by Ian Hamilton
“Who’s there?” Ren asked.
“It’s Chow.”
“Uncle, come in.”
Ren sat at a desk that was empty except for a large plate of chicken fried rice and a mug of coffee. “What a horrible morning,” he said, remaining seated. “It’s hard to believe.”
Chow took a chair across from him. “I just told the men that the cops have classified it as an accident.”
“That’s good to hear, I guess, though it won’t make any fucking difference to Gao. Just goes to prove that you can’t take anything for granted,” Ren said. “Ma spoke to the son after you did, and he’s at the wife’s house with him now. We might know about the funeral arrangements by later today.”
“Gao was widely respected. I’m sure there’ll be a big turnout.”
“Again, what does that matter to him now?” Ren said, then looked at his rice. “Do you want something to eat? I have enough of this for both of us.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Ren eyed him. “How tall are you?”
“Five foot five.”
“And how much do you weigh?”
“About a hundred and thirty pounds.”
“I’m only four inches taller but I have twice your weight. You could eat for a month straight and still look like a chopstick next to me.”
“I eat a lot, but I burn it off.”
“All you do is push paper. How does that burn off energy?”
“I worry a lot.”
“We’ve all noticed how much you worry. Some people don’t believe it’s all that necessary.”
“Planning is an important part of my job,” Chow said. “I can’t plan without thinking, and I can’t think without worrying, particularly given the line of work we’re in.”
Ren shovelled rice into his mouth as his eyes — small slits beneath broad, thick brows — focused on Chow. “I guess Gao’s accident is going to throw a wrench into your latest plans.”
“It’s a bit too soon to tell.”
“If you say so,” Ren said with a smile that suggested otherwise. “I’ll admit this, though — you’ve done a hell of a job.”
“Thanks.”
“I remember when He Wenyan wanted you to become his assistant White Paper Fan. Everyone, including Gao, thought it was too soon to give you that kind of responsibility, but he fought like hell to get you. His judgement was right. When he died, you didn’t miss a beat.”
“He trained me well.”
“I don’t know about that, but he did trust you, and for that matter, so did Gao.”
“Gao trusted me to do my job.”
“Nothing more than that? He didn’t share confidences?”
“He treated me as the numbers man, not a confidant.”
“And how do you think Ma is going to treat you?”
“Assuming that Ma becomes Mountain Master . . .”
Ren lifted his head from his plate to look at him. “He is the next in line. The job is his by right.”
“Well, if he does take the position, I would expect him to be less progressive and more traditional than Gao, so I won’t expect very much, if any, support,” Chow said. “I also wouldn’t expect him to be able to communicate as well with the other gangs, and that would not be a positive thing for us.”
“Never mind dealing with the other gangs. I think Ma would do okay. Maybe not as good as Gao, but okay,” Ren said, waving a hand. “When it comes to being less progressive, I’m guessing you mean that he won’t support your idea that we stop taking protection money and instead move into night markets.”
“That’s just a continuation of his opposition to most new ideas,” Chow said. “He was just as opposed to my suggestions about our gambling operations.”
“I know the numbers. So does Ma, and if you ask him now, he’ll probably say he liked your plan but was just testing it.”
“I’ve tried to get him to look at the numbers for the night-market business. He says he doesn’t want to waste his time, that I can make numbers do whatever I want.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“But why would I? Do you think that six months from now I want Ma, you, and the rest of the executive pissed off at me because I manipulated numbers to get what I wanted? How would that be good for my future, not to mention my health?”
Ren turned his back on Chow and looked out to the street. “So, what is it you want from me?” he asked. “If you want me to convince Ma to go along with the night markets, I think that is something I could bring myself to try.”
“I’m pleased that you would consider doing it, but that’s not why I’m talking to you like this.”
Ren swung his chair around so he was facing Chow again. “Uncle, I don’t like to play games. You are here for a reason. Be blunt. Tell me what the hell you’re trying to say.”
“Okay,” Chow said, and leaned forward. “I think you should be our next Mountain Master.”
Ren blinked, stared at him, and then said, “How did you come up with that fucking idea?”
“I started thinking about it at the hospital when I knew Gao was dead, and the idea firmed up on the car ride back from Sha Tin.”
“You were with Wang, right?”
“I was.”
“Did you tell him what you were thinking?”
“I did.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he didn’t want to get involved in gang politics, and that if I pushed this idea I could end up making enemies of both you and Ma.”
“Yet here you are pushing your idea.”
“Only because, in good conscience, I don’t believe I have any other choice. I don’t think Ma is smart enough or tough enough to be Mountain Master. These are difficult and challenging times. We can’t afford to take such a large step backwards in terms of leadership.”
“You keep forgetting the fact that the position is Ma’s by right.”
“No, it isn’t,” Chow said. “Our rules call for an election. One man, one vote, and his choice written on a blank secret ballot.”
“Yes, those are the rules, but there hasn’t been an election in years.”
“That doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be one now, and that we shouldn’t have the right to vote for whomever we choose.”
Ren shook his head. “Listen, Uncle, even if I shared some of your opinions about Ma — and I’m not saying I do — I would be reluctant to get into that kind of contest. It could divide the gang. It could make an enemy of Ma.”
“You don’t have to get into anything officially. All you’d have to do is not deny your interest,” Chow said. “Leave the politicking to us. We’d lobby like hell for you, and I don’t think it would be that hard. You are respected, and many members would be happy to vote for you if they knew you were willing to serve.”
“Who is this ‘us’ that would be doing the politicking?”
“Fong, Xu, and me. And I think you could count on Wang sending some support your way,” Chow said.
“Xu is your assistant, but Fong works with the Straw Sandal.”
“Fong is first and foremost my friend. He’s loyal to me.”
Ren ran a thick index finger down the side of his nose. “As much as I don’t like to admit it, you’ve given me something to think about.”
“If Ma has called the four-o’clock meeting for us to confirm him as Mountain Master, we don’t have much more time for thinking.”
“What if I told you now that I’m not interested in becoming Mountain Master?”
“I’d be disappointed, but I would still make the argument at the meeting that an election should be called.”
“What if I told you I was interested and I ended up winning?” Ren said. “What would you want in return?”
“My night markets, Pang named Vanguard in your pla
ce, and Fong promoted to Straw Sandal.”
“You rattled that off very quickly.”
“I’ve been sitting here thinking about it.”
“How did you know I was going to ask?”
“It would have been irresponsible of me not to be prepared for that possibility.”
“Irresponsible is not a word I’ve heard used to describe you.”
Chow stood up. “Will you let me know what you decide?”
“If the subject of an election is raised at the meeting, you’ll find out then, at the same time as everyone else.”
( 7 )
Chow left the office at three-thirty to walk by himself to the Golden Pagoda. After meeting with Ren, he had gone into his office to be alone with his thoughts.
Xu had knocked and stuck his head around the door. “Sorry, Xu, I don’t have time to chat,” Chow told him. “There’s an executive meeting at four and I have to get ready for it.” This consisted of mentally preparing his arguments in favour of an election and assessing how each of his colleagues would react to them. When he finished, he felt no more certain about the outcome than when he’d started.
He was a few hundred metres from the restaurant when he heard a familiar voice call out. Chow turned and saw Wang walking in his direction.
“I’ll go the rest of the way with you,” Wang said.
“Any developments since I saw you last?” Chow said.
“No. How about with you? Did you talk to Ren?”
“I did.”
“How did he react?”
“He didn’t ask me to leave his office. I guess you could say he’s still thinking it over.”
“Or he’s already gone to Ma and dropped a load of shit on you.”
“Even if he did, I don’t care.”
When they were near the restaurant, Wang stepped to one side. “You go in first. I don’t want people getting the wrong idea about us.”
Chow thought that was ridiculous but nodded. He stepped inside the restaurant and mentioned Ma’s name to the host.
“Your group is in our private dining room,” the man said, lowering his head respectfully.
Chow followed him to the rear of the restaurant, where they encountered a closed black wooden door painted with a golden pagoda. The host knocked and opened the door. Ma, Ren, Pang, and Yu looked up from a round table.
“We’re drinking beer, but if you want anything stronger, just order it,” Ma said. “I thought, given the circumstances, that we should keep this as casual as possible. Gao would have preferred it this way. As you all know, he wasn’t a man for formalities.”
“San Miguel will do just fine,” Chow said to the host, and then sat down beside Pang.
“When do you want us to start serving food?” the host asked.
“As soon as our last colleague arrives,” Ma said, and turned to the others. “Since this is the beginning of a period of mourning for Gao’s family, and as we all consider ourselves part of that family and they a part of ours, I’ve ordered rice, vegetables, and lo han jai. I hope no one minds going without meat.”
“I’m sure that’s fine with everyone,” Wang said, appearing in the doorway.
“And what will sir have to drink?” the host said.
“Beer — San Miguel.”
Wang walked to the table and took the seat next to Yu. “This has been quite a shock,” he said.
“How are things on the streets?” Yu asked.
“Quiet, but I have as many men as I could get out there.”
“I thought the police ruled it an accident,” Ren said.
“I know, but we can’t be too careful.”
“Exactly right,” Ma said. “But before we start talking about that kind of business, I want to say that I spoke with Gao’s son, Chi, about half an hour ago. The family has decided to use the Hop Sing Funeral Home in Fanling. The service and burial will take place this Saturday. Friday will be a day of mourning and visitations.”
“That’s very fast,” Pang said.
“It seems that Gao planned for this eventuality. The family is doing what he wanted.”
The door opened again and two servers entered, carrying trays of beer and food.
“Just leave everything on the table,” Ma said.
When the servers left, everyone reached for a beer.
Ma raised his bottle. “To the memory of Gao, a good friend and Mountain Master.” The others repeated his toast and drank.
“I know we’re devastated by the suddenness of this loss. Gao should have been with us for many more years,” Ma said. “But he’s gone, and he would have expected us to support each other. I want to say that I’ve been very pleased by the support I received this morning, particularly from the Mountain Masters in Hong Kong and the Territories.”
“Those are big shoes you have to fill,” Yu said. “But I’m sure you’re up to it.”
“Thanks,” Ma said. “Now, most of the Mountain Masters made it clear that they’ll be coming to the funeral, and we should assume that they will each be sending a band. It will be one hell of a procession when the body is taken from the funeral home to the cemetery, and I don’t want us to be outdone. I want to book three bands to represent us.”
“It seems strange to be talking about funeral bands,” Yu said.
“Perhaps, but this is our new reality.”
“Speaking of new, when will you officially become our new Mountain Master?” Pang asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that, and I’ve decided I should wait until after the funeral before formally taking the job,” Ma said. “It doesn’t seem right to do it before Gao is at rest.”
The table went silent. Chow noticed that both Ren and Wang were looking down at their plates.
“What do you mean by ‘taking the job’?” Chow asked.
“I meant assume, of course,” Ma said.
“As I remember our rules, the Mountain Master is supposed to be chosen by election. The brothers have the right to vote for their new leader.”
“Technically, Uncle, you are correct,” Yu said. “But it has become standard — almost a tradition — for the Deputy to step right into the job.”
“And why should we bother with all that election nonsense?” Pang said. “There was no vote held when Gao became Mountain Master. He was the Deputy and rightfully rose into the position. Why should this be any different?”
Silence descended again. After an awkward moment, Chow said, “It has been more than ten years since Gao took over. We have new members who think differently about how things should be done, and I’m one of them. I escaped China and those fucking Communists and was blessed to become part of this family. When you accepted me, one of the things I cherished most was the rights I was given. And one of those is my right to vote for who should be my Mountain Master. I can understand why some of you think it isn’t necessary and may be a waste of time, but I promise you, it would be a mistake to ignore what some of the younger members think is an essential right.”
“Are you suggesting that Ma shouldn’t become Mountain Master?” Pang said.
“Of course not. I can’t imagine that having an election will change anything,” Chow said. “All I’m trying to say is that we shouldn’t take the younger members for granted. Holding an election can only strengthen their commitment to the society and to Ma.”
“Uncle does make a point worthy of consideration,” Ren said.
Chow saw Wang glance at Ren and thought he detected a slight smile.
“If there was an election, how would it be conducted?” Wang asked. “Pang, you are the ceremonies officer. Does this fall under your jurisdiction?”
“It does, and it isn’t complicated. Our rules require a secret ballot. We currently have 162 initiated members and they all have the right to vote,” Pang said. “There would be 162
slips of paper numbered between 1 and 162 but otherwise left blank. Each member would register with me or my assistant. If he is on our membership list, he writes his choice for Mountain Master on a slip and then puts the slip into a sealed box. The slips are counted at the end, and the man with the most votes becomes Mountain Master.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Wang said.
“Simple and virtually foolproof.”
“How long would the voting take?” Chow asked.
“There’s no set rule, but I think one day — a twelve-hour period — would be reasonable,” Pang said.
“Aside from you and your assistant, who else is permitted to supervise the vote?”
“Every initiated member has the right to watch the votes being cast and counted.”
“Uncle, are you insinuating that someone might try to cheat?” Yu said.
“I’m just trying to understand the procedure, since I’ve never experienced it.”
Pang shook his head. “What I don’t get is why you think you need to experience it in the first place.”
“Uncle has made his opinions and his reasons for them quite clear. We should all take a little time to think,” Ma said, and pointed at the food. “Lunch is here. Let’s eat. We’ll talk again when we’re finished.”
They ate quietly, each man deliberately focusing on his food. Chow imagined that the others, like him, were thinking about how the conversation might develop when they stopped eating. Ma’s reaction had been more moderate than he’d expected, but maybe he was using Pang to establish his claim. Ren’s intervention had been encouraging without indicating any firm position. Similarly, Wang’s questions about the nuts and bolts of the election process were hardly a promise of support. Still, it seemed to him that an election was more of a possibility than he’d thought when the meeting began.
They emptied the plates of food and several more beers were consumed. When the chopsticks were finally laid down, Ma looked around the table. “Okay, you’ve had some time to think. What does everyone have to say on the subject of an election?”
“I don’t see any need,” Pang said quickly.
“I don’t either,” Yu said. “All it would do is delay Ma’s appointment and cause short-term confusion.”