by Ian Hamilton
Uncle settled in his chair, tore the bun in half, and put Fong’s piece on the far side of the desk. Fong appeared a minute later with a mug of tea. He sat down, put the mug on the desk, and devoured the bun in three bites. “Thanks, I needed that,” he said and then pointed to the stack of papers in front of Uncle. “How was business this weekend?”
“Not bad, but the Jockey Club betting shops keep cutting into ours.”
“It’s got to the point where I expect that now,” Fong said. “How are things in Shenzhen?”
“You haven’t been keeping in touch with Ming and the warehouse managers?”
Fong looked momentarily pained, as if Uncle had reprimanded him. “This was my first weekend off in months, and you said you’d let me know if there was a problem.”
“I wasn’t being critical. I simply asked a question.”
“I’m sorry if I sounded defensive,” Fong said.
“Let’s start over,” Uncle said with a smile.
“Okay, how are things in Shenzhen?”
“Things are quiet in Shenzhen.”
“You make that sound like they’re too quiet.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Uncle said. “It is also quiet in Xiamen and Zhuhai, so it doesn’t look like this corruption eruption has gone beyond Peng and Lau. Peng is scheduled to be tried and probably sentenced on Wednesday. Our hope is that it brings closure.”
“When do you think I can go back to Shenzhen?”
“There’s no rush,” Uncle said. “We should let the legal proceedings end and then give the situation more breathing room. I told Liu we’d go back when Ms. Gao or Meilin returns, which he thinks will be in a week or two. There’s no reason to be the first to test those waters.”
“But there’s no reason I shouldn’t be communicating with Ming and our warehouse managers?”
“Of course not. I just don’t want you to cross the border until I think it’s safe.”
“That’s fine; I’ve got lots I can do around here anyway. I haven’t visited any of the street markets in ages. It will give me a chance to find out what else they want us to make.”
“Before you start making those arrangements, do me a favour and call Ming and the others in Shenzhen,” Uncle said. “Don’t say anything about Peng and Lau unless they bring up their names. I’m curious to know if they’ve heard anything on their own.”
“Okay, boss,” Fong said. He started to stand up, only to sit down again and lean towards Uncle. “There’s one thing, though, that was bothering me all the time I was in Macau.”
“What’s that?” Uncle asked.
“Ms. Gao,” Fong said. “The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got about her asking us to move their money out of the warehouse accounts. It was like she had already written us off.”
“You wasted your energy getting pissed off,” said Uncle. “She’s changed her mind about the money. It’s staying where it is.”
“Good. Now that’s the way I want a partner to act.”
“Things are more complicated in China than they are here,” Uncle said carefully. “Not everything is as it appears to be, and many things are done for reasons that aren’t readily apparent. The deeper we get involved, the more time we need to spend trying to understand what’s really going on around us. Taking things for granted or paying attention only to what’s on the surface is an invitation to be blindsided.”
( 20 )
On Wednesday afternoon Uncle met Fong at Dong’s restaurant for dim sum. Fong was in good spirits. He had spent the previous two nights visiting street markets in Mong Kok, Tsim Sha Tsui, and Wanchai. He found business booming and Ming’s clothes in great demand.
“We have six big-volume vendors in Mong Kok alone, and two of them are reselling our goods into Guangzhou and Macau. I spoke to Ming last night and told him we need to increase production. He also needs to add a couple of new lines, and when he’s done that, we’ll increase sales yet again.”
“Can he increase production?”
“He’s going to initiate a Sunday shift and, if he has to, he’ll hire a night crew,” Fong said. “Truthfully, Uncle, maybe it’s time we started thinking about building another factory. We have the land we need, right next to the existing operations.”
“Have you discussed the new plant idea with Ming?”
“He raised the subject with me.”
“I don’t see any harm in talking to him about what he has in mind, but we’re not in a position to make any kind of commitment until this mess with Peng is behind us.”
“There is no mess as far as Ming is concerned, or, for that matter, for any of our warehouse managers. For all of them it’s business as usual. None of them said a word about Peng or Lau.”
“That’s good to hear,” Uncle said, and then stopped speaking as the waitress reached their table. She brought them two bottles of San Miguel and a serving each of pork siu mai and Dong’s special steamed chicken feet.
They tapped their bottles together and each took a sip. Then Fong said, “And nothing has happened in Xiamen or Zhuhai?”
“Nothing at all. According to Xu and Tse, the guys in those zones who are Peng’s equivalents couldn’t be less worried.”
Fong took a siu mai from the basket, dipped it in chili sauce, and bit into it. “These are so damn good,” he said a few seconds later. “I know you come here for the phoenix claws, but these and the steamed pork ribs are my favourites.”
The two men ate quietly for a while, working their way through the first two dishes and then sticky rice stuffed with sausage, the pork ribs, and pan-fried turnip cake. They ordered another round of beer and sat back, contented.
“Did you see many of Xu’s designer bags in the markets?” Uncle asked.
“They’re everywhere, and they’re popular as hell.”
“Besides Hong Kong, Macau, and Guangzhou, he’s now shipping them to Manila, Jakarta, and Bangkok,” Uncle said. “He’s working with two plants and negotiating to take production from a third.”
“Have you given any more thought to taking an ownership position in them?”
“As long as we can maintain control of the plants’ output, and unless the plant owners are in desperate need of a cash infusion, I prefer to keep our arrangements as they are,” Uncle said, and then looked at his watch.
“Do you have a meeting?” Fong asked.
“No. Wang called me to say that Wu’s man in the hospital is now officially out of danger. It’s time for me to talk to Wu, and I’ve heard he starts drinking in the late afternoon, so I want to do it before he’s too drunk.”
“The men have been talking about Wu. They’re really pissed that he won’t back off.”
“Maybe he’ll get the message this time.”
“Will you call him from here?”
“No, I’ll go back to the office for the afternoon and then head to Happy Valley,” said Uncle. “I’ll also be talking to Liu today. Peng was scheduled to be in court this morning. It could be over by now.”
“Will Liu know the result?”
“Oh yes, Liu will know. I’m quite sure he had someone in court this morning to observe,” Uncle said, rising from his chair. “And now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t want to wait until I get back to the office. Him I’ll phone from here.”
Uncle walked towards the rear of the restaurant, opened the door to the kitchen, and motioned to a man wielding a spatula over a wok. The man hurried over. “Mr. Dong, I need to make a phone call. Can I use your office?” Uncle asked.
“Sure, no problem. The door should be open,” Dong said.
Uncle left the kitchen and in four steps was at the office door. He stepped inside a room that just had space for a desk, chair, filing cabinet, and the gang’s safe. He sat at the desk, picked up the phone, and dialled the number of the customs headquarters in Shenzhen. A
moment later he was connected to Liu’s office, but his secretary said the director was out and she didn’t know when he would be returning. “Shit,” Uncle murmured.
“What’s the news?” Fong asked when Uncle came back to the table.
“I couldn’t reach Liu. I’ll try again later. Let’s head back to the office,” Uncle said.
Fong stood up. “Hey, I was wondering, would you mind if I joined you at Happy Valley tonight?”
“No, that would be great. I can’t remember the last time you did.”
“Truthfully I find the action slow, which is why I prefer casino play,” Fong said. “But after the beating I took last weekend in Macau, I’m thinking that maybe I need to give slow a chance.”
“I’ve never found it slow. And let me remind you that it was you who introduced me to horse racing.”
“I know. I spent ten minutes explaining how to read the racing form, and two weeks later you were a better handicapper than me,” Fong said. “I hope you’ll give me some of your picks for tonight.”
The two men took a taxi back to the office. When they entered, Tan, the assistant White Paper Fan, ran over to Uncle. “I’m glad you’re back. Someone from the customs department in Shenzhen has been calling.”
“Who?”
“He said you’d know.”
“Thanks,” Uncle said. He walked straight to his office and dialled Liu’s number.
“Uncle, I just missed you when you called earlier,” Liu said.
“Thanks for getting back to me so promptly. I was wondering if you’d heard what happened with Peng.”
“Yes, I had one of my people at the court. Peng pleaded guilty.”
“What kind of sentence did he get?”
“As of today there’s been no sentencing. The prosecutor asked the judge to postpone until Friday.”
“Is that usual?”
“No. In fact it’s quite odd.”
“What could be the reason?” asked Uncle, sensing discomfort in Liu’s voice.
“Maybe they’re still trying to verify whatever information he gave them. They might want to hold off on a sentence until they’re sure he was being truthful,” Liu said.
“Is that a guess on your part or have you been told that’s a possibility?”
“It’s a guess.”
“If that’s the case, it worries me.”
“Why?”
“They could be digging into his associates.”
“Or they could just be trying to locate his money.”
“Well, whatever the reason, it makes the outcome unpredictable,” Uncle said.
“Not necessarily. According to my uncle, Peng and Lau’s behaviour caught the attention of Beijing. He tells me Beijing doesn’t want it to turn into a full-blown scandal. The SEZs are too important to let the corruption of some minor officials put them at risk. So, while they want to use Peng and Lau to send a message, they want it contained.”
“Peng is no minor official. He ran the investment department in the zone.”
“He’s a senior administrator and that’s all. On the scale of things in the government, he’s insignificant. He wasn’t even close to being on par with the party secretary or the PLA commander in Shenzhen.”
“Or the customs director?”
“Yes, I am senior to him.”
“So where does this leave us?”
“I could say it leaves us waiting until Friday, but I’m not prepared to do that. I’m as anxious as you are to get a firmer idea of the reason for the delay,” Liu said. “And, I assure you, my aunt will be quite blunt about what she expects me to do. So when I hang up from you, I’ll start making some calls and, if I can, I’ll arrange to meet with someone in the prosecutor’s office.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the effort.”
“Will you be reachable all day?”
“I’ll be here in the office until about six and then in my apartment after eleven. In between I’ll be at Happy Valley Racecourse.”
“I’ll try to get back to you before six.”
Uncle put down the phone with a lot less enthusiasm than when he’d picked it up. When the hell is this going to end? he thought. He turned his chair so he could look down on the street. He wasn’t sure how long he remained in that position. At some point the view of the street disappeared from his consciousness as his mind conjured up and factored the possible impact of events in Shenzhen. He was trying to remain positive, but when he thought about the delay in sentencing, all he could imagine were negative outcomes.
“Boss,” Fong said loudly.
Uncle swung his chair away from the window and saw Fong in the doorway. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long, but I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked preoccupied.”
“Peng has pleaded guilty but they’ve put off his sentencing until Friday,” Uncle said. “I’ve been trying to figure out if there’s a hidden message in that.”
“What did Liu say?”
“He thought it was odd but not necessarily a concern. He’s making some calls this afternoon.”
“Well, if there is a problem, it hasn’t affected any of our businesses.”
“That is comforting.”
Fong stepped into the office. “You know, despite all the money we’ve made, there are days when I wish we hadn’t gone into China. Things were simpler when all we had to worry about was Fanling.”
Uncle shook his head. “In our life you either adapt to changing circumstances or you get run over. Sitting still and doing nothing is not an option. Going into China has had its challenges, but where would we be financially if we hadn’t done it?”
“I know, and I’m not complaining that we did, but I just can’t help worrying. When you were picked up at the train station and thrown into that cage, I worried whether I’d ever see you again,” Fong said. “Fighting other gangs in Hong Kong is one thing, but trying to take on the Chinese government and the PLA is another.”
“We’re not taking on the Chinese government or the PLA. We’re doing perfectly legal business there and nothing more,” Uncle said, and tapped a stack of files that sat on his desk. “Now, Fong, you’ll have to excuse me. I need to call Wu.”
He had two phone numbers for Wu. No one answered the first. The woman who answered the second said he wasn’t there and didn’t know when he’d be back. Uncle did not leave a message.
Tan had left the files on the desk for Uncle to review. He opened the first and forced himself to concentrate on its contents. Two of the gang’s massage parlours wanted to upgrade their facilities. They were operated by Yu, Uncle’s deputy Mountain Master; although the request came from him, Tan had done a separate analysis and made a recommendation. To Uncle’s relief, the two men’s numbers matched almost exactly and Tan supported Yu’s proposal.
Yu had been a member of the executive for more than twenty years and was now well into his sixties. He had been one of the first and most important of Uncle’s supporters when he ran for Mountain Master, and Uncle had rewarded him by making him his deputy. But now Yu rarely attended executive meetings and was basically inactive — aside from his visits to the massage parlours — in the gang’s day-to-day business. Uncle knew he should replace him as deputy, but he still valued his counsel and saw no pressing need to have a younger man in the job.
At the bottom of his analysis, the thorough Tan had typed in three possible places for Uncle’s signature. One read “Approved,” the next “Not Approved,” and the third “More Information Required.” Uncle signed under “Approved,” closed the folder, and opened another. For the next three hours he worked steadily on the files, his mind focused on the minutiae involved in managing the gang and its operations. Some of the work should have been done by the White Paper Fan, and it would have been done by Xu if he had been in Fanling. Tan was a capable a
ssistant, but Uncle wasn’t ready to cede him the full authority of the position. And he actually enjoyed the work, if for no other reason than it reminded him of the more carefree days when he held the position.
At five-thirty he closed the last folder, bundled the files under his arm, and carried them to Tan’s office. “Very nice work,” he said as he handed them to the assistant. “Make sure you phone Yu tonight to tell him that his proposal has been approved.”
He turned and was heading for Fong’s office when he heard his phone. He hurried to answer it. “Yes,” he said, before the sixth ring.
“This is Liu. I have news.”
Uncle sat down in his chair. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve just returned from the office of the procuratorate for the People’s Court, where the friend of a very good friend gave me twenty minutes of his time,” Liu said. “The bottom line is that the Peng affair is not as complicated as I feared.”
“So he will be sentenced on Friday?”
“Yes, he will — sentenced to death.”
“What?” Uncle said, stunned. “You told me he’d get no more than twenty.”
“And I believed that, but Peng seems to have greatly offended people both here and in Beijing. They want him dead, so dead he will be,” Liu said. “And I have to say, from our practical viewpoint it isn’t a bad outcome, though even I will admit that the way they’re going about this is particularly cold-blooded.”
“What do you mean?”
“The reason for the delay is that the military procuratorate wants to take a crack at him to find out if any PLA officers were involved and if any bribes were attached to local military contracts,” Liu said. “Given that he’d already agreed to plead guilty and was in the process of cutting what he thought was a deal with the People’s Court procuratorate, Peng wasn’t too keen on the idea. I can’t say I blame him for that. The military prosecutors have a well-deserved reputation for being rather forceful in their questioning.”
“Forceful?”
“Physical.”
“Violent?”
“Not always, but sometimes.”
“But you make it sound like he agreed to co-operate,” Uncle said.
