Fate

by Ian Hamilton

  “You can move now to the side street that leads directly to the cemetery,” he told the band leaders. “The hearse will be exiting the home from the side entrance.”

  As the bands gathered themselves and began to march raggedly towards the starting point, Chow saw Xu running up the hill from town. He was alone.

  Chow went to meet him. “What did you find out?”

  “There was no one at the house. I talked to a neighbour, who told me Ma’s wife left the house early this morning and Ma left a couple of hours ago.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “He was picked up by a driver. I asked the neighbour to describe him. It sounded like Peng.”

  “Did the neighbour have any idea where Ma could have gone?”

  “He didn’t have a clue.”

  “This is getting stranger and stranger.”

  “Uncle, what the hell is going on?” Xu asked. “No matter what I think of Ma, this doesn’t make sense. He would never deliberately insult the Gao family like this.”

  “I agree.”

  “So?”

  Chow drew a deep breath. “We have a Mountain Master to bury. Until that’s done, I don’t want to hear Ma’s name again.”

  ( 17 )

  The nine bands made more noise than Chow had imagined was possible. The overall sound was loud, shrill, discordant — a musical rendering of raw emotions. But what else, he thought, could drive away any evil spirits and ghosts? What else could express so adequately the pain and sense of loss the Gao family must feel?

  The bands led the procession, followed by the hearse and the mourners. Chow was among the fourth tier of mourners, behind the immediate family, close family friends, and the senior triads. Fong walked with him while Xu stayed behind to look for some friends of Peng.

  “When I die, I want to have a band at my funeral,” Chow said to Fong.

  “If I’m alive when you die, I’ll make sure you have one,” Fong said. “Will you do the same for me?”

  “I will.”

  As the procession continued towards the cemetery, the citizens of Fanling lined the street to watch. For them the funeral was entertainment for a Saturday afternoon and not much more than that. Chow didn’t imagine that many of the onlookers knew who Gao was, and if they did, he doubted they would feel any sadness about his passing. He couldn’t blame them; the relationship between triads and citizens was complicated.

  With the exception of the protection business, which he despised, Chow liked to think that the gang provided services to the town. The fact that the British authorities classified those services as illegal didn’t bother him, because he believed that what the Brits defined as crime was in a constant state of flux, subject to time, place, and circumstance. Basically, most things that ran contrary to the status quo were labelled criminal, and since the British had imposed — and rigorously defended — their version of the status quo on a Chinese culture with a different set of values, there was a disconnect.

  British and Chinese attitudes towards gambling was one example. Chow thought the government’s policy was idiotic, and the thousands of people who quite happily made their way to Fanling’s mah-jong parlours, small casinos, and betting shops were proof of that. He felt the same way about the policies regarding massage parlours and brothels, as long as they were run in a way that was fair to both client and practitioner. He saw them as services that were wanted and needed. He even imagined that the day would come when they would be legal.

  “I still can’t see any sign of Ma,” Fong said, interrupting Chow’s thoughts.

  “I told you, I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “I just thought he might have come directly here, but all I can see are the monks.”

  Chow looked through the gates and saw a cluster of orange-robed men standing on the hill. “It looks like Gao’s grave is at the highest point of the cemetery. That’s good feng shui.”

  “The man is dead. What does it matter where they put the body?” Fong said.

  “What’s got into you? You’re not usually this negative,” Chow said.

  “I’m pissed off about Ma. There’s no excuse for his not being here,” Fong said. He paused before adding, “The truth is, I played mah-jong last night and lost my ass.”

  “Is this more about Ma or about you losing?”

  Fong looked uncomfortable.

  “How much did you lose?”

  “Thirty thousand.”

  “And you don’t have it?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll lend it to you. I just wish I didn’t have to.”

  “We all have our vices,” Fong said.

  “What’s mine?”

  “You always think you’re right.”

  “I was wrong about Ren, and I’ve been wrong often enough before. But I agree that when I do believe in something, I tend to act as if there’s no other way to think,” Chow said. “Part of that stems from the fact that I don’t like indecision. When you can’t decide something for yourself, someone else will always decide it for you. If I’m going to make mistakes, I want no one to blame but myself.”

  “I don’t think Ren was a mistake,” Fong said. “How could you have known he didn’t have the balls to see it through?”

  “Obviously I didn’t know him well enough.”

  The bands reached the entrance to the cemetery and the procession backed up behind them as they slowly funnelled through the narrow gateway. As the line of mourners compressed, Chow found himself only a few metres behind the Mountain Masters. Ren was among them, standing between Kang and Tso. The two Mountain Masters were talking, and Ren was nodding in agreement to whatever was being said.

  A few minutes later they cleared the gate and continued uphill to the gravesite. The coffin was laid on ropes next to the grave while the mourners took their positions around it. The family and their friends were closest to the grave, the triads formed a secondary circle, and the bands stood on the fringes, their instruments momentarily silent. The monks began to chant. Chow felt a chill and lowered his head.

  When the monks had finished, six male friends of the family stepped forward and, with the help of cemetery staff, lowered the coffin into the ground. As they did, the family and the other mourners turned their backs on the grave. When the coffin reached the bottom, Chi took his mother gently by the elbow, picked up a handful of dirt, and pressed some into her hand. They both turned and the two of them threw the dirt onto the coffin.

  Everyone else followed suit, some saying a few words over the grave, others throwing money or joss paper with the dirt. When the last mourner had paid his respects, the monks approached the grave and began to chant again. Chi put his arm around his mother’s shoulder and led her away from the grave to begin the journey back to the funeral home.

  As they were leaving, Mrs. Hop stepped forward. “I have been asked by the family to invite everyone to join them at the Good Fortune Restaurant for the funeral dinner,” she said. “Dinner will be at six; drinks will be served starting at five.”

  “What do you want to do?” Xu said to Chow.

  “We’ll go to the dinner.”

  The crowd began to make its way down the hill in the same order it had ascended. The bands were no longer playing and there wasn’t a lot of conversation among the mourners. The journey downhill should have been faster than the one up, but halfway down, progress began to slow. The crowd was brought to a full stop several times, for reasons that Chow couldn’t fathom.

  “What the hell is going on?” Fong asked in frustration.

  “I have no idea,” Chow said, shuffling forward until he met a wall of people who had come to a standstill.

  The crowd stirred again but only inched forward. Then shouts could be heard from the direction of the funeral home. Chow tried unsuccessfully to see over the throng.

  “Xu, find a way t
hrough. Something is going on down there that’s causing this.”

  Xu pushed his way to the far right. He had gone about twenty metres before he came to a stop and began talking to a young man Chow recognized as a Blue Lantern. The young man was waving his arms in the air.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Fong said.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Chow said.

  Xu started walking back towards them, his face grim.

  “What did that guy tell you?” Chow said.

  “He said cops have cordoned off the funeral home.”

  “Why in hell would they do that?” Chow asked.

  “There are two bodies in the courtyard.”

  “Does he know who they are?” Chow asked, dreading the answer.

  “He says it’s Ma and Peng,” Xu said. “He also says their bodies are riddled with bullet holes.”

  ( 18 )

  It was chaotic on the street. The police had blocked access to the courtyard and the funeral home and had closed the road that led to the cemetery. A Saracen armoured car cut off any vehicular access between the cemetery and the town.

  “How did so many cops get here so fast?” Fong asked, as he, Chow, and Xu finally threaded their way through the crowd to the police barrier.

  “I imagine they were on standby. They knew Gao was being buried today and they knew the brotherhood would be out in force. Maybe they suspected trouble,” Chow said, peering through the courtyard’s wrought iron fence at the two bodies covered in sheets. “And it looks like they found it.”

  “Are we sure it’s Ma and Peng?” Fong asked.

  “Shan, the Blue Lantern I spoke to, saw the bodies before they were covered,” Xu said. “He was certain.”

  “This is a disaster,” Chow said.

  “What the hell is going on here? What’s happened?” a voice said.

  Chow turned to see Chi looking distraught. He hesitated, uncertain what to say.

  “There are bodies in the courtyard of the funeral home,” Chi went on. “My mother and the rest of our family are being stopped by armed police. For god’s sake, Uncle, tell me what is going on.”

  “We’ve been told that the bodies are those of Ma and a Blue Lantern named Peng,” Chow said.

  “Oh my god. Are you sure?”

  “Sure enough.”

  “This is terrible, in so many ways,” Chi said.

  Chow moved close to him. “You should leave with your mother as fast as you can. There’s no reason for you to stay here. I’m sure the police will let you pass.”

  “Our car is blocked in.”

  “Then walk into town. It isn’t far.”

  “You say that so calmly.”

  “My hands are sweaty, my stomach is in knots, and my head is ready to explode with questions,” Chow said. “I’m far from calm.”

  Chi shook his head. “We have the funeral dinner tonight.”

  “I’d cancel it,” Chow said. “People will understand.”

  “But the restaurant is booked.”

  “Then talk to them about rescheduling to a time when things have calmed down and we can pay proper respects to your father. I’m sure they’ll be reasonable,” Chow said. “If not, I’ll handle it.”

  “I’ll have to talk to my mother, but I think she’ll agree about rescheduling.”

  “Please tell her I’m sorry the day had to end like this,” Chow said.

  “She understands the life. That’s why she wanted me out.”

  “The life doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “Perhaps, but it too often is,” Chi said. “And I have to tell you that, as sad as my father’s death is, my mother and I take comfort from the fact that it was accidental.”

  “Excuse me,” Xu interrupted. “Yu is heading this way.”

  “I think I should get going,” Chi said.

  “The dinner?” Chow said.

  “We’ll reschedule it. I’ll ask Mrs. Hop to tell people, and maybe you can pass along the word as well.”

  “Gladly.”

  Chi shook Chow’s hand, nodded at Xu, and then brushed past the approaching Yu, whose face was so pale and drawn he seemed to have aged ten years in ten minutes.

  “The word is that it’s Ma in the courtyard,” Yu announced.

  “We’ve been told the same thing,” Chow said.

  “This is so awful, so fucking awful.”

  “That does sum it up.”

  Yu put his hand on Chow’s forearm and pulled himself close, his breath blanketing Chow’s face. “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”

  “I don’t have a clue. Who could be so vicious and degenerate as to do this on a day that should be dedicated to honouring Gao?”

  “Lau and Ng aren’t at the funeral,” Yu said, referring to the Mountain Masters from Tsim Sha Tsui and Tsing Yi.

  “If we start listing people who aren’t here, there will be no end to it,” Chow said.

  “Okay, then let’s talk about who is here.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Nothing that I’d want repeated.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t say anything at all,” Chow said. “It seems to me that the last thing we need right now is unfounded speculation.”

  Yu looked like he wanted to argue but shook his head. “I came over to tell you that there’s going to be an executive meeting at the office at seven o’clock tonight.”

  “Ren called a meeting?”

  “He is the Vanguard, and he is next in line,” Yu said. “He might expect to be named Mountain Master.”

  “My position hasn’t changed. I don’t want anyone to be appointed; I want an election.”

  “Well, now that Ma is dead, Ren has a clear path to the job,” Yu said. “I know he was running for it, but I have to tell you he would never have won.”

  “Actually, Ren told Ma yesterday that he wasn’t running. In fact, he told Ma he had his full support.”

  “You don’t think that could have been a ploy?”

  “I don’t like what you’re hinting at, and I don’t want to listen to any more of your shit right now,” Chow said.

  “I’m just stating the obvious.”

  “We’re all in shock and maybe not thinking clearly. That includes you,” Chow said. “Have you told Pang and Wang about the meeting?”

  “They’re next on my list.”

  “Don’t spin the same conspiracy theories when you talk to them.”

  “Pang supports the boss, or whoever he thinks will be boss. He will already have swung his support from Ma to Ren. I won’t waste my time with him,” Yu said. “Wang is more objective.”

  “He’s also the Red Pole. If Ma’s death is to be avenged, he’s the one who has to do it. I’d be careful about how much you wind him up.”

  Yu stared at Chow and then turned back in the direction from which he’d come.

  Chow, Xu, and Fong stayed where they were for another thirty minutes. The crowd began to thin as people lost interest in the courtyard and began to find their way back to town. Chow looked for familiar faces, but there was no sign of Ren, Pang, Yu, or Wang. Chi and his mother had left, and so had all the Mountain Masters. The only face he recognized was that of a police officer inside the courtyard, and he knew this wasn’t the time or place for them to talk.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said to Xu and Fong. “Nothing else is going to happen, and there’s nothing more to be done.”

  ( 19 )

  Fong and Xu walked into town with Chow. They tried to spark a conversation, but he wasn’t in the mood for speculation and stayed quiet. When he’d told Yu they were all in shock, he wasn’t excluding himself. The reality of Ma’s death was clear enough but hard to stomach. Now he had to come to grips with the ramifications, and he had only a few hours to
do so before the executive meeting. It was a process best completed alone.

  He left Xu and Fong near the office, promising to call them after the meeting, and walked to his apartment alone. Once inside, he took off his jacket, got a beer from the fridge, turned the leather easy chair so that it gave him a clear view of the street, and settled in. Positioning the chair that way was a subconscious reaction. He didn’t expect to be attacked in his home, but he wasn’t a careless man, and being diligent was something that came naturally to him. He lit a cigarette and leaned back. There were two questions that needed to be answered: Why was Ma killed? And who had ordered it to be done?

  The who question was the easiest to answer, at least on the surface. The public display of the body with its multiple bullet holes was a clear sign that this was a triad execution. When the triads shot to kill, one bullet was never enough and ten was never too many. And it was impossible to think of a location that would have been more public that afternoon than the funeral home where a Mountain Master was being laid to rest.

  But if Ma had been killed by triads, who had ordered it done? Given his position, it was unlikely that the decision to kill him could have been made by anyone below the rank of Mountain Master. But if he had been fingered, was it by someone from another gang or, as Yu had implied, by Ren or someone connected to him? Could that have been the object of Ren’s dinner with Tso in Kowloon? Again that dinner tormented him. Given the events of the week, how could it have been just two old friends meeting for a meal?

  Chow began to replay the conversations he’d had with Ren over the past few days. Had there been a clue, even the smallest hint, that this was his work? Chow believed that one of his strengths was his ability to discern when he was being lied to or strung along. He parsed his talks with Ren. The Vanguard had gone from being a nonplayer to a reluctant recruit to a possible front-runner before completely reversing his position. Why had he changed his mind? Ren had said he didn’t want to face the prospect of losing. How much truth was there in that? Had Ren played him and then played Ma? Was that possible? It was Chow who had approached Ren and convinced him to run, and Ren’s response every step of the way had been reasonable, if slightly guarded. So, despite Yu’s veiled accusation, Chow found it hard to believe that Ren was behind the killing.