by Cole Reid
The head of the OCU made a public apology before resigning. The smuggler with the idea, Martin Ma Woo, was promoted. The incident was viewed by both sides as a win for the Triads. The loser however, wasn’t the Hong Kong Police Force, but the Moon Luck itself. All Triads considered the hotel as No Man’s Land and cut all ties; the hotel had outlived its use. Members of the OCU, never mentioned the name Moon Luck. It was questioned whether an emergency call from the hotel would trigger a response or would the hotel be left to suffer as punishment. Regardless of what anyone wanted, the Moon Luck suffered. After the police raid, no one in high society or organized crime would set foot inside. But Old Hong Kong was a city of market forces. When high society and organized crime shunned the Moon Luck Hotel, low society and low-slung criminals embraced it. The lack of police presence and underworld shootouts made Moon Luck the best place in Hong Kong for prostitution—a business with too many personnel issues for the Triads. The Moon Luck was the laughing stock of Hong Kong for the better part of a decade. But there was still money to be made, so the Moon Luck never went out of business. The Moon Luck’s decades-long status as leftovers made it the best place to hide from the Triads—the last place they might think to look.
The beige taxi pulled up in front of the Moon Luck Hotel at 4:28pm. Li Xing tipped the driver and grabbed his duffel and shoulder bag. Xiaoyu hesitated before getting out of the taxi. The boy had never been to a big city, but even he knew all the city’s parts weren’t created equal. Looking out the window down the street, Xiaoyu guessed he was in one of the city’s less-equal parts. He eventually got out of the cab and stood outside looking up at the Moon Luck. It was four wide stories of monument to 1950’s Hong Kong. The building was canvassed with dingy white concrete stucco. Square windows with glass brick showed but obscured the stairwell. The second floor and up had balconies. The balconies were long, built for two rooms and divided by red-brick partitions. The hotel wasn’t so much dilapidated as it was vintage and sassy, given the area. The Moon Luck held its own in the middle of Kwun Tong District, just east of Yue Man Square. The hotel had survived its early years and lived to tell its story; it told the story. It was in the thick of Hong Kong sea fair, almost equidistant between Victoria Harbour and Junk Bay. In the glory days of Hong Kong smuggling, it was the perfect drop spot to write your ticket in and out of the bay. A smuggler could check-in his load at the hotel under the name ‘Rose Lam’ and wait to collect his pay. A paid smuggler could make his exit on land through Kowloon or the New Territories. He could return to sea and head out through the harbor or the bay. He could even cross over onto Hong Kong Island and hold up there until the next job. ‘Rose’ would be picked up and shipped to her rightful owner. The smuggler would call the usual number and be instructed where to collect his next load.
The Moon Luck had lost its status, but had always been about its business. Two heavily made up women sat on a padded wooden bench in the lobby against the far wall. They were overdressed for a humid day. Their faces were too heavily made up to guess their age and their bodies were bent, but not out of shape. Both chain-smoked. Li Xing ignored both women, walking straight to the front desk. Xiaoyu slowed down and stared at them. A small boy from a small place wouldn’t say they were beautiful, but he had never seen women who spent so much time on themselves. Neither his sister nor his grandmother wore makeup. He was told his mother didn’t wear it. There was something about made-up women that made him think twice. It was the illusion. Xiaoyu told himself the women represented the city itself; it was all an illusion. One that people were supposed to fall for; Xiaoyu knew his uncle had fallen for it. That was why he was able to walk passed the two women, without staring. The fallen weren’t proud of themselves; they ignored their own. But they took pride in the temptation of others; adding to their ranks was their primary satisfaction. The woman with pink lipstick puffed her cigarette, then turned to whisper to the woman with orange lipstick. After whispers, both turned to look at Xiaoyu, both laughing out loud. Xiaoyu looked at both women fiercely and stomped his left foot against the hotel’s faded floor tiles. The two women got the message; the laughing stopped and the smoking restarted.
The hotel foyer had a modesty that was once decadent. The ceiling tiles, once white, had the appearance of being soaked in tea. The faux wood front desk, which had looked more wood than faux, now looked more faux than wood. The glue had given up over the years and let the simulated wood paneling come loose at the bottom. An axe made of plastic and painted gold rested ceremoniously on the front desk—a business tradition. The axe was incrusted with acrylic jewels—red, blue, and green. The hotel had not updated to an electronic registry, making check-in the same for forty years. The name Li Xing gave was written into a ledger book by hand. He was intended to leave some form of personal ID with the thirty-something man at the front desk. His ID would be left in a unit cubby hole with number corresponding to the room he was given. Li Xing skipped this step by handing the man a 100 Hong Kong dollar bill. The keys all hung on hooks with numbers written above. Li Xing was given the key that hung on hook 305.
The carpet in the halls, uneasy to clean, was newer than in other historic Hong Kong hotels. The walls were papered with a golden-yellow lotus leaf pattern—reminiscent of a non-Hong Kong autumn. The carpet mimicked the walls, as if some of the golden leaves had fallen into a dark almost-black lake. The halls had been lit by Victorian-inspired chandeliers. The chandeliers were removed with the onslaught of violence in the late 1950’s. The Victorian Era, which had inspired peace for Britain, seemed to do the opposite for the Moon Luck. Many of the hotel’s chandeliers were damaged on purpose; a downed chandelier, with its seeds of broken glass, made a good impromptu bombardment. Because bullets flew fast, gunslingers had to act fast and shooting down a chandelier was easy to think of. Hotel management had tried to replace the chandeliers, at first. Once it was apparent that violence at the Moon Luck was no longer a non-occurrence, management removed all chandeliers in favor of studio lighting. The bulbs were set in the ceiling itself and neither hindered nor helped any fight. The bulbs had to be replaced more often, but were damaged less often. The Moon Luck had struck a balance. The bulbs were on the right and left sides of the ceiling, leaving the middle of the hallway gray—dark mixing with light. Li Xing walked perfectly down the gray middle, while Xiaoyu walked slightly to the right-hand side, closer to the light.
The door to room 305 had to be pulled toward the lock before the key would turn, which seemed to frustrate Li Xing. Xiaoyu walked into the room silently behind his uncle. Li Xing put both his bags down and sat on the bed, staring at the wall. Xiaoyu stood near the door with his backpack still on. As he stood, he remembered that he had to use the restroom for an hour or more, so he went into the bathroom and closed the door. In the bathroom, Xiaoyu could hear Li Xing’s voice talking and pausing. He was alternating between speaking and listening. Xiaoyu realized his uncle was on the phone with someone, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. He avoided flushing the toilet to listen more intently. Xiaoyu realized he couldn’t understand because Li Xing was speaking Cantonese. He tried to understand pieces of the conversation, but his instinct overrode his education. Instead of trying to find Cantonese words that were similar to Mandarin, he started interpreting the conversation en masse. Li Xing was doing a lot of explaining and apologizing, based on his fast rate of speech and repetition. He spoke at a high octave, which Xiaoyu interpreted as an attempt not to appear challenging. His normal speaking voice was lower, more masculine—a muffled roar. He repeated the word okay, more often than would befit a normal conversation. Xiaoyu guessed everything wasn’t okay. Almost as soon as he heard his uncle stop speaking, he heard a knock on the door.
“Hurry up. We have to go,” said Li Xing—Mandarin this time.
“Go where?” asked Xiaoyu.
“We have to go meet someone,” said Li Xing.
“Who is it?” asked Xiaoyu.
“Someone important. You came here to make mo
ney,” said Li Xing, “He knows everything about it.”
Li Xing’s bribe was big enough to convince Xiaoyu to come out of the bathroom. Li Xing gave Xiaoyu a man-look then put his sunglasses on before venturing out into the hallway.
“Can I bring my backpack?” asked Xiaoyu.
“Better leave it here,” said Li Xing. Xiaoyu ran to a corner and let his backpack drop. He fished around in the front pocket and removed a single piece of paper. He stuffed the paper in his pants pocket. Li Xing passed the front desk and let the key drop on the desk without any unnecessary movements. He walked past the two women seated on their bench, with Xiaoyu closely behind.
“See ya,” said one of the women, as the other one laughed.
Li Xing made his way toward Yue Man Square. There was a bus station at the square, which would make it easier to find a taxi. It was easier for Li Xing to partially lie to himself than to do so entirely. It was true there would be more taxis circling the square, but a year before, he would have stood outside the hotel and let the taxis come to him. Now, he didn’t want any member of the Triad families to spot him outside the Moon Luck. They would know where he was staying. He was more concerned with survivability than practicality, so he walked to the square. The square was bustling with urban noise from engine blocks to voice boxes. He lit up a finger from the east end of the square and a red taxi responded. Li Xing jumped in the car on the passenger side and Xiaoyu sat behind him in the rear. The fare took over forty minutes. Li Xing had given imprecise directions and demanded irregular turns to make his ride unique. He was willing to pay more for a fare, which could have lasted only twenty-five minutes. He made sure his route was lonely enough to be safe. The red taxi pulled in front of The Wesley Hong Kong.
A doorman wearing an embroidered white coat opened the passenger door to the taxi. Li Xing stepped out of the car with an air of authority, and sunglasses on. Xiaoyu exited the taxi in a more cautious manner; his head jerked unnaturally in multiple directions. Li Xing had already paid the cab driver, so he didn’t look back as he walked toward the revolving door of the club. The outside was stately but not grandiose, ideating what was on the inside. The Wesley winked at its decadence with the ivy plants growing around the exterior—imports from the Canary Islands. Other than the ivy, it had the look of something belonging in a museum. The Roman-inspired design was leftovers from the early days of British Colonialism and despite the city, the building was noticeably clean. The inside of The Wesley wasn’t as subdued as the outside—it wasn’t supposed to be. Li Xing and Xiaoyu immediately noticed the difference between walking on finger-spun oriental rugs and concrete pavement. Xiaoyu knew the inside of The Wesley was something he was unlikely to see again, so he took it all in. The ceilings were high with chandeliers hanging low; so low that an eight year-old boy thought he would be able to jump to touch them when he was older—he was mistaken. The walls were paneled with mirrors tall enough to reach the second floor. The grand entrance of The Wesley was designed to make private members understand why they were private members. The private members club, being a British invention, was slow to catch on in the early 1900’s. It was seen as too British for any Hong Kong-sired Chinese. After the Mainland revolution in 1949, Hong Kongers saw the clubs as a symbol of their gateway identity. It was a testament to Hong Kong’s market economy. The market system, unlike the communist one, sorted. It divided society into gold-silver, brass-bronze and aluminum-copper hues. The Mainland was covered with cellophane; it saw every color the same.
The Wesley was a symbol of the multitudes of the British Empire—it was meant to be. Named after John Wesley, who emphasized taking care of society’s people, The Wesley was a play on words—taking care of society people. Li Xing and Xiaoyu marched straight toward the main staircase, opposite the main doors. The steps were topped with polished brown marble with a dark Indian Kashan Vase carpet bolted down over each step. The railings were solid oak. Li Xing sprinted up the steps, as if instructed. Xiaoyu took his time, thinking each step out loud, gripping the solid railing. The boy had never ascended a staircase. His actions were deliberate, not passive. The handsome surroundings were not lost on the boy, like they were on his uncle. Xiaoyu couldn’t be sure if his uncle had visited the club before. Li Xing didn’t move like he knew where he was going, he moved like he had been told exactly where to go. Xiaoyu followed him, instinctively keeping a distance. At the top of the staircase, Li Xing turned left and walked quickly. Xiaoyu finished the remaining stairs, trying not to lose his uncle. Xiaoyu noticed the amount of people staring at him. Practically everyone looked at him with a bit of surprise or disdain. The club had an unspoken rule about children. Although there wasn’t an outright ban, everyone understood that everyone understood it wasn’t an atmosphere for children. Xiaoyu understood as well.
Li Xing’s pace slowed as he came through the wooden doors of the restaurant. The restaurant was dark, but big enough for half the club’s guest at any given time—small enough to fit inside the building, except the veranda. There were five men occupying one of the four tables that beckoned Li Xing when he moved toward the sunlit veranda. Li Xing shook hands with all of them, making sure he got all of them. No one stood up for convenience. Li Xing had to circle the table to make sure he shook every right hand at the table. There was an open seat directly across from the man who was clearly older than the others. His hair was black in the narrowest of places; the rest was solid white. His dark eyes were beady and didn’t move—sandbagged by the clumps underneath. The left side of his face was damaged by moles, like shrapnel, that broke his skin’s texture. His lips were as dark as living flesh could be, painted by decades of cigarette smoke. He was smoking. He motioned for Li Xing to sit down. Xiaoyu hung back in the dark restaurant looking out at the men on the veranda.
“Good to have you here,” said the old man.
“Thank you, Uncle,” said Li Xing, “Your directions were exact.”
“You haven’t lost your touch,” said the old man.
“Thank you, Uncle,” said Li Xing.
“I’m not sure that was a compliment,” said the old man.
“Anyway I can get them,” said Li Xing.
“You probably won’t get many more,” said the old man, “Deni’s been looking for you, you know that.”
“Does he know I’m in town?” asked Li Xing.
“If he does, not by me, but you can’t hide from him here. He’ll find you sooner or later,” said the old man.
“That’s why I came back, to save him the trouble,” said Li Xing.
“You think he will appreciate that?” asked the old man.
“He doesn’t appreciate much, if anything,” said Li Xing.
“Money is what he appreciates,” said the old man.
“I have the money,” said Li Xing.
“And you’re just going to give it back to him?” said the old man.
“Yes,” said Li Xing.
“Then why take it in the first place?” asked the old man.
“It was escrow, money that was left over from two loads,” said Li Xing.
“That wasn’t the question,” said the old man, “I asked why you took it.”
“We weren’t doing anything with it, it just sat there, we didn’t even process it or try to have it cleaned or nothing like that,” said Li Xing.
“So you took it to do what?” asked the old man.
“To clean it up,” said Li Xing, “It was just stashed in a meat freezer at the hotel. I thought Deni had forgotten about it. If it was found there’d be questions. We could at least clean it and put it in an account to get interest if not reinvest in more business.”
“And you did all that thinking, without saying a word to Deni?” asked the old man. Li Xing nodded.
“And you cleaned the money?” asked the old man. Li Xing shook his head.
“So why are we talking? You took that money away for almost four months and just now bring it back,” said the old man.
“I brought
it all back,” said Li Xing.
“That’s not the point,” said the old man.
“I brought something else,” said Li Xing.
“I don’t believe your story, but it doesn’t matter,” said the old man, “It matters if Deni will believe you.”
“Uncle Woo, you tell me what to do,” said Li Xing.
“I’m telling you to go to Deni,” said Uncle Woo. A long pause came over both men, elder and younger. Uncle Woo sat back in his chair and looked at one of the other men seated at his table. This man was graying but not yet gray. Although younger than Uncle Woo, the man had his trust. The man shook his head. Uncle Woo trusted the man and his instincts, both being former smugglers. Uncle Woo was Martin Ma Woo, the smuggler who thought of the symbolic Rule of Eight and the false raid that embarrassed the Hong Kong Police Force. He was a career Triad and the most respected. His adaptability and ability to identify paradigm shifts kept his branch of the Triad family one step ahead of the others and the police. Fifty years in Hong Kong, had elevated him to patriarch of one family branch. It wasn’t thought to be the most powerful branch nor the most brutal, but the Moon Dragons branch had long been respected as the most organized and the least sloppy. A testament to the yin symbol which their family represented. Yin was mundane and feminine, not boastful, proud or masculine. Any Triad shootout would most likely not involve a member of the Moon Dragons branch. The Moon Dragons opted for vigilance over violence and business over brutality. The Moon Dragons, more than any other branch, had the ability to render setbacks irrelevant. No matter what, they would always find a way to return to business as usual and they were the most profitable.