Chapter 24
“Come, come,” Qu ‘Dalao’ Tzeng said as he waved to his grandson Tian, “Walk with an old man to the chawu.”
Tian crossed the polished floor and took his grandfather’s arm. They passed the office’s huge sunken sitting area and went through a pair of automatic sliding doors built into a large round teak archway. A second set of doors slid away and they stepped down into a small tearoom. The rear wall of the tearoom had the same floor-to-ceiling curved glass as the lobby, and gave the same amazing view of Kowloon City Park below. The tearoom was just large enough to fit the padded booths that flanked a small center table carved from a solid piece of teak. It was a traditionally decorated, intimate space and a stark contrast to the sleek modern lines of the rest of Dalao’s cavernous office. Indirect lighting above the booths automatically rose to a comfortable level as they entered.
Tian wondered how many people had their last cup of tea in the cozy little tearoom.
Even though he wore thick glasses and comfortable old man’s clothes, Tian could feel Dalao was still a strong man. He certainly didn’t need any help walking.
Tian recalled sitting in the dark at the top of the stairs with Harley when they were kids, listening as their parents played board games and drank in the parlor below. The adults would reminisce about their days in the Kowloon slum, and most of the stories centered on Dalao’s acts of bravery and barbarism. If half of the stories were accurate, Dalao in his prime would have been a tough opponent, even for Tian.
The tall manservant appeared again as they sat, and Dalao asked him to bring tea and some Oreo cookies.
“Don’t tell your grandmother,” Dalao said as the man floated away, “She’d kick me in the balls.”
Tian smiled and nodded, and then the grandfather and grandson stared at each other for a long moment over the teak table.
Tian looked away and watched the late strolling pedestrians walking under the lights of the park far below. With his head turned he realized his tattoo was facing the old man, and he could feel the gang patriarch’s eyes studying him. He hadn’t intended to be deliberately disrespectful, but he didn’t turn back, either.
Dalao finally said, “I noticed your paintings appeared in your room again. Have you returned home?”
“No sir. I just needed a place to store them for a while,” Tian said, “I hope that isn’t a bother to you.” Tian didn’t think Dalao had ever seen his apartment studio above his mother’s warehouse, but his grandfather’s spies were even better than Harley’s.
“Of course not, you are welcome in my home any time, grandson,” Dalao said.
The tall man arrived with tea and the plate of black and white cookies. As Dalao thanked him the man fixed Tian with a genuine smile, and held his eyes for a moment while he filled their small cups. His grandfather’s ancient bodyguard had always been kind to Tian, even when he and Harley had made fun of the man when they were children. The young cousins thought they were being quiet about it of course, not only because the man was afforded as much respect as his grandfather but they were also terrified of him. He was an underground legend in the family. Dalao’s stories of gaining power and respect were shared openly, and did nothing for Tian. But his bodyguard’s more graphic tales were whispered, and they always included a component of righting a wrong or defending the family that appealed to Tian. He came to appreciate those stories as he started to learn the craft of self-defense, and understood them even more as he mastered the art of lethality. He would have loved to spend just one night stalking next to this deadly man through the cramped and dangerous slums of fifty years ago.
The old assassin was also the only person Tian saw disobey his grandfather, albeit quietly. He was the one family member that did not shun Tian after he got his disgraceful tattoo. The man had silently moved all of Tian’s things out of his parent’s house and into the small apartment at the warehouse after his father’s funeral. He was also the one who brought tea, fruit, and soup as Tian nursed his first and only hangover. Those acts of pure kindness weren’t lost on Tian, and he knew they must have been in direct opposition to Dalao’s wishes.
As the man bent to collect the tray he leaned into the light and Tian noticed the network of scars on his face and hands, including a circular white scar on his thin neck. It roughly outlined the clear triangle gang tattoo below his ear. The man caught Tian’s stare, and smiled again before he disappeared after a slight bow.
“Tian, your mother was a very special woman, as were all of my children,” Dalao said, “I am deeply saddened by her passing.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tian said, “I know she was very fond of you.”
Dalao nodded slightly.
After a pause he said, “Let us speak honestly to one another, shall we?” He waited for Tian to nod before he continued, “Let me start by saying I appreciate how many times you’ve protected our family. You are the one they call when a difficult task presents itself, and you have saved the lives of every one of your cousins waiting in that lobby, several times, without hesitation. If not for you I am confident we would have had four more memorials to attend in the past. This has not been missed by me, Tian, even though I appeared to have turned a blind eye to it. I apologize for not mentioning it to you before today.”
“Thank you, Dalao,” Tian said.
“I also know of your feelings,” Dalao said, “I don’t just mean that disgrace on your neck. I truly understand your conflicts. I’ve had them myself from time to time. All of us have.” He picked up one of the small cups and said, “Tian, you have a unique ability to balance the good in you with the amazing gift for mayhem you’ve been blessed with. Your cousins, many of our friends, and many more of our adversaries tell me you’re the best they’ve ever seen. And some of those men had seen me in my youth.”
The old man took a long, slow sip of tea as he looked at his strong grandson. He said, “To deny one’s gifts is perhaps the worst sin of all.”
“I embrace my talents, grandfather, and at the same time I hate inflicting hurt on another person,” Tian said, “I have become what I am so I can avoid killing. The ones I love live in a violent world of your creation. I realize I am not totally an innocent in that world, and it is my burden, but my gifts often allow me to stop violence before it even begins. However, sadly, sometimes I cannot.”
“I understand, young man,” Dalao said, “Perhaps you don’t fully recognize how often I have avoided conflict through the application of superior strength and knowledge. The very things you despise, I despise, and they are also bad for business.”
Dalao split open a cookie and dunked it into his tea. Tian did the same.
“You are taking a break from your mysterious fiancee?” Dalao asked, looking at Tian over his glasses.
“Yes,” Tian said, “Temporarily.”
They sat for a moment, drinking tea and dunking cookies.
“I have a proposition for you, Tian,” Dalao finally said, “And since we’re being honest you should know it was your grandmother’s doing. She forced it upon me. It’s not how I would have handled this, but she’s one tough old bitch and I do what I’m told. If you repeat that I’ll have you killed.”
They both laughed. Tian knew he wasn’t kidding, she was a tough old bitch, and he would have him killed.
“I want you to go to America with your cousins,” Dalao said, “I am sending them to find out what happened to your mother and your aunt Mina, and your poor little brother Liko. I need them to do this, but your grandmother won’t let them leave unless you go as well.”
Tian shook his head and started to speak but Dalao raised his hand and said, “Hear me out, grandson. Do this for me, for our family, and in return when you get back you can decide what you want your involvement in this family to be, with my full support. If you chose to take on the responsibilities that I think are your destiny, fantastic. If you chose to run off and start a commune, so be it. I won’t interfere, and this family will support you. We’ll play w
hatever role in your life you desire.”
Tian looked down into the city. From thirty stories up he could make out the bright red sign of the tailor shop his father was killed behind. He could also see the ferry landing where they found Harley’s father. He looked across the office, to the wall leading to the lobby where his four cousins were waiting.
He remembered Harley telling him the deaths of his family had been at the hands of a gang in Massachusetts.
Tian knew little of the west, or of his family’s dealings there. Dalao had sent Tian’s mother and his brother Liko to America after his father’s death. They were sent to help Harley’s mom, but Tian and Harley both suspected Dalao also just wanted them out of his sight for a while.
Tian had no contact with his brother and mother after they left. He hadn’t been spending much time at home even before his dad was killed, and his brother and mother hadn’t talked to him at all after he got his tattoo. They wouldn’t even look at him.
Harley constantly badgered Tian about going with him to the states for a visit. He said his family often asked about him and it was time to patch things up, and getting together with them away from Hong Kong might be better. Tian let Harley talk him into a short trip last spring so they could meet up with Liko, Mina, and Jia in New York.
Harley arranged for a private table at a nice restaurant. As they entered the curtained room Liko smiled and nodded, but when his mother and aunt saw Tian still had the lightning bolt tattoo they rose, turned on their heels, and left the restaurant without a word. Liko shrugged, got up, and followed them out. Harley was more upset than Tian. He chased after them but came back to the table alone after only a moment.
It turned out to be the last time Tian saw them alive. A few weeks after that his brother disappeared, and then his aunt was murdered, and his mom was killed a few months later. Apparently all of them had been slaughtered by the same family.
Harley had talked Tian into a night out on the town before he flew home. It started out normal enough, with drinks and his cousin getting shot down by pretty girls. The night ended with Tian helping his cousin steal a truck load of small white drums from some research facility’s storage room. It was clear the heist wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, and Tian had wondered how long he had been part of the plan. He also felt the crew was a man short, and he assumed Liko had been the intended driver that night.
Tian shook his head as he looked down into his tea cup, and then in the swirling black he saw Du Wen’s face with rain and tears running down her cheeks.
“I agree, grandfather,” Tian said as he looked up and extended his hand to the old man.
Dalao took it, and held it.
He smiled at Tian and then said to the tall man who had silently appeared next to their table again, “We’re ready.”
Dalao said to Tian, “Come, there is someone I want you to meet.”
They stepped from the tea room as the wall on the far side of the lobby slid away and Tian’s cousins entered.
Jixi was leading a massive Caucasian man with bushy eyebrows and a red complexion by the arm. He was even taller and wider than Boba, and Jixi barely came up to his elbow.
Grandfather shook the man’s hand and bowed slightly, and after they spoke for a moment he turned and waved Tian forward.
“This is my very talented grandson,” Dalao said, “Tian, please say hello to an old friend, Semion Mogevich.”
Chapter 25
“Yes,” Fisho said, “I knew your father.”
“Well that’s a shame, he was an asshole,” the chubby man standing in front of them said. His equally round brother laughed so hard he choked on his mouthful of chicken.
More loud shouts came from inside the tavern. The side door opened behind them and the bar man joined the four men in the alley. They were standing in a pool of dim light from a single bare bulb above the door that had a swarm of flies and moths attacking it.
The bar man nodded to Fisho as he pulled the first brother aside. They spoke quickly and quietly, and then the brother punched the wooden side of the building with a fat fist. He gave the bar man heated instructions before shoving him back into the tavern.
The red-faced brother brushed past Fisho and Fulfort and leaned in close to whisper in his brother’s ear.
The brother with the chicken leg nodded, licked his fingers, and wiped them on a small towel slung over his shoulder. “Come with us,” he said.
Fisho and his son followed the men as they waddled up a stairway sandwiched between the bar and the two story concrete building next door.
At the top of the stairs chicken-leg brother held open a door and they were hit by a wall of cold air as they stepped into an office. It had been years since Fisho had been in a room with air conditioning. He couldn’t remember if his son had ever experienced it, but from the look on his face he thought not.
“I’m Banji,” the man with the chicken leg said, “That piece of useless dung over there is my brother Bawa.”
Bawa nodded at the men. He had crossed the office to a window on the opposite wall with the air conditioner. He stood with his arms up, flapping his sweat ringed shirt in the cool blowing air.
Banji sat down with a groan behind his metal desk as the chair creaked loudly. He motioned for Fulfort and Fisho to sit.
Fisho looked around the dim office and saw it was divided into two parts. The front office had the two worn metal desks with a collection of ripped chairs. There were animal skin rugs on the floor and dozens of pictures on the walls. Some of the pictures were framed and showed men holding rifles and standing over dead animals, other pictures were torn from magazines and were of naked women, and some were adverts for beer or cigarettes, with scantily clad women. Two ceiling fans rotated slowly overhead and made competing ticking noises. One of the fans was above the back part of the office were there were stacks of animal parts. There were tusks, horns, hides, feet, fangs, jaws, and several metal shelves with an odd assortment of glass jars. Most of them were filled with white parts floating in brown fluid.
Fisho had recognized the men as soon as he’d seen them. They looked just like their father. Both of the men were short, heavy, and had identical bald heads with curly black goatees, and just like their dad they wore bright printed shirts and lots of gold chains.
Each also wore a dozen gold rings. Every fat finger sported bands of different sizes and shapes. Some were inset with stones and others were engraved with animals. The fattest ones were almost three centimeters thick. The rings forced their fingers apart and Fisho noticed Banji could barely close his pudgy fist enough to hold the small chicken leg bone.
“So, Fisho, right? You have some experience poaching?” Banji asked.
“Yes sir,” Fisho said, “As I mentioned to your bar man, I went on a few hunts in the delta for your father years ago. Black lechwe, kudu, nyala. Cape buffalo a few times.”
“Well they’re all gone from here now,” Bawa said from across the room, “Old man, you look like you’re about to fall over. You sure you can still fucking hunt? It’s a long, hard trip.” He had turned around and was holding out the waistband of his shorts, chilling his large bottom.
Fisho noticed his son’s legs were shaking, and covered in goose bumps. For the first time in the young man’s life he was in an office, and freezing.
“We are Kaonde, sir,” Fisho said, “We are hunters from the day we’re born until we’re sung into the grave. Yes, I can most certainly still hunt, sir.” He nodded confidently to his son, and slapped his hand firmly down on the young man’s knee, giving it a friendly shake. He was trying to stop the tapping from his son’s quaking feet.
“And what have you been doing for the last twenty years?” Banji asked.
“Farming, sir,” Fisho replied.
The twins laughed.
Banji poked around on his plate, pushing away chicken bones. He picked up a salted boiled egg and sucked on it. He noticed Fulfort staring and said, “What’s fucking wrong with you, boy, you mok
o-moko?”
“No sir,” Fulfort said, fighting his chattering teeth, “I’m quiet, like a lion.”
The twins laughed again. Bawa dragged his desk chair next to his brother and sat down heavily. He leaned his thick elbows on the desk and said, “Okay boys, here’s the deal. Your timing is impeccable. My top guy is leaving tomorrow and the man I was going to send with him has just now fallen ill. You go with him and do what he says for two weeks. You come back. Five percent. I was only going to send one guy with him, so you two split the five percent.”
“Thank you for your time, sir,” Fisho said as he stood up. Fulfort also stood up, with a confused look on his face.
“Alright Shaka Zulu, sit down,” Banji said, waving the men down, “So you’ve sat on that side of the desk before. We got it.” He popped the egg in his mouth, licked his fingers and looked at his brother. Mumbling around his mouthful he said, “Out of respect for your having run with dad, ten percent.”
“Each” Fisho said, “And passage back to Sihatto, near the Kafue, upon our return.”
He stuck his hand out.
Bawa and Banji looked at the old man’s hand. They laughed again and Banji shook it with the tips of his moist, fat fingers. Fulfort stuck out his hand and the brothers were still laughing as Bawa shook it.
“Do me a favor young man,” Bawa said, “Run down to the bar and tell my man to send up an asshole named Ayo.”
Fisho nodded to his son, and Fulfort walked quickly to the door and disappeared down the stairs.
“Close the door, you stupid…,” Bawa said, but the young man was already gone.
Fisho walked to the office door and closed it. “Sorry,” he said.
“So you worked with our father?” Bawa asked, “He was killed when we were pretty young. What do you remember?”
Let Slip the Pups of War: Spot and Smudge - Book Three Page 11