Red Phoenix: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 2)

by Andrew Warren

  He shrugged and set his tile down on the lustrous green felt of the gaming table.

  Lewis was a Red Pole, an enforcer in the complex network of organized crime gangs known as the Triads. Fang had watched the man rise up the ranks, starting as a lowly Blue Lantern, just as Fang had himself. Blue Lanterns formed the street gangs, the breeding grounds for the Triads. They spent their time robbing fruit stands, or brawling with rival gangs. Now, Lewis was one of Fang’s most trusted lieutenants in his chapter of the powerful Lu Long Triad. He was fierce, loyal, and determined.

  But he was not a subtle man.

  Fang watched as Lewis licked his lips and surveyed the stack of chips in the draw pile. He snatched up Fang’s dragon tile and added it to his stack.

  “Pong,” he cheered, flipping over his three dragon tiles to show the other players.

  Fang smiled. “Well done, Lewis. Fortune favors you tonight.”

  Wei Laiwai, a short, rotund man who sat opposite Fang, chuckled. His eyes rotated from Lewis to Fang from beneath thick, hooded eyelids. He ran a hand through the fringe of gray hair that surrounded his speckled scalp.

  “Perhaps,” he rumbled in a deep voice. “But I suspect that will be the last dragon tile he sees for the evening. He played his hand too soon.”

  The fourth man at the table, one of Laiwai’s bodyguards, exploded in laughter. His high-pitched giggle echoed off the vaulted gold ceilings and red-lacquered walls. The mahjong table sat in the center of the chamber. The lights above the table were the only source of illumination. A pair of massive, ornate gold doors were the only exit from the dark, cavernous chamber.

  A towering bank of windows dominated the far end of the room. They overlooked the neon spires of the Shanghai skyline. The famous Oriental Pearl Tower was just off to the east. Its upper sphere lit up the night sky with purple light. The brilliant, colorful glow reflected through the glass and onto the faces of the men sitting at the table.

  Statues and display cases loomed in the shadows surrounding the table. The room's walls were solid red and decorated with Chinese scrolls. The ancient slivers of parchment depicted famous proverbs and legends. Fang had played here many times before. He often looked to the scrolls for inspiration as his luck in the game ebbed and flowed.

  He repeated one of the mantras from memory. “Silence is a true friend, who never betrays.”

  Lewis laughed. “Quoting Confucius eh? Ah, you’re right, Boss. I got excited. Revealed my hand too early.”

  Fang smiled and looked down at his tiles. He arranged them in a new order and spoke in a soft but commanding voice. “At the risk of making the same mistake, Mr. Laiwai and I have a private matter to discuss. I’m afraid we must pause the game. You and his associate may wait outside.”

  Lewis eyed Laiwai’s body guard with disdain. He stood up and turned to Fang. After a short, brief bow, he cupped his fist in his other hand and held both hands centered in front of his chest. “Shi de laoban! It is my honor to obey.”

  The guard stood and made the same gesture to Mr. Laiwai. “I’ll be outside, sir.” He gave Fang an uneasy look from the corner of his eye as he followed Lewis out of the room.

  There was a burst of wind and light from outside as the men stepped through the massive golden doors. The lobby outside was a skeletal framework of girders and beams. The construction was not yet finished. The lights of Shanghai blazed in the distance, and a cool breeze whipped through the building. It rustled the plastic sheets that hung between the girders. Then the doors slammed shut, and the cavernous room was once again dim and silent.

  Wei Laiwai leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Now we see why you really invited me here tonight. I’m sure it wasn’t to watch me beat you at mahjong again!” Once again, the rotund man chuckled, but this time he stared Fang straight in the eye.

  Fang ignored him and continued arranging his tiles. He took a sip from a glass of clear liquid that sat on the table. The beverage, known as Mijiu, was a rice-based wine. Fang licked his lips as the bittersweet liquid struck his taste buds.

  Finally, he spoke. “I wish to speak carefully, Wei. We have known each other for many years. We fought each other as rival Red Poles, as we rose up in the Lu Long. But we have grown strong through peace. We have watched as others weakened themselves through stupidity and in-fighting. Squabbling over scraps, like packs of wild dogs.”

  Wei raised his hand. “You have my respect, David. But I have no patience for careful speech. Say what you came to say.”

  Fang looked up and smiled. His face was pale in the dim light. “Direct as always, Wei. A courageous foe is better than a cowardly friend, as the saying goes. Very well, I’ll come to the point.”

  Fang slid three tiles across the table and turned them to face up. They were all dragon tiles, and the digits in each corner formed the number 489.

  Laiwai smiled and nodded. “I thought as much.”

  In the hierarchy of the Triad gangs, each rank within the organization was assigned a code number. The complex system was designed to confuse outsiders. Over time, the various numbers and their meanings had acquired almost mythical significance. The number 489 was well known to both men. It referred to the most important position of all.

  Dragon Father … the patron of the Triad. Ruler of all organized crime undertaken by the Lu Long, and the other organizations they controlled.

  “I will be Dragon Father,” Fang said. “This is a fact. I have no wish to spill more blood if it can be avoided. But do not mistake my rationality for weakness. I will not fail in my destiny.”

  Laiwai took a sip of his own wine, a darker vintage made from fermented red rice. It left a dark stain on his cracked lips. He quickly wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, but the stain remained.

  “The election will come soon enough,” he said. “We’ll see what destiny has in store for us then.”

  Fang slammed his fist down on the table. The mahjong tiles bounced and tumbled across the felt surface from the impact. “I will hold the dragon rod in my hands. I will lead the Lu Long Triad into the future. No other outcome is possible. No action by you or any other man in this world can stop it.”

  “This is crazy talk,” Laiwai said, his voice rising in intensity. “What do you want me to do? Remove my application? Step aside and allow you to rise above me? I have waited as long as you!”

  “I am asking you to wait a bit longer, yes. But not forever. Stand by me. Work with me, as my deputy. You will be my number 438, a Triad Mountain Master. With my legitimate business interests, I can take the organization’s funds public. You’ll make more money under me than you ever would alone.”

  Laiwai shook his head. “Listen to yourself, David. What would you say if I made you the same offer?”

  “In three years’ time, I give you my word I will step down,” Fang continued. “I will throw the full weight of my organization behind your candidacy then. No one will be able to stand in your way. Your time will come.”

  “I asked you to speak frankly,” Laiwai said, his voice low and calm. “So now I’ll do the same. The current Dragon Father favors me. He has thrown his support behind me, and the other families will vote accordingly. They don’t trust you, David. The Lu Long has thrived for years because it works in secrecy. It lives in the shadows, it is the Triad behind the other Triads. But your businesses are out in the open. Government contracts, regulations, lawsuits, news stories … you attract too much attention, David. You may be the future of the Lu Long, but they are not ready for things to change just yet.”

  “I will make them see wisdom. Don’t fight me on this, Wei.”

  The rotund man shook his large, round head. “Not my style. I don’t roll over for anyone, not friend or foe. And here’s another cold hard fact. You can’t afford it. Your money is tied up in your factories and business ventures, and the economy is not what it once was. You can’t liquidate fast enough to pay the tithe. And your … other expenses … have burned through your cash. The current Dragon Father knows th
is. That’s why he set the price so high.”

  “I’ll have the money. My new factory—”

  “What new factory?” Laiwai interrupted. “I happen to know the government denied your land sale, didn’t they? All because of this Global Environmental Accord … A foolish trade deal with the United States, I'll grant you. But your factories don't pass the new emissions standards, do they? Now, your investors' money is sitting in an off-shore escrow account. Without the land, you can’t touch a single yuan note in the account.”

  Fang’s face was still as stone. For a moment, the two men stared at each other across the green felt table. They said nothing. The air between them seemed to crackle with electric tension.

  Suddenly, the two golden doors crashed open. The men turned and gazed upon the view of the Shanghai Skyline, sparkling in all its vivid glory.

  Spears of red, green, and purple thrust into the sky, surrounding the colorful orb of the Pearl Tower. The tower consisted of three bulbous spheres, separated by a support beams and pylons. The upper sphere changed colors, flashing from purple to bright red. Rings of dancing lights shimmered around the base of the tower.

  But the spectacular view outside paled compared to the woman who stepped through the golden doorway. The host shut the doors behind her, blocking out all distractions.

  She was tall for a Chinese woman, nearly two meters in her shimmering black heels. She wore a long, cheongsam dress, slit to the thigh. The traditional garment was cut from a rich blue embroidered silk. It flowed up her body and rose to a choker collar around her neck. The tight sleeve of shimmering fabric hugged her figure, accentuating every line and curve.

  Fang stood up, but Laiwai remained seated. He peered up at the woman with an intense stare.

  “There you are,” Fang said. “I’m sorry, we had Lewis play in your seat.”

  “Yuanling wo,” she said. “Forgive me. My last appointment ran late. I hope I didn’t miss too much.”

  “Not at all. I was just discussing your specialty with Mr. Laiwai here.”

  He pushed in the woman’s chair as she lowered herself into Lewis’s former seat, then he sat next to her. “Wei Laiwai, allow me to introduce—”

  “Iris Yip. I know of her. Everyone in the Lu Long knows about your I-Ching witch.”

  Fang stiffened, but the woman placed a slim hand on his forearm. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Laiwai meant no offense.”

  Laiwai sipped more of his dark red wine. His eyes shifted over her body with a cold, clammy leer. “I would think a woman who took up with the man that murdered her husband might be called much worse.”

  Iris reached into the black clutch that sat on her lap. She withdrew a set of bamboo dowels. Each stick was long, narrow, and square-cut. A series of lines and dots decorated the four sides of each rod.

  “Fate calls to us all, Mr. Laiwai,” she replied. Her voice was quiet, but deep and husky for a woman. “My late husband could not escape its song any more than Mr. Fang could. Nor can you or I, for that matter.”

  The older man broke eye contact as she met his leer with her own inscrutable stare. Her eyes were set just far enough apart that it seemed difficult to look into both at the same time. Her sharp, wide cheekbones accentuated the effect.

  Unlike most Chinese women, she did not appear to avoid the sun. Her skin was a dark, creamy tan. She wore her hair long and straight, and parted in the center. It was a simple style. Two long, dark slashes of black that framed her face and flowed down past her shoulders.

  She rolled the sticks back and forth in her hand. The gentle clicking sound they made filled the air. She began to chant quiet, half-formed whispers. Her words seemed to drift just out of comprehension in the dim, cavernous room.

  “Let’s make a wager,” Fang said, his lips curling into a smile. “Give me a chance to convince you. If I can change your mind, you will offer me a toast. If not, I will do the same for you.”

  Iris ceased her chanting. The sticks were still and silent in her hands. She looked up, her wide, dark eyes shining in the reflected light like onyx flame.

  “In divination, as in life,” she said, “answers come only to those who understand the nature of what they seek. The I-Ching is like mahjong. It is based on numbers. It is fate’s equation. It reveals the patterns of energy that lie beneath what men perceive as chaos. Touch the sticks, and ask your question. For one who truly understands their desire, knowledge shall be granted.”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll play along,” Laiwai grumbled. “But you best begin polishing your words, David. You’re going to owe me one hell of toast.”

  Laiwai reached out with a gnarled, stubby hand and caressed Iris’s slim, tan fingers. “Will I win the election and become Dragon Father of the Lu Long?” he asked in a booming, melodramatic voice.

  Iris cocked her head, but her eyes did not shift from Laiwai’s gaze. “No. That is not right,” she said. “The question must be … more personal to you. You must understand what lies at the core of your desire.”

  “What are you talking about?” Laiwai asked, sipping his wine. “Why so specific? Are you a witch or a lawyer?”

  “Dragon Father is but a title, and a title is but words,” she said. “Words are constructions of men. But behind these words is a number. 489. This number signifies strong energy. Great power. That is truly what you seek, yes?”

  “Of course,” Laiwai nodded. “What else is there?”

  Iris counted six sticks from the pile and set them onto the felt table. She closed her eyes and shuffled them over each other, rolling them back and forth. “What is the likely outcome of Mr. Laiwai’s desire for power?” she said in her low, husky voice. Her eyes fluttered open.

  The patterns on the sticks lined up to form two hexagrams, each one a set of six horizontal lines. Some of the lines were solid, while others broke into two dashes. Iris ran her fingers over the engraved ridges of the lines.

  “On the left, a solid line above five broken. The Still Mountain above Receptive Earth. A house with a shattered roof must soon collapse. In such times of adversity, the superior man knows it is not cowardice, but wisdom, to submit and avoid conflict.”

  Her finger drifted right, over a small red dot that stood between the two hexagrams.

  “A change line … action on your part may alter the patterns of energy. On the right, the likely result of such a change.”

  Laiwai leaned back in his chair. “What kind of change?”

  Her fingers brushed over the patterns as she looked up at Laiwai’s round face.

  “The hexagrams shift. They become Still Mountain over Arousing Fire. The leg of your bed is split. This signifies a severe threat to one’s well-being. There is no protection here. Those who forge ahead … will be destroyed.”

  Laiwai shook his head and downed the rest of his red wine. “Luckily for me, I don’t believe in fortune tellers, Miss Yip.” He stood up and tossed a coin on the table. “Here … a tip for a fine performance. David, I’ll see you in Hong Kong. The election will decide our fates. If you want me to stand aside, you’ll need more than a pile of sticks and a pretty face. You’ll need an army.”

  Fang stood up as Iris collected her I-Ching sticks and placed them back in her bag. “You’re not convinced?” he called after Laiwai. “Then I owe you a toast, old friend.”

  “Save your breath,” the man said as he threw open the doors. “You can toast my victory when I am crowned Dragon Father. But don’t worry. Your time will come.”

  Laiwai stepped out into the unfinished lobby. He paused. He sensed something was wrong before he could even process the grisly details of the sight before him.

  His eyes were drawn up to the ceiling. Hanging from one of the support beams that crossed overhead were four bodies. Laiwai gasped as he recognized the pale, battered face of his bodyguard. The corpses swayed in the breeze that swept through the open construction. Below, the Shanghai lights continued to twinkle through the hazy air.

  Each body hung from th
e end of a silk cord that looped around their necks like a noose. Their heads lolled forward; their mouths gaped open. Their wide eyes were unblinking and still.

  Looking up at their bloated faces, he recognized the other bodies as members of his gang. Someone must have rounded them up, he realized, as he and Fang had played their game of mahjong.

  Lewis stepped out from behind one of the massive golden doors. With a vicious snarl, he kicked Laiwai. The man stumbled forward and fell into the center of the room. He landed beneath the swaying corpses.

  Twin elevators chimed from across the unfinished room. The doors slid open, and a man stepped out. His footsteps echoed across the rough concrete floor as he walked towards Laiwai.

  He was slim, of average height. Although he was Chinese, his skin was stark white, and his eyes were a pale, pinkish red. His hair was a fierce tuft of blonde, perfectly coifed and styled above the strange, albino face. He was dressed in a tailored black suit.

  As he marched forward, Laiwai saw more men filing in behind him from the elevators. Within seconds, about a dozen filled the room. They were all young, in their twenties, and wearing street clothes. Laiwai had seen enough Blue Lanterns in his time to recognize these men as foot soldiers. Their torn sleeves and open shirts revealed an intricate tapestry of Triad tattoos … dragons, koi, and numbers that represented good fortune. The wind whipped through their clothes and hair as they stared down at him.

  The color drained from Laiwai’s face as he realized they were all wielding swords and knives.

  The albino stood over him. He clasped a short, curved sword with an ornate hilt in his right hand. The man smiled and raised the blade into the air. Laiwai blinked as he noticed a strange detail … only eight fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword. Each of the man’s stark white hands had only three fingers and a thumb. Four … si … a number associated with death.

  The albino’s smile widened. He swung the sword down.

  “Stop!” Fang’s voice cut through the air, and the throng of men ceased all chatter. The albino halted his killing blow. Fang strode into the room, with Iris following a few steps behind.