by Ian Hamilton
Praise for Ian Hamilton and
The Lost Decades of Uncle Chow Tung Series
“[Ian Hamilton is] a lively writer with an attentive eye for the details of complicated suspense.” — London Free Press
“Hamilton does a masterly job capturing the sights, smells, and sounds of Hong Kong as he charts Chow’s struggle to survive.”
— Publishers Weekly
“[Uncle’s] rise through the ranks of the Hong Kong Triads makes for fascinating reading . . . Those fresh to Hamilton’s work or simply looking for something familiar but different, meanwhile, will find much to like in the author’s new series.” — Quill & Quire
“A welcome origin story about the man who helped shape Ava Lee.” — Booklist
“A magnetic tale of intrigue among rivals and cohorts, the early ascent of ‘Uncle’ Chow Tung within the Hong Kong Triads is exhilarating and utterly convincing. This is the first in a spin-off series that you’ll want to keep spinning forever. Jump on at the start!” — John Farrow, bestselling author of the Émile Cinq-Mars series
“Ian Hamilton’s knowledge of the Triads and their operations is fascinating — and slightly unsettling. He unwinds his tale of Uncle’s origins with such detail that readers will wonder how he grew so familiar without being a triad himself. A must-read for fans of the Ava Lee novels!” — John Lawrence Reynolds, Arthur Ellis Award-winning author of Beach Strip
Praise for Ian Hamilton and the Ava Lee Series
“The only thing scarier than being ripped off for a few million bucks is being the guy who took it and having Ava Lee on your tail. If Hamilton’s kick-ass accountant has your number, it’s up.”
— Linwood Barclay
“Whip smart, kick-butt heroine, mixed into a perfect combination of adventure and exotic location. Can’t wait to see where Ava is off to next.” — Taylor Stevens, author of the Vanessa Michael Monroe Series
“A heck of a fun series, sharing Ian Fleming’s penchant for intrigue and affinity for the finer things in life and featuring Ava Lee — a remarkable hero, a twenty-first century James Bond with real depth beneath her tough-as-nails exterior. Five stars and first class!”
— Owen Laukkanen, author of The Professionals
“Ava Lee, that wily, wonderful hunter of nasty business brutes, is back in her best adventure ever.” — Globe and Mail
“Slick, fast-moving escapism reminiscent of Ian Fleming.” — Booklist
“A hugely original creation.” — Irish Independent
“Crackling with suspense, intrigue, and danger, your fingers will be smoking from turning these pages. Don’t ever, ever, mess with Ava Lee. She’s not your average accountant.” — Terry Fallis, author of The Best Laid Plans
Also by Ian Hamilton
The Ava Lee Series
The Dragon Head of Hong Kong: The Ava Lee Prequel (ebook)
The Water Rat of Wanchai
The Disciple of Las Vegas
The Wild Beasts of Wuhan
The Red Pole of Macau
The Scottish Banker of Surabaya
The Two Sisters of Borneo
The King of Shanghai
The Princeling of Nanjing
The Couturier of Milan
The Imam of Tawi-Tawi
The Goddess of Yantai
The Mountain Master of Sha Tin
The Lost Decades of Uncle Chow Tung
Fate
Copyright © 2020 Ian Hamilton
Published in Canada in 2020 and the USA in 2020
by House of Anansi Press Inc.
www.houseofanansi.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: Foresight / Ian Hamilton.
Names: Hamilton, Ian, 1946– author.
Description: Series statement: The lost decades of Uncle Chow Tung ; 2
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 2019006594X | Canadiana (ebook) 20190065982 | ISBN 9781487003999 (softcover) |
ISBN 9781487004002 (EPUB) | ISBN 9781487004019 (Kindle)
Classification: LCC PS8615.A4423 F67 2020 | DDC C813/.6—dc23
Book design: Alysia Shewchuk
Typesetting: Sara Loos
We acknowledge for their financial support of our publishing program the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Government of Canada.
This book is dedicated to Laura Meyer,
one of the warmest, kindest, and most professional
people it has been my privilege to work with.
It doesn’t matter if a cat is white or black;
if it catches mice it is a good cat.
— Deng Xiaoping, Chinese Communist
Youth League conference, Beijing, July 1962
( 1 )
May 1981
Fanling, New Territories, Hong Kong
For almost ten years, Monday had always been Chow Tung’s favourite day of the week. Now it was a day he was starting to dread. The reason for this was the piece of paper in front of him, which contained the results from his betting shops for the previous day’s horse racing at Sha Tin Racecourse. Recently the results had been declining at a slow, steady pace, but now they seemed to be accelerating.
“The goddamn Hong Kong Jockey Club,” Chow muttered as he sipped his second instant coffee of the morning.
The Jockey Club had a legal betting monopoly in Hong Kong. Founded in 1884, it was almost one hundred years old, and it offered two race meetings a week for nine months of the year at the Happy Valley Racecourse on Hong Kong Island. The track could accommodate 55,000 people and was always sold out, and since the only legal place to bet was at the track, this meant that thousands — if not hundreds of thousands — of race-crazy Hong Kongers weren’t able to put down their bets. Under his leadership, Chow Tung’s Fanling Triad gang had opened a number of betting shops in their hometown to cater to this need. The shops were illegal, but Chow had reached an understanding with the local police that allowed them to operate.
The betting shops had been tremendously profitable and, combined with night markets, mah-jong parlours, restaurants, mini-casinos, and massage parlours, had made the Fanling Triad one of the wealthiest in all of Hong Kong and the New Territories. In fact, they were wealthy enough that Chow — more commonly known as Uncle — had been able to eliminate his gang’s involvement in loan-sharking, protection rackets, and drug dealing, which had the benefits of reducing police scrutiny and making the triad members more respectable and acceptable in the community. Even if much of what they were doing was still officially regarded as crime, in Uncle’s eyes it was victimless: he was simply providing a public service.
But nothing in Hong Kong ever stayed the same. It was a city always on the move, and the Hong Kong Jockey Club was no exception. In 1974 the Club had opened six of its own off-track betting shops. None were located in Fanling, but since the gang’s shops drew people from outside the town as well, there was a slight but manageable decrease in business. As more Club-owned betting shops opened, business continued to decrease. Uncle had been hopeful that the Sha Tin Racecourse, which had opened in 1978, would lead to an increase in racing dates, but that didn’t happen; the Club assigned only one race day a week to each track. It also kept building more off-track shops, including one in Fanling. The gang had kept many of its customers but lost enough for it to hurt, and with each passing month Uncle knew the loyalties of those who stayed with the
m would be increasingly strained.
“The goddamn Hong Kong Jockey Club,” he said again, slipping on his black suit jacket over a white shirt buttoned to the neck. Then he headed for the door of his one-bedroom apartment.
It wasn’t quite seven when he reached the street and turned left to walk to Jia’s, a congee restaurant where he ate breakfast nearly every day. It was a splendid morning, the sun rising in a clear blue sky, the air fresh, and the temperature a comfortable twenty degrees Celsius or so. He walked quickly, stopping only to buy a copy of the Oriental Daily News.
Reading the newspaper as he ate breakfast was his custom, but the newspaper would have to wait this morning because he was being joined by Xu, the gang’s White Paper Fan. Uncle had been the White Paper Fan before his election as Mountain Master. It was an administrative and financial management position, and it had been Xu who had delivered Sunday’s business numbers to Uncle the night before.
Like Uncle, Xu had fled China twenty years before, but for different reasons. In Uncle’s case, the famine caused by Mao’s catastrophic agricultural policies during the Great Leap Forward had killed his entire family. Before starvation could take him as well, he had joined a group of other young people in his village of Changzhai, near Wuhan, and together they journeyed to the Chinese town of Shenzhen, on the Hong Kong border, where they swam four kilometres across Shenzhen Bay to Hong Kong. Four of his companions had died making the swim, including his fiancée, Lin Gui-San. Uncle would forever blame the Communists for her death.
Xu’s original home was in Shanghai and, unlike Uncle, he was already a triad when he arrived in Fanling. That gang membership had become a problem when Mao issued an order to eradicate all the triads in China. Xu had been fortunate enough to escape the wrath of the People’s Liberation Army, but many of his triad brothers didn’t make it out of China.
As Uncle neared the restaurant, he saw a small knot of people at the door, a testament to the quality of Jia’s food. He slid past them and saw Jia, grey-haired and sturdy, standing near the cash register. He figured she had to be sixty, but he’d never been in the restaurant when she wasn’t waiting tables and her husband wasn’t cooking in the kitchen. She waved at him. “Your friend Xu is already here,” she said.
Uncle walked to the rear of the restaurant, where Xu sat in a booth with his back to the door.
“Hey, good morning,” Uncle said.
Xu swivelled to face him. Uncle blinked. “What’s happened to you?” he asked. “I know the numbers aren’t terrific, but you shouldn’t take them to heart.”
“Sit, please,” Xu said.
Uncle slid into the booth and looked across the table. Even seated, the six-foot Xu towered over five-foot-four-inch Uncle. “What’s going on?” Uncle asked.
“Can we eat first? I might feel better with something in my stomach.”
“Sure,” Uncle said, holding his right arm in the air.
Jia hurried towards them with a pot of tea and two cups.
Congee is plain, bland boiled rice porridge, but Uncle never ate it by itself. He added soy sauce and white pepper to give it some flavour and ordered various add-ons to give it some heft. “I’m going to have sausage, scallions, a duck egg, and some youtiao this morning,” he told Jia.
“I’ll have the same,” Xu said.
Jia nodded, poured tea into their cups, and hurried back to the kitchen.
Uncle sipped his tea, then said to Xu, “I know something is troubling you, and I don’t want to wait until you’ve eaten to hear about it.”
Xu shook his head. “It could be nothing.”
“Or it could be something. I won’t be able to judge until you tell me what it is.”
Xu sighed. “About an hour ago, I got a phone call from the White Paper Fan in Mong Kok. We’ve developed a good working relationship over the years,” he said. “He told me he’s been hearing rumours about Fanling and he thought I should know what’s going on.”
“Was he just reporting rumours or telling you specifically that something is going on?”
“A bit of both actually, but he started by asking how our betting shops are doing. I told him the Jockey Club shops are cutting into our business but we aren’t overly concerned,” Xu said. “Then he asked if I knew that the gang in Tai Wai New Village is actively going after our customers. When I said no, he told me they’ve co-opted several of our men to direct business in their direction and are paying them for every new customer.”
“Did he have any proof to back up those claims? Any names?”
“No.”
“I find it hard to believe that any of our men would betray us like that. Still, we need to look into it. Talk to Wang, and the two of you figure out how to pursue this,” Uncle said, referring to his Red Pole, the gang’s enforcer and the one who ran the men, called forty-niners, on the ground.
“There’s more,” Xu said, and then went silent as Jia arrived with their breakfast. He watched, visibly impatient, as she placed their bowls and platters of add-ons on the table. When she was out of hearing range, he leaned towards Uncle. “He also told me that Tai Wai is actively recruiting some of our men to sell drugs in Fanling. Since we’re the only major gang that doesn’t sell drugs, Tai Wai thinks we’re a market that’s ready to be exploited. They don’t want to send their own men here to do it, because that would be an obvious provocation, so they’re trying to use ours.”
Uncle looked down at his bowl of congee, sprinkled black pepper over it, added soy sauce, and then dipped a stick of the fried bread known as youtiao into it. He chewed quickly, dipped again, and then sat back. “Tai Wai must believe we are weak,” he said.
“I don’t understand why they would. Our two gangs are of almost equal size, and Wang is a superior Red Pole to theirs.”
“I don’t mean weak in that sense, I mean weak economically,” Uncle said. “When we cut back on the monthly cash allotment to our men three months ago, we told them it was a temporary measure. Maybe some of them didn’t believe us and are looking for ways to augment their income.”
“We had no choice. We had to preserve our reserve and we couldn’t reduce payments to the wives, children, and parents of the brothers who are no longer with us.”
Uncle pushed the bowl away, his appetite gone. “We need to increase our income. We need to restore the allotment.”
“I agree, but how can we do that without draining the reserve?”
“We need to revisit the entire situation with the executive committee. The problem is that both Fong and Yu are in Macau doing god knows what, and I have no idea when they’ll be back.”
“Do you want me to try to reach them?”
“Yes, and in the meantime, get hold of Wang and try to verify what the guy in Mong Kok told you.”
“Will you call the Mountain Master in Tai Wai New Village?”
“Not until we’re absolutely certain that what you’ve been told is true. Let’s start by finding that out.”
“Okay, Uncle, I’m on it.”
Uncle looked at Xu’s congee. “You haven’t touched your breakfast.”
“Now that I’ve told you what’s going on, I’m anxious to get to Wang.”
“We will sort this out.”
“I wish I had your confidence, Uncle.”
“Xu, I believe in the strength of our brotherhood.”
“I know you do, but I have to say, when it comes to Fanling, everyone believes that our strength flows from one man, and that man is you.”
( 2 )
Uncle sat quietly for several minutes after Xu left the restaurant, trying to gather himself. He had been rattled by what Xu told him. He had assumed he had the loyalty of all his men, but money was the strongest of lures, and he couldn’t discount the idea that some of them might be drawn to it. He hoped otherwise, but he wasn’t naive, and he was already certain that cutting the monthly all
otment had triggered doubts about the ongoing strength and future of the gang.
Gang members working part-time for other gangs, or even switching allegiance, wasn’t common, but it also wasn’t unknown. Uncle knew of at least two other Hong Kong–based gangs that had bled members when their financial structure weakened.
Ten years before, when Uncle became Mountain Master, the betting shops had provided enough money to support everyone. With that no longer the case, and with no hope of turning that situation around because of the Jockey Club’s aggressive expansion, he needed the other businesses to increase their contributions. But they could achieve only so much growth, since they were limited by Fanling’s size, his own refusal to get into loan-sharking, protection rackets, and drug dealing, and the fact that every bit of land that abutted Fanling was controlled by a rival gang.
Uncle hadn’t been inactive, though. He had invested gang money in additional massage parlours and a secondary night market, but all that had done was cannibalize their existing businesses. He needed an additional income stream that would bring new money to the table, and right now he didn’t have a single viable option.
The Fanling gang had about 160 members, and when Chow factored in their families and the families of past members they were morally obligated to support, close to six hundred people depended on the income generated by the gang. He had hesitated before cutting the amount each gang member received but had decided it would buy him some time to address the larger problem. If what Xu had been told was correct, he hadn’t bought much of that.
One immediate option was to restore the allotment to its previous level. That might stop defections or prevent gang members from freelancing, but it would slowly and surely drain the reserve fund he had spent years accumulating, leaving them with nothing to invest if the right opportunity presented itself. With the executive committee’s approval, he had been dipping into the fund for more than a year already. He figured that, with no change in current revenues, it might last another two years.
