by Ian Hamilton
Wang was sitting at a round table near the rear of the restaurant with two men who Chow knew to be forty-niners. Wang faced the entrance and saw Chow as soon as he walked through the door. He raised an eyebrow and frowned when he saw Chow heading towards him.
“What brings you out so late?” Wang asked.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Privately?”
“Please.”
“You guys can leave,” Wang said to his men. “Check on Song. He’s at the Double Head Massage Parlour.”
“Double Head . . . That’s an odd name, and one that’s new to me,” Chow said as the men rose.
“It opened just last week. The guy who owns it thinks he’s funny. He says his girls are specialists in double massage — you know, first the big head and then the little head,” he said, pointing to his groin.
“Charming,” Chow said, taking a seat and waving down the waiter. “San Miguel, please.”
“I’ll have another as well,” Wang said, and then looked at Chow. “This is Wednesday. I’m surprised that Gao’s accident was enough to keep you away from Happy Valley.”
“I was there. I left early.”
“What prompted that?” Wang asked, his frown returning.
“Wait a minute,” Chow said, as he saw the waiter approaching the table. The man put down two bottles of beer and left. Chow picked his up and drained almost half of it in one gulp.
Wang stared at him across the table. “I’m guessing it was something unsettling. I haven’t seen you guzzle beer like that in years.”
“Unsettling is definitely the right word,” Chow said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “At the track I met a senior guy from one of the Hong Kong gangs. He told me that Gao’s death was no accident. He was targeted.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Wang shouted. Then he lowered his head and his voice. “I didn’t want to believe it.”
“There’s more,” Chow said. “Those rumours you mentioned about other gangs having an interest in us are likely a lot more than rumours. The guy also said that Gao’s death was organized by one of the gangs in the Territories. He said the same gang is preparing to make a move against us. Weakening our leadership by getting rid of Gao was the first step in its plan.”
“Who is this guy who told you?”
“I can’t go there,” Chow said. “I promised him I won’t disclose his name or what gang he’s from, so please don’t ask me any more questions like that.”
“But you know this guy and you trust him?”
“Yes, on both counts,” Chow said. “His meeting me at the track wasn’t a coincidence. He was sent there specifically for that purpose by his boss, his Mountain Master.”
Wang drank from his beer and then slammed the bottle down on the table with a bang. “Uncle, I’d really appreciate a name. Give me a clue — I won’t disclose it.”
“Sorry. I gave my word.”
“You and your goddamn word,” Wang said.
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think knowing who my source is would help anyway,” Chow said. “He wouldn’t tell me which gang they think is responsible for Gao’s death.”
“Why not?”
“Well, although they believe they know which one it is, they’re not completely certain. And aside from that, he said his boss doesn’t want to get involved, even indirectly, with a war in the Territories. In fact, he said the reason he was telling me this stuff was that his boss hopes we can find a way to prevent trouble between ourselves and the other gang.”
“Except we don’t know who the other gang is.”
“I guess they figure we’re smart enough to find out.”
“We’d better be,” Wang said.
“Do you have any idea at all who it might be?”
“It could be any one of four or maybe five. They all have the same stupid mentality. They think the only way to expand their business is to grab someone else’s rather than building their own,” Wang said. “But what I don’t quite get is why this Hong Kong boss is so keen to prevent trouble out here. What does it matter to him what goes on in the Territories?”
“He says that when two gangs start fighting, the cops don’t differentiate — a triad is a triad. They go after all the gangs. Shit that hits the fan in the Territories smears everyone in Kowloon and Hong Kong.”
“There’s a lot of truth in that, and it does kind of explain why they wanted to let us know. But why did they go to you and not Ma? He talked to nearly every Mountain Master earlier today, so there was plenty of opportunity.”
“They wanted any communication to remain confidential. They don’t want anyone to know they’re passing information to us. They don’t want to be seen as taking sides.”
“But to repeat, why didn’t they tell Ma?”
“They don’t think he is sufficiently discreet.”
“But he’s the Mountain Master.”
“Acting Mountain Master.”
“Right now there isn’t any difference,” Wang said. “When do you plan to tell him about this?”
“I don’t. I thought it over and decided you’re the better choice.”
“He would disagree with that.”
“I have to do what I think is right.”
“There you go again doing what you think is right.”
“I know I might be a pain in the ass, but that’s how it is. If Ma was told about this, what do you think he’d do?”
“What do you think he’d do?”
“He’d start calling all the bosses in Hong Kong to find out who knew what. That would only make him look foolish, and it wouldn’t do my reputation any good if he spoke to the boss who wanted the information passed along to us. He would also, I’m sure, contact the bosses in the Territories and start asking more questions. Aside from making us look weak and even stupider, it would give whoever’s coming after us a heads-up.”
Wang sighed. “I have to admit, all of that is possible.”
“Which is why I’m not telling him anything, and why I don’t want you to say anything either.”
“Which leaves us doing what?”
“Before I answer that, let me ask you a question,” Chow said. “Assuming everything I’ve told you is true, when do you think another gang might decide to move against us?”
“Are you talking about timing?”
“Yes. When would be the optimum time?”
“I don’t know when exactly, but I have to believe they’d wait until Gao is buried.”
“Why would they wait until then?”
“First, they wouldn’t want people to connect them to his death. Second, over the next three days there is going to be a steady parade of Mountain Masters and other senior triads coming to Fanling. They wouldn’t do anything to interfere with that or focus undue attention on the visitors. I mean, they’d be stupid to piss off ten or fifteen Mountain Masters. Third, they must know that we’re on high alert. If they’re going to strike, I’m sure they’d prefer to do it when we’ve started to relax and let down our guard.”
“I agree with you,” Chow said. “And if that’s the case, it gives us some time to find out who has made us their target. With all those people coming and going, it should be easy enough to talk to some of them without drawing attention to ourselves. Someone is bound to have heard something, and given the right approach — and the fact that they’re at Gao’s funeral — a few may feel inclined to help us. If we don’t have any luck, I can always go back to my source and press him a bit harder for some names.”
“Would you do that?”
“I would.”
“Then I’m okay with that as a short-term plan. But in the meantime, I’ll keep the men on high alert. I’ll also make some discreet phone calls and I may even visit a few friends. Who knows, maybe they’ll be more forthcoming face to
face,” Wang said. “But listen to me, Uncle, sooner or later we will have to talk to Ma.”
“Not if Ren is Mountain Master.”
“You won’t let go of that, will you.”
“No, I won’t. And be truthful with me — you have to admit that Ren would be a stronger leader, maybe even strong enough to make that other gang think twice about coming at us.”
“I can’t deny that.”
“So, at the same time as we’re trying to find out who killed Gao, I’m going to be working to get Ren elected on Monday,” Chow said. “Can I count on your support?”
“Uncle, I told you already that I’ve avoided gang politics for my entire life. As much as I like you, I’m not going to let you drag me into this,” Wang said. “I supported your position on having an election because I think it is the right thing to do. And I may very well vote for Ren, but I won’t discuss it with my men and I certainly would never tell them who I’m supporting or who I think they should vote for. That’s all you’re going to get from me.”
( 11 )
Chow slept badly. His conversation with Sammy Wing kept coming back to him, and he was finding it difficult to accept the idea that one gang would deliberately kill the leader of another. It was abhorrent — one brother killing another. He knew his attitude wasn’t shared by everyone in the Hung Society, particularly in and around Hong Kong. When gangs grew in size, they needed more income. As Wang had pointed out, one way — the easiest way — to get it was to grab someone else’s turf. There hadn’t been an all-out war between gangs on any scale for years, but there had been frequent skirmishes that captured a lot of public and police attention. Several times civilians had been caught in the middle and were killed or wounded. Whenever that happened, all hell broke loose and the cops hammered the gangs for weeks.
He was desperate to know who had killed Gao, but unlike Wang, Chow didn’t have many ongoing relationships with the neighbouring gangs, or at least he didn’t have relationships with the parts of those gangs that could orchestrate a killing or would attempt to take over someone else’s territory. The White Paper Fan was an administrator — a combination of accountant, lawyer, and banker; most of the others, unlike him, had never been on the street or involved in any kind of violence. He talked to those colleagues often. As he tossed and turned, he ran their names through his head, trying to remember if any of them had acted strangely recently or given any hint that something might be amiss. Nothing came to mind.
After being awake for hours, Chow finally got out of bed at five, made an instant coffee, sat in his leather chair, and lit the first cigarette of the day with his old Zippo lighter. He looked out onto the street. It was raining, and the dimly lit sidewalks shone in front of the familiar shops and restaurants. Like the apartment, those businesses were part of his daily life. This was his home, and the idea that someone might try to take away any part of it enraged him. Calm down, he told himself. Wang is a smart, tough, experienced operator. He won’t let anyone just walk in and take what they want.
That thought of Wang triggered another worry that had kept him awake — Ren’s election. Chow had been counting on more than Wang’s individual support; he had hoped that the Red Pole would actively recruit his men to support Ren. But Wang had shrewdly anticipated Chow’s plan and rejected the idea before he could even ask. That was disappointing, since more men reported to Wang than anyone else. Now it would be up to Xu and Fong to work on those they knew. It certainly made getting Ren elected more difficult. During the night, as he’d thought about it, Chow couldn’t help but wonder if he’d bitten off more than he could chew.
He held the Zippo in his hand, its faded and chipped black crackle as familiar to him as his own skin. The memories it invoked were as fresh and painful as if they were five minutes old. He rubbed his thumb over the lighter’s surface, slid from the chair, and walked to the window, where his own reflection stared back at him.
“Gui-San, I think I’ve been rash,” he said aloud. “You know it isn’t like me to hurry things . . . Remember how long it took for me to tell you that I loved you? But yesterday I was rash. I don’t know another word to describe it. Instead of taking the time to think about the situation in which I found myself, I reacted quickly and made a decision that may not have been wise. I’ve dug a little hole for myself. Not a big hole, but a hole just the same. Now I’ve got to find a way out of it. Say a little prayer for me. Help me through this, as you’ve helped me through so many other things.”
He put the lighter on the table and lit a second cigarette with the dying embers of the first. When it was finished, he returned to his chair. He tried to focus on the day ahead, but thoughts of Gao and Ren and Ma kept intruding. He closed his eyes, willing them away. The next thing he was aware of was his phone ringing, and he realized he’d nodded off. He picked up the phone, wiping sleep from his eyes with the other hand.
“Uncle, is everything okay?” Xu asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“I’m at the office. It’s past nine o’clock. You’re usually here before anyone else. I was worried.”
“I had a late night. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“I probably won’t be here when you arrive, and neither will Fong,” Xu said. “Pang told the office staff about the election on Monday and gave each of us a list of names that we’re to contact. He made it clear that everyone is expected to vote and he wants that message passed along in person — and he wants us to be firm.”
“He’s taking this seriously. That’s a good thing, no?”
“I suppose so, but I’ve got a list of thirty brothers, and I don’t know how long it will take for me to track them all down.”
“Are some of them the same men you had on your list?”
“Maybe ten.”
“And how about Fong?”
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it, but I can’t imagine it will be much different.”
“Just do the best you can. If you can’t talk to the men on your Ren list today, there’s still three days before the election.”
“Except Pang also told us we’re expected to be at the funeral home for the wake tomorrow and the service on Saturday. I’m not sure it would be appropriate, or appreciated, for us to talk up the election of a new Mountain Master at the funeral of our old one.”
“That’s a good point, but it still leaves a couple of evenings and Sunday.”
“Uncle, we’ll do what we can.”
“I know you will. Keep me updated,” Chow said, and ended the call.
He lit yet another cigarette and took a deep drag. Pang’s taking up that much of Fong and Xu’s time was something he hadn’t counted on. What else could go wrong? As that thought crossed his mind, the phone rang again. He reached for it almost hesitantly. “Wei,” he said.
“This is Ma. I tried to reach you at the office and was told you haven’t arrived yet.”
“I went to Happy Valley last night. I got back late,” Chow said, irritated at the suggestion that he was somehow neglecting his responsibilities. In his five years working with Gao, he’d never been spoken to that way.
“Don’t you think it would be better if we all stayed in Fanling for at least the next few days? There’s a lot going on.”
“Sure,” Chow said, biting his tongue again.
“There’s the wake, the funeral, the funeral dinner . . . And I know there’ll be at least ten Mountain Masters in attendance. We can’t expect Gao’s family to manage everything by themselves,” Ma said. “You’re close to the son, Chi, aren’t you.”
“We’re old friends.”
“Well, then, I want you to volunteer your services at the funeral home tomorrow and Saturday. I’m sure the family will be glad of the assistance.”
“I’ll be pleased to give them whatever help they require.”
“Good. I’ll let Chi and Mrs. Gao know,”
Ma said. “Now, where do we stand with the flowers and the bands?”
“The flowers have been ordered and will be delivered tomorrow morning before the wake begins, and I’ve booked three funeral bands.”
“Great work. With all the company we’re going to have, we need to put our best foot forward.”
Chow shook his head. The Mountain Masters were coming to Fanling to honour a colleague they’d respected, not to look at flowers or listen to bands. There would be enough of both even if Fanling did nothing. “We won’t be embarrassed,” he said.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“I’ll be at the office in about half an hour. I can’t ignore our ongoing business,” he said.
“Of course not.”
“While I’m there, I’ll call the florist and the bands to confirm our arrangements and I’ll contact Chi.”
“Call me if there are any problems or any changes.”
“I will.”
“And Uncle, you might not know this, but Pang has set the election in motion for Monday. He’s scheduled it for between noon and eight at our offices,” Ma said. “He’s taking it seriously, as am I. In fact, he’s trying to make sure that every brother is told in person about the time and place, and he’s insisting that every one of them show up to vote or have a solid reason for not being able to.”
“Yes, I was told. I have to say that I’m really pleased with the approach he and you are taking.”
“Well, I said to him, ‘Pang, if we have to have an election, let’s make it a good one. Let’s run it in a way that leaves no room for complaining about the results.’”