs out of a massage parlour in Fanling about a kilometre from our offices. One of our forty-niners heard a rumour about it this morning and went to check. He called me an hour ago to confirm it was there and that it had been dealt with. He and a Blue Lantern shut it down.”
“How long had it been open?”
“The woman who owns the parlour said they’ve been using her place on and off for a couple of weeks.”
“You said you knew this an hour ago. Why didn’t you call me then?”
“I wanted to wait until our men got back from the hospital.”
“Our men were hurt?”
“No, the opposite. Ho — the forty-niner — and the Blue Lantern laid a beating on the two guys from Tai Wai who were working in the parlour. Ho sw
ears they were provoked and acting in self-defence. The bad news is that the Blue Lantern has quite a temper and appears to have lost control. The guy he was hitting is in rough shape, which is why they took him to the hospital.”
“How rough?”
“They were afraid he was going to die before they got him there. He didn’t, but he’s in intensive care and the doctors don’t sound positive about his recovery.”
“What about the other man?”
“He was put in a taxi and told to get his ass back to Tai Wai.”
“So Wu will already know what happened.”
“I think we can take that for granted,” Wang said. “Do you think he’ll retaliate right away?”
Uncle shook his head. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Not more than a minute later he put a fresh bottle of beer on his table and slid into the red leather chair. “I didn’t need this tonight,” Uncle said.
“We don’t need it anytime, but we weren’t the ones sneaking into someone else’s territory to peddle drugs.”
“Knowing Wu, he’ll be on the phone telling the other Mountain Masters that two of his men were in Fanling visiting a sick aunt when they were ambushed by our men and beaten almost to death,” Uncle said. “He’ll twist and turn it so that however he decides to respond will appear to be justified.”
“So you think he’ll retaliate?”
“I don’t know, but to be safe you should keep as many men on the street tonight as you can,” Uncle said. “In the meantime, I’ll start calling Mountain Masters to give them our side of the story. They all know my position on drugs, and most of them are aware that I’ve been saying no to Wu’s requests to sell in our territory.”
“Let’s just hope that guy doesn’t die,” Wang said.
“Indeed, that would complicate things,” Uncle said. “By the way, what’s the name of this Blue Lantern who lost his head?”