Fortune

by Ian Hamilton

  “Thank you, Uncle,” Leji said as he took the microphone. “In the blue suit is Wu Shen. He is an assistant to Tao Siju, Minister of Public Security for the People’s Republic of China. Seated next to him is Lin Wenyan, a senior director in the ministry. I want to thank Uncle for inviting us to join you for lunch, and I look forward to speaking to you after we’ve eaten.”

  As Leji sat down, the murmurs returned, in greater number and volume.

  “That was a terrific move,” Fong said to Uncle. “You’ve completely captured their attention. Lunch won’t go fast enough for most of them.”

  Lunch also couldn’t go fast enough for Uncle. He poked at his food, sipped tea, rehearsed his speech in his head, and wondered what Leji might say. Fong, as gregarious as ever, kept trying to engage Lin and Wu in conversation, without much success; all his questions were answered with the briefest of replies. Leji, like Uncle, seemed lost in his own thoughts and ate almost absent-mindedly.

  When the dishes had been cleared, Fong stood up. “My name is Fong. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m the Straw Sandal in Fanling. We’ll start the proceedings in ten minutes. So if any of you need to go to the bathroom or want to go outside for a smoke, I suggest you do it now.”

  “Assuming anyone can get outside,” Leji said to Uncle as Wu, Lin, and Fong left the table. “That was quite a scene out there.”

  “This is an important meeting. People are anxious to see what happens. There are great hopes that we’ll achieve a unity we’ve never had. The fact that so many triads are here shows in real terms that they understand the need for it.”

  “Is that the only reason for the crowd?”

  “Of course.”

  “How much do they know about what was discussed in Shenzhen?”

  “Those outside? Nothing. In this room, my executive team and a few Mountain Masters know, but they don’t know everything.”

  Leji looked at Uncle. “I have to tell you, I’m nervous about today.”

  “So am I.”

  “Really? I’ve never seen you appear anything less than confident.”

  “Some days I have to will myself to be like that. Today is one of those days,” said Uncle. “Tell me, how were your conversations with Beijing?”

  “Productive. I think you’ll like what I have to say. But beyond that, you’ll have to wait — like everyone else,” Leji said, smiling.

  Fong, Wu, and Lin returned to the table, and Uncle saw that the rest of the room was filling up again. Fong waited for several more minutes, until everyone was seated, before he stood up. “I would like to call this meeting to order. Sixteen gangs are represented here, which is a remarkable thing. Now I’d like to turn things over to my Mountain Master, Uncle,” he said.

  Uncle took the microphone from Fong. “Welcome, all of you. This has already been a special day in the history of the Hong Kong triads, and by the time we’re finished, my hope is that it will be one you remember as vividly as the day you took the Thirty-Six Oaths,” he said. “I introduced Liu Leji earlier, and now I’m going to invite him to speak to us again. Before he does, there’s something I want to say. I’ve known Leji and his family for more than ten years. During that time he has always been honest and direct with me. I don’t know what he’s going to say today, but whatever it is, I’ll take him at his word.”

  Leji reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a piece of paper. Then he took the microphone and walked around to the front of the table, so he was clearly visible to everyone in the room.

  “As Uncle said, I am the chief of staff for Liu Huning, the third-ranked member of the Politburo Standing Committee. What he didn’t say is that Liu Huning is my uncle, but in reality he is more like a father to me,” he began. “I am here today to speak on his behalf. I have also been authorized to speak on behalf of Tao Siju, the Minister of Public Security, and he has sent his two associates, Mr. Lin and Mr. Wu, to lend support. Lastly, I am here with the knowledge of Deng Xiaoping. Chairman Deng is officially retired, but he has a voice that is still listened to in Beijing, and he approves of what I’m about to say.”

  The room became so quiet that Uncle was almost afraid to draw a breath. Every eye was locked onto Leji, and he wanted to do nothing that would break that spell.

  “In two years Britain will return Hong Kong to its rightful home, the People’s Republic of China,” Leji continued, his tone neutral. “The terms and conditions for the handover have been clearly delineated, but of course not every subject has been covered. Among those is the question that I imagine matters most to you — what impact will the handover have on Hong Kong’s triads?

  “I understand there has been considerable speculation about this among your community. I’ve also been told that one theory being put forward is that the Chinese government will prosecute triads even more strenuously than the current Hong Kong authorities.” Leji looked slowly around the room, then pointed a finger at his audience. “I am here to tell you that is an absolute lie,” he said, his voice rising. “In fact, the complete opposite is true.”

  He fell silent for several seconds, letting the message sink in, then continued. “That’s why I and my two colleagues from the Ministry of Public Security are here today. We have a message for you, and that message is, we believe the People’s Republic of China and the triad brotherhoods in Hong Kong will be able to co-exist.”

  Uncle saw heads swivel as the triad leaders looked to each other for confirmation of what they had just heard. Zhao, though, stared directly at Uncle, a smile breaking across his face.

  “How, you must be asking yourselves, is this possible?” Leji went on. “I’m going to leave it to Uncle to explain the details. On Wednesday he met with me and Tao Siju, the Minister of Public Security, in Shenzhen. We proposed ways in which the PRC and your triad organizations could co-operate. Uncle heard us out and responded, and then we clarified some fine points. When we were finished, Uncle made it clear that the decision to accept or reject our proposal wasn’t his to make. He said he would have to consult with his brethren — and here you are today.

  “You might ask why we chose to meet with Uncle. The answer is simple and complicated at the same time. The simple part is that my family has known Uncle for more than ten years, and there’s no one in Hong Kong we respect and trust more than him. We knew he’d be thoughtful and honest with us, and that if he believed our proposal had merit, he’d communicate it in the same way to you.

  “The complicated part is that we were told — and Uncle confirmed — that your organization is a loose amalgamation of individual enterprises. That poses a problem for us, because it’s impossible for the government to strike an agreement and then work with ten, twenty, or thirty gangs individually. You need a structure we can work with and a single voice to represent you. We make no demands in terms of the structure or how you organize yourselves to deal with us, but we do insist that the lines of communication be clear and that we can be assured that the person who speaks for you represents your decisions and commitments.

  “Our preference for that single voice is Uncle, a man we know, respect, and trust. But if he isn’t your choice, we will consider the person you put forward. You will determine that. All we insist is that when he speaks to us, he speaks for you all.

  “Lastly,” Leji said, looking down at the paper in his hand, “and notwithstanding everything I’ve told you, we understand there might be doubts about our sincerity. To emphasize just how serious we are, and how committed the most senior levels of our government are, I have been instructed by Tao Siju to read you the following. This is a statement prepared by the Minister, in his own words. He has authorized me to tell you that if you can agree to work with us along the lines we discussed with Uncle, he will make this statement public. It will be sent to every newspaper and media outlet in Hong Kong.”

  Leji stopped, looked around the room, and raised the paper he was holding. H
e began to read from it slowly, emphasizing every word, imbuing them with meaning. “The Minister’s statement reads as follows: Triads are not always gangsters. As long as they are patriotic, as long as they are concerned about Hong Kong’s prosperity and stability, we should treat them with respect, and we should unite with them.”

  Leji turned to Uncle. “What more could you ask from the People’s Republic of China than the Minister of Public Security openly endorsing your continued existence, recognizing your contribution to the economic well-being of this fantastic city, and making a commitment to work with you.” With that, he offered him the microphone.

  The room was silent. Uncle had been caught off guard by Tao’s statement, and evidently so had his colleagues. But it was a welcome change to be surprised like that. He thought for a few seconds about commenting on the statement, and then decided it spoke for itself. Instead he said, “I want to thank Liu Leji, Lin Wenyan, and Wu Shen for joining us today. They’ll be leaving now and heading back to the mainland. We wish them safe travels.”

  He moved closer to Leji and said quietly, “You did very well. I couldn’t have asked for more. You’ll hear from me tonight, one way or another. Judging from the reactions of my colleagues, I think it will be positive. Now let me walk you to your car.”

  The two men, joined by Wu and Lin, started walking towards the restaurant entrance, only to be stopped immediately by Zhao, who stepped in front of Leji with his hand extended. “Thank you for this,” he said. “Today has exceeded my expectations.”

  “I hope we can work together,” Leji said.

  “I’ll do what I can to make that happen,” Zhao said.

  “Me too,” Tse added as he moved next to Zhao and held out his hand to Leji. “I can say with confidence that if your proposal has any substance, Uncle will have the support of the gangs on Hong Kong Island.”

  Sammy Wing and the other Island Mountain Masters had formed a line between Tse and the door leading outside. Beyond them, other Mountain Masters were beginning to queue up.

  “Getting to your limo could take some time,” Uncle said. “It looks like everyone wants to show their appreciation.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Leji.

  It took another ten minutes for them to get to the door. Every Mountain Master in attendance wanted to shake Leji’s hand and offer a comment. Leji took it in stride, not rushing and carefully thanking all of them. When they finally reached the exit, they were met by Wang and Ko, Zhao’s Red Pole.

  “Is everything okay?” Uncle asked.

  “Yes. We’re just trying to keep the path clear. The men keep crowding in and making it tighter,” Wang said.

  “Is Liu Leji’s limousine nearby?”

  “It’s at the curb to the right.”

  Despite Wang’s efforts, the sidewalk was so crammed they couldn’t use it to get to the car. They had to step into the street, which placed them in clear view of the men. “How did it go in there, Uncle?” someone yelled.

  Uncle looked in the general direction of the voice, smiled, and gave a thumbs-up.

  “Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!” someone shouted. As before, other voices picked up the chant until it was almost a roar.

  “This is so silly,” Uncle said to Leji.

  “And also very nice,” Leji said. “There are leaders in Beijing who would pay to hear a crowd salute them like that.”

  Uncle shook his head. “Believe me, it isn’t normal. I don’t know what’s got into the men. I only hope that those inside the restaurant are as receptive.”

  “Go and find out,” Leji said. “We’ll talk tonight.”

  Uncle made his way back to the White Jade, trying to ignore the hundreds of eyes fixed on him. It wasn’t in his nature to be self-conscious, but this crowd of hard men had managed to make him feel that way.

  Wang opened the door for him and he stepped inside. As he did so, he thought about the notes he’d made that morning and started formulating his opening remarks. It was one thing for the Mountain Masters to react so warmly to Liu Leji, he thought, but with him he knew they’d be all business. There would be difficult questions, and there could be no evading them. Be honest. Be direct. Be blunt, he told himself.

  Most of the men had stood up as Leji left. Many of them were still on their feet, gathered in small clusters and talking animatedly to their executive committees. His presence wasn’t remarked upon until he was about halfway to his table.

  “Hey, Uncle, well done!” Ng said loudly.

  “Yes, that’s a job well done,” Tan added. He began to clap and was immediately joined by the others in his group, and then by the people in the group next to them. Soon everyone in the room was clapping with the kind of enthusiasm usually generated by a ten-to-one winner at Happy Valley.

  Maybe this isn’t going to be as hard as I thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Friday, March 17, 1995

  Uncle left his apartment at six-thirty, just as the sun appeared on the horizon. He had told Sonny he didn’t need him for the day, preferring to take a taxi for the twenty-kilometre ride from Fanling to the town of Yuen Long. His destination was something he kept a secret. It was the most private thing in his life, because it was where the remains of his fiancée, Lin Gui-San, were interred — or at least his memories of her. Gui-San’s body had never been recovered from Shenzhen Bay, so Uncle had filled an urn with sand from the beach, pressed into it the jade bracelet he had intended to give her on their wedding day, and placed it in a niche with a picture of her.

  He directed the taxi to the Ancestor Worship Hall on Fo Look Hill in Yuen Long. He hadn’t been there since January 31, the start of the lunar new year, and he knew the niche would need to be cleaned and freshened up.

  Uncle had thought of visiting Gui-San a few weeks earlier, but the details and commitments arising from the meeting at the White Jade Restaurant were still being ironed out. Until things were finalized, Uncle hadn’t wanted to risk inviting bad luck into his life. But regardless of what was going on, he always went to the hall on the anniversary of her death, the first day of the lunar new year, and during the Qingming Festival. Other visits were reserved for the times when he had special news to share with her. This was such a time.

  It was just past seven when the taxi stopped at Fo Look Hill. Uncle got out and began the hundred-metre climb to the top, carrying a folding stool and a paper bag. There were no other cars parked at the base of the hill, and Uncle didn’t expect to see anyone else in the worship hall. He always came early so he and Gui-San could have time alone together, and with the exception of the Qingming Festival, that was usually the case.

  The path was uneven and Uncle took his time, taking care not to step on anything that might cause a sudden ankle twist. It was flanked by a hillside covered in shrubs and wildflowers. On the anniversary of her death he always picked some flowers to take to the niche. On this day he headed directly to the hall.

  As he neared the summit of the hill, Uncle was relieved to see that the hall was indeed empty of people. The building faced northeast, so it overlooked the sea and caught the morning sunlight. It was a quiet and beautiful place at that time of day. About thirty metres across and fifteen metres deep, the worship hall had a red tile roof and sweeping curved overhangs. The front was completely open to its surroundings, and this openness and the wonderful sightlines contributed to its feng shui. A small stream ran along one side and a fountain gurgled near the entrance. It was a place that welcomed qi, promising peace and tranquility to the people being memorialized there.

  Uncle reached the hall and climbed the five steps that led inside. He walked past a statue of the seated Buddha and another of a Taoist god. He approached the hall’s back wall, which was a mass of small alcoves and niches, each devoted to a loved one. The niches were small and could accommodate only an urn and some small mementos. Most of them also contained a photo of the decease
d.

  Gui-San’s niche was in the left end of the wall at about chest height. Uncle stopped in front of it, unfolded his stool, and put the paper bag on it. From the bag he produced a small whisk broom and approached the niche. He removed the urn and placed it gently on the ground. The two oranges he’d left on his previous visit were now dry and shrivelled. He took them out, and the bowl of dry tea leaves that had been left with them. The niche was now empty except for a photo of Gui-San, taken in Wuhan on her twenty-first birthday. Uncle had had it enlarged and laminated and had affixed it to the back wall. Under the photo, gold lettering read:

  lin gui-san

  born in changzhai, hubei province, 28 october 1934

  died near hong kong, 28 june 1959

  forever loved

  forever missed

  He stared at the photograph. She had been dead for thirty-six years, and she would have been sixty-one on her next birthday. But for him Gui-San was perpetually twenty-four and became increasingly more beautiful as the years passed.

  Uncle swept out the niche with the whisk and returned it to the bag. He took out a cloth, wet it in the fountain, and returned to the niche. There he wiped away the dust and grime that had collected on the photo and the floor of the niche, and then bent down and carefully cleaned the urn. When that was done, he put the urn back into the niche, off to one side so that Gui-San’s face was visible. Then he placed two fresh oranges and tea in the bowl next to it.

  He turned and went back to the stool, put the cloth back in the bag, and extracted six sticks of incense. Facing the niche, he lit them with his faded black crackle Zippo lighter, which had belonged to Gui-San’s father and had been her most prized possession. He inserted three sticks into slots in the front of the niche and held the others between his palms. Then he raised his hands to his chest, lowered his head, and began to pray. He prayed until the sticks began to burn his flesh. Then he stopped, dropped what was left of the incense into a receptacle, and sat down on the stool facing the niche.