by Ian Hamilton
“The men will appreciate your openness.”
“That was my thinking.”
Chow butted out his cigarette. “I should get going.”
“I may see you at the office.”
Chow put the phone back on its cradle. He didn’t know whether he was pissed off about Ma’s management style or pleased about the serious way he was treating the election. But then, maybe Ma thought the greater the number of votes, the better his chance winning. “What the hell,” Chow said, and headed to the bathroom to shave and shower.
He reached the office at ten-fifteen and found it empty except for Pang and one of his junior clerks. He went into his private office, closed the door, and looked at the stack of paper on his desk. Xu would have organized it to a point, but Chow took final responsibility for squaring the accounts from the previous day’s business. There was nothing exciting or pleasurable about the work, but it was absolutely necessary because the results represented the lifeblood of the gang. Without proper accounting and cash-flow management, nothing would operate it as it should. One reason why the gang’s gambling operations were so successful was that they were underpinned by a strong financial structure. No bet was too large for them to take, and no winnings were too large that the debt wouldn’t be immediately honoured. The result was that gamblers came from all over the Territories, and even from Hong Kong, to place their bets in Fanling.
The two busiest days of the week were Wednesday and Sunday, obviously because of the racing at Happy Valley on those days. The Hong Kong Jockey Club rigorously controlled all aspects of racing in the colony, and the government generally supported the club without question. One result was that wagering on horse racing was the only form of gambling that was not illegal in Hong Kong. And even then, the only permitted bets on horses were those made by people who were physically at the track on race day. When full to capacity — as it always was — Happy Valley could hold about fifty thousand people. By Chow’s calculation, that meant that twice a week, hundreds of thousands of would-be bettors were being denied the chance to gamble. His goal was to accommodate as many of them as he could through Fanling’s large, comfortable betting shops. In the two years since he’d started operating the shops, he had discovered two things: he couldn’t build enough of them and he couldn’t make them big enough.
Even though he shared the same passion for horse racing as his customers, Chow had never placed a bet in one of the gang’s shops. He didn’t think it looked right for gang members to play in places they owned and operated. Gao hadn’t made that a policy, and some members such as Fong did bet there, but Chow continued to make his twice-weekly trip to Happy Valley, where he could be as manic as he wanted without worrying about keeping up appearances.
He smiled as he went through the numbers from the night before. Revenues kept climbing, from week to week and month to month. Gao used to predict they’d eventually hit a brick wall, but Chow had great faith in the fervour for horse racing — and for every other kind of gambling — in the average Hong Konger. His main fear was that one day the Hong Kong Jockey Club would realize just how much money they were losing through their restrictive betting practices and open their own off-track betting shops. But so far there was no indication they would. Another concern had been that the shops’ success would attract the attention of rival gangs, gangs who would prefer to muscle in on Fanling’s operations rather than build their own. Although that possibility had been discussed at various meetings, Chow hadn’t taken it seriously, until now.
It took several hours to finalize the accounts. Normally he would have given them to Xu, but since he wasn’t in the office, Chow put the paperwork in his desk drawer and locked it. He was hungry and it was past his usual lunch hour, but he intended to go to Dong’s Kitchen and knew he could be tied up there for a while. So he reached for the phone and called Gao’s house. A servant said that neither Mrs. Gao nor Chi was at home. Chow told her to say he’d call back. Then he phoned the florist. The wreaths were on schedule to be delivered to the Hop Sing Funeral Home the following morning. He called the three bands and was told they’d be in Fanling Saturday morning. With those obligations met, he left the office.
Dong’s was on San Wan Road, near the centre of Fanling, about a half-hour’s walk from the office. However, Chow’s appetite was getting the best of him, so he took a cab. The restaurant served Cantonese cuisine and had all-day dim sum. Chow was primed for the house specialty, chicken feet marinated in a secret sauce that attacked his taste buds with varying layers of sweetness, sourness, and the sharp heat of some unknown chili. But as good as the food was, it wasn’t the main reason he was going there.
On Wednesdays and Sundays Dong’s became one of the gang’s betting shops. The operation was managed by Tian Longwei, Chow’s triad mentor, sponsor, and oldest friend. Tian was semi-retired; he worked only on race days and for a few hours in the afternoon on Thursdays and Sundays.
Chow hadn’t thought of Tian as particularly old when they were first introduced by Tam, Chow’s Wuhan friend and Tian’s cousin. He had been in his late forties or early fifties then, but the ten years since hadn’t been kind to him. His grey-streaked hair was now completely white, his face had deep wrinkles, and he bent over when he walked. He had arthritis and was in constant pain, although some days were worse than others. On this Thursday when he saw Chow, Tian immediately stood up and waved; it was plainly one of his better days.
“What brings the White Paper Fan here? Are my numbers off?” he said when Chow reached his table.
“I came to see an old friend . . . and I had a yearning for Dong’s chicken feet.”
“It was kind of you to mention me in the same sentence as Dong’s chicken feet,” Tian said, laughing.
The men shook hands and sat down. Chow noticed the bottle of San Miguel in front of Tian. “Are you supposed to be drinking with the medication you’re on?”
“I’m having a good day. What’s the point of having one if you can’t take advantage of it?”
“Have you eaten?”
“No, but I was about to. Are you really going to join me?”
“I am. What’s the point of coming to Dong’s if you don’t eat chicken feet?”
Tian raised an arm in the air and a young woman hurried to their table. “Bring a beer for my friend,” he said, “and an order of chicken feet, har gow, siu mai, and fried octopus.”
“Two orders of chicken feet,” Chow said. “And some sticky rice.”
“You’re going to have to eat most of that,” Tian said when the server left. “I’ll do the best I can, but like most things in my life now, the gap between what I think I can do and what I can actually do is huge.”
“But you never miss a day here, and your numbers are terrific. You’re still one of the best operators we have.”
“I’m working because if I have to stay home, my wife will drive me crazy with advice about what to eat, drink, do. She’s obsessed with my health, and she goes on like she graduated from medical school rather than grade school,” he said. “Running this shop is a snap, because everything is above board. The gamblers love it here — nice surroundings, lots of TVs, we post and honour the Happy Valley odds. They’re treated with respect when they lose and paid promptly when they win. They’ll be our customers for life.”
“Or until the Hong Kong Jockey Club opens their own off-track sites.”
“Do you think they’ll ever do that?”
“They would be stupid not to, but they’re so comfortable with their monopoly that I guess they don’t see any urgency,” Chow said.
“Speaking of stupid, Fong came here last night.”
“Did you let him bet?”
“He tried, but I turned him away. He’s a terrible gambler, way more obsessed than most.”
“I’m worried about his gambling.”
“It’s like a fever, a sickness. Sometimes it pass
es,” Tian said. “But is that why you came here, to eat chicken feet and ask me about Fong?”
“No, I came to see you. And for the chicken feet.”
“Here they come,” Tian said.
The server put a cold San Miguel in front of Chow and then two steaming baskets of chicken feet on the table. The feet were a deep red, almost maroon. Chow had never seen them that colour anywhere else. The two men toasted each other, drank some beer, and simultaneously reached into the baskets containing the feet.
Chow gently placed the toes in his mouth and sucked. Meat and skin came away from bone and the flavour exploded in his mouth. Did Dong use vinegar? If he did, what kind? Did he add sugar or some sweet sauce? There was a hint of soy and perhaps some sesame oil, but the chili was now dominating. It was powerful but not sharp, and it washed over him rather than singling out the taste buds. He finished his first foot, spat the bones onto a plate, and took another. As they finished the first basket, the rest of their food arrived.
Twenty minutes later, they put down their chopsticks. There was no food left on the table, and Chow had eaten most of it.
Tian drained the last of his beer and pointed to Chow’s empty bottle. “You want another one, Uncle?”
“No, I’m good.”
Tian smiled and leaned forward. “So, when are you going to tell me why you came to see me?”
“I was wondering if you’ve heard from Tam recently. It must be three years since he and I talked last.”
“He’s happy, his business is going well, and he and his wife have two kids,” Tian said. “I must give him credit; he was smart enough to realize he isn’t cut out for our life. How long did he last? I don’t think it was more than two months.”
“Something like that.”
“But you — you took to this life like you were born into it.”
“This is the second time I’ve said this in two days, but for me it was like finding a family. I had nothing and no one, and you welcomed me.”
Tian spun the beer bottle between the palms of his hands. “I believe you, but I suspect you didn’t come here just for the chicken feet and to talk about the old days.”
“You obviously know about Gao.”
“Yes. That’s all anyone has been talking about.”
“It’s tragic.”
“Of course it is, but not dying in your bed is common in our line of work.”
Chow looked at Tian. “What do you mean by that?”
“Simply that we are in a dangerous profession, although, truthfully, it used to be worse. Things are a bit calmer now. I mean, Gao is dead, but the word is he was accidently hit by a van. In the old days, twenty or thirty years ago, it would have been more likely that he would be shot or knifed by a fellow triad.”
“I’m glad those days have passed,” Chow said. “But however Gao died, he’s gone, and we need to replace him.”
“I know, and I also know we’re having an election. Pang called me this morning to give me a heads-up.”
“He called you directly? He didn’t send Xu or one of his people to talk to you?”
“I’ve been around long enough that I guess he thought I warranted a call directly from him.”
“Good. That saves me an explanation.”
“Is that why you’re here, about the election?”
“That’s part of it, though I don’t want you discounting our friendship or the chicken feet as a motive.”
“I won’t discount them. I just want you to give me credit for being able to handle three reasons at the same time.”
“Sorry.”
“Momentai,” Tian said. “Now, what’s the story with the election?”
“How did you react when Pang told you we’re having one?”
“I was surprised, and I have to say that many of the brothers will be as well. The assumption was that Ma would become Mountain Master.”
“The rules state that there should be an election.”
“Except that an election is rarely called. If the Deputy is capable, he almost always gets appointed.”
“Maybe some brothers don’t think Ma is capable.”
“Is that your position?”
“You’re as quick to the point as ever,” Chow said. “I’ll be equally blunt.”
“I would expect nothing else from someone who is like a nephew to me. You know you can always say what you want and not worry about it leaving this table.”
“I know,” said Chow, but he hesitated as he struggled to find the right words. “I believe Ma would be a disaster. No, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I think he would try to maintain the status quo, but the problem is that maintaining the status quo means standing still, and standing still means you get run over.”
“That’s young man’s talk.”
“I’m young. What else would you expect from me?”
“I wasn’t being critical. Old men just don’t like change; we like things as they are. But young men see only the flaws in what you call the status quo that old men prefer to ignore.”
“Ma isn’t that old, but he certainly doesn’t like change.”
“He’s old enough. I’ve known him a long time, and I can tell you that even when he was younger, he didn’t have much imagination or interest in change.”
“That’s why I can’t vote for him to be Mountain Master.”
“Who else is there?”
“Ren.”
“Has he put his name forward?” Tian said, his face impassive.
“He’s letting it stand, and if he’s elected, he’ll take the position.”
“So he’s actively going after it?”
“No. He doesn’t want to risk creating an open rift with Ma.”
“How do you know this?”
“I discussed it with him. In fact, I encouraged him to let his name stand. He agreed, but he made it clear that he doesn’t want to be seen as taking on Ma directly.”
“You don’t think that’s a bit underhanded?”
“It isn’t ideal, I admit, but I also understand why he wants to maintain gang unity.”
Tian shook his head. “It isn’t my place to question your judgement, but what makes you think Ren would be any better than Ma? He’s about the same age, maybe even older.”
“For one thing, Ren has been supportive of the changes I’ve wanted to make. Ma has been dead set against them.”
“You got the changes you wanted because Gao supported you. No one else mattered. Gao always put the interests of the gang first. I’ve never known Ren to care about any interests other than his own.”
“If he becomes Mountain Master, I believe he’s capable of putting the gang’s interests first.”
“You can believe all you want, but I wouldn’t count on it,” Tian said. “Ren will go along with you as long as it doesn’t cost him anything. The moment it becomes awkward or difficult, he’ll change course. You can’t trust him the way you did Gao.”
Chow stared at Tian. He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I think I’d like another beer. Can you handle one more?” he asked.
“Sure, but if I fall over you have to make sure I get home.”
“You can count on that,” Chow said, and motioned to the server to bring two beers.
“I don’t mean to sound completely negative about Ren,” Tian said, as if he realized his opinion had surprised Chow. “But I’ve been a triad since I was a teenager, and I’ve had five Mountain Masters, only one of whom was elected, and I was in my twenties then. Of the five, two — including Gao — were really good, two were so-so, and one was terrible. But good, bad, or indifferent, you can’t get rid of them once they take the position, unless you shoot them. And me, I don’t fancy ten years or more of either Ren or Ma.”
“They are the two most senior officers. They are our only options.”
>
“No, they’re not. The brothers can vote for anyone they want.”
“Who else is there?”
“You,” Tian said, pointing at him.
Chow couldn’t believe that Tian was serious, but when he laughed at the suggestion, Tian’s expression remained stolid.
“What’s so funny? Why do you think I’d joke about something this serious?” Tian asked.
“Who would vote for me?”
“All the members who don’t want to vote for Ren or Ma. And I’m sure there are quite a few of them.”
“Tian, thanks for the suggestion, but you know I’m too young.”
“There’s no age restriction for the position of Mountain Master.”
“And I don’t have enough experience to take on that kind of responsibility,” Chow said, surprised at how serious Tian seemed.
“No one is ever fully prepared to do the job, and those who think they are learn quickly enough that they’re not.”
“I’m too junior. I’m only the White Paper Fan.”
“There’s nothing that says a White Paper Fan, or a Straw Sandal, or an Incense Master can’t assume the top job.”
“And I’m not from Fanling, or even Hong Kong. I’m still thought of by some as a mainlander, and that isn’t a compliment,” Chow said, beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“Other members might think that someone who knows a bit about life outside Fanling could be a positive force.”
“Tian, I appreciate the faith you have in me, but I can’t put my name forward,” Chow said. “I’m not ready to make that kind of leap. Besides, I made a commitment to Ren. I was the one who convinced him to stand for the position.”
“I know how much value you put in keeping your word, but this time it may be misplaced. I don’t think Ren is worthy. This gang needs a better leader.”
“I think you’re being too harsh. I’ve worked side by side with him for years now, and I haven’t seen anything that causes me concern.”
“Yes, you were working with him, but remember that Gao was alive and running the gang. He kept everyone in line. The Ren you knew was doing whatever Gao wanted. With Gao dead, the leash is off.”