My other lead was to the neighborhood where Fu and Wi spent their childhood. My hope there was to talk to people who knew the cousins and see if I could develop leads. As curious as I was about the parlors, I decided to hightail it to the old neighborhood first.
Chapter 33
A half hour later I found myself in the Wong Tai Sin district, or the suburbs by Chinese standards. There were fewer people on the streets and the traffic was manageable. Did I mention that the paved roads were now dirt?
The yellow and blue Hyundai taxi came to a stop and the driver pointed down a road with his crooked finger. I got out and embraced the heat. The day was turning out to be hotter than I expected.
My shirt had already grafted itself to my back and my throat craved something cool. I looked around but didn’t see anything resembling a Coke. The buildings were nondescript. I couldn’t tell if they were retail establishments or not. I figured I could keep an eye out for a kiosk or something as I ventured deeper into the district.
The neighborhood was just north of Kowloon, at the edges of the city. Over eighty percent of the people in Wong Tai Sin lived in government-designed building blocks, and it was in one of these massive communes that Mr. Fu and Wi grew up.
I spotted the buildings fairly quickly. They were large, gray, and identical. The utilitarian architecture stood out against the skyline like I was beginning to stand out on the street. I quickly hoofed it over there. At some point, on the way over to the housing, yaks, chickens, and makeshift vehicles all began sharing the road. There was no right-of-way as far as I could tell.
Looking up at these two massive concrete blocks, I had no clue what my next move would be. I walked over to one of the buildings. A primitive buzzer system with over one hundred options hung crookedly near the entrance. I suddenly realized I didn’t know what Mr. Fu’s last name was. Idiot.
Do I ring the buzzer and start asking questions? I could hear Tav’s voice, “Do you honestly think you’re prepared to go to Hong Kong?” Who could have prepared for this? Simple mistake––anyone could have made it.
Feeling defeated, I started blasting rocks on the ground with my foot like they were mini soccer balls, trying to bend it like Beckham. The last rock I kicked rocketed through the air and crashed through a window on a first floor apartment. Oh shit! I frantically looked around to see if anyone had noticed.
Of course someone did. This was China, land of one billion people. Behind me stood ten partially clothed children, four cane-dependent elders, and a guy with a yak piled high with freshly laundered linens. They stared quietly. Not a single word was uttered. Not even a grunt from the yak.
Jesus, what do I do now? I looked back at the broken window. Whoever lived there either wasn’t home or was slow to the fact that a rock crashed through their window.
Advantage: me.
Maybe this crowd of ten partially clothed children, four cane-dependent elders, and a guy with a yak piled high with freshly laundered linens didn’t actually see what happened. What if I walked away? Make like nothing happened. What the hell, I would never see these people again. I took out my cell phone and pretended to make a call as I walked away.
It only took two steps before I triggered a barrage of Cantonese from the peanut gallery as they pointed at the window, thwarting my escape.
Chapter 34
San Francisco, California
Sulyn already knew she was in trouble when she waved goodnight to her friends. It was two hours past her curfew and a twenty-minute bus ride to Pacific Heights. Her mother would be up, waiting to remind her––screaming in Chinese, of course––how irresponsible and inconsiderate she was, and over confidant for sixteen. Why rush home to the inevitable? She took her time walking to the bus stop. Chinatown at night was fairly safe for the most part, not that it concerned her.
Up ahead, about forty yards away, a bunch of boys were milling around on a street corner. She recognized their voices from school, especially the loud one. She had briefly dated him, until someone better came along. They all sounded like they had been drinking. Sulyn rolled her eyes. Having to mingle with her ex made her want to puke in her mouth. He was such a little boy.
Oh, the hell with it.
Sulyn darted off of Grant and into an alleyway. Lost in her iPod, she dance-walked to a Vampire Weekend tune. The bright moon above was no match for the fog-laden alley. Four out of five assassins would agree that this is the reason why Sulyn didn’t notice the movement along the wall behind her. Nor did she hear the footsteps as The Voice approached her. Only when a large hand clamped down tightly over her face did she finally notice. By then, it was too late do anything.
Even too late to scream.
•••
When Sulyn woke she had a terrible headache. The room was dark save for a thin line of light entering from the top of what had to be a door. Her eyes were having a hard time adjusting. Where she lay was cold and hard, with walls along the side and a drain near her bare feet. A tub?
She knew this already though. It taken awhile for her to grasp this idea the last time she woke. Was that yesterday? Sulyn had no idea how long she had been here. Was it hours? Days? Weeks? It was impossible to gauge the passage of time during her kidnapping crisis.
Sulyn’s feet were bound with a piece of cloth. So were her hands, luckily in front and not behind her back. She searched near the bottom of the tub, wondering if it was still there. It was: a water bottle. It had not been refilled.
Swallowing was impossible without saliva. Her throat was raspy, clinging to itself. She twisted the cap off the bottle, wanting to wet her lips, searching for a drop. There was none. Of course not. Sulyn had tasted the last drop the last time she reached for the bottle.
Time was playing tricks on her, teasing her. The hardest part was accepting she had been here for a while. The longer she was here, the less her chance of survival. She knew this. The thought of being here for over a week made her sick. She didn’t even realize the gag had been returned to her mouth until now. She reached and pulled it down. The oven in her mouth began to cool.
Sulyn twisted and turned her body up the side of the tub until she sat upright. She then ran the events of that horrible night through her head, exactly like she did the first time she woke. There was the goodbye on the corner. The walk through the alley. The gloved hand. The beady eyes. Sulyn had looked her captor dead in the eye when she fell backwards as she struggled against him. His cold stare cast down on her as she lost her footing and then her consciousness.
Sulyn was in a very bad place. Silent tears fell from both cheeks. Not nearly enough to fill the tub––yet––but enough to put her to sleep.
Chapter 35
Kowloon Peninsula, Hong Kong
A loud metallic boom caught my attention. The heavy steel door at the entrance to the building was now wide open. A short man wearing black Bruce Lee pants and a white, ribbed tank top appeared in the entryway.
He walked into the open, yelling at anyone within eyesight as he pointed to the broken window. The owner, I presumed. Then in perfect unison, the crowd swung their pointing arms away from the window and settled on me. I guess this was my lucky day.
The slightly rotund man moved toward me quicker than seemed possible. He sported a pair of panda eyes––the result of two fists? His forehead crinkled as he searched for the right response. Verbal, I hoped.
Circling me once, he said nothing. He was smaller but his eyes told me he had mastered the art of CRAZY. How else would a pencil-thin mustache-wearing man be taken seriously? Was he formulating some plan to rob me? My plan was whether or not I could outrun this guy, and I’ll admit, I was a little nervous. This wasn’t the San Francisco Chinatown I grew up around.
The man raised his hand within a few inches of my nose and rubbed his thumb against his first two fingers. The two stubby nubs were stained yellow from cigarettes.
“I don’t speak Chinese,” I said taking a step back.
An angry build of Cantonese b
egan to spew out of his mouth. His rigid arm swung back and forth between his broken window and my pocket. How much longer could I play dumb?
“Fine,” I shouted back. I didn’t feel like tiptoeing around the broken window. But I also wasn’t going to let some peasant bully me. I’m taking control of the situation. I reached into my pocket and took out HK$20 and handed it to him. He looked at the bill and laughed.
“You think twenty dollars is enough? No, American,” he said as he waved his finger at me. He held up five fingers, “You owe five hundred.”
I was surprised, taken back actually that he spoke English. But I wasn’t about to let this tricky Houdini moment distract me from what was taking place: a rip-off in plain sight.
By now the crowd of ten partially clothed children, four cane-dependent elders, and a guy with a yak piled high with freshly laundered linens had gathered around us, hanging on to our every word. I don’t know who was more excited to see how this would play out: the audience or me.
“Five hundred?” I said. “It doesn’t cost five hundred dollars to fix a window.”
“Hong Kong dollars, stupid,” he shouted back.
Whoa, calm down, Master of Disaster. Five hundred still sounded like a lot, even though I couldn’t remember what the exact rate of conversion was. I countered, “One hundred!”
“Four hundred!”
I returned, “One hundred and fifty!”
“Seven hundred.”
“Wait, you can’t go higher,” I complained. “You have to go lower, that’s how it’s done.”
With his smug look, he calmly said, “Eight hundred.”
“Eight hundred??” I gasped.
“Nine hundred,” he continued.
“Okay, okay…wait,” I said as I took out my wallet and handed over everything I had: HK$522. “It’s all I got. Here.”
The crowd cheered. A winner was declared. The delivery guy patted me on the back. Part comforting, part thanking me for the entertainment.
I watched my nemesis lick his dirty finger and count the bills. He said, “You owe me, okay?”
“Wait, what?”
Pocketing the money, he continued, “It fine. You owe me, okay, buddy?” He patted my shoulder. “When you want to pay?”
“I’m not paying you anything,” I said, “I’m done here.”
The man’s smile disappeared. A low gasp rose from the crowd as they returned. There would be a double feature playing today.
Pointing to his chest, “You know me?”
I shook my head back and forth. I didn’t care. I was hot, thirsty, and pissed.
He leaned in closer, not breaking eye contact. “Triad,” he whispered.
Wait, did he say what I thought he said? Could it be? Was he an actual Triad gang member? Was this a shake down by a real Triad? A large smile quickly appeared on my face as I blurted out, “This is unbelievable. Are you for real? Are you really a Triad?”
Mr. Triad was clearly confused. I’m sure this wasn’t the reaction he expected. His anger confirmed my thought. “You make fun of Triad?” His face turned a bright red.
“No! God, no! I’m sorry, I’m not making fun. Can we talk man to man? I have a proposition. I’ll buy you a drink, okay?” I suggested, ignoring his faux threat. Pointing to the man’s pocket I continued, “But I’ll have to borrow a few dollars if that’s okay?”
He only laughed at my request.
Chapter 36
Two hours later, I found myself in an old, ratty canteen drinking bottles of Tsingtao with a man who went by the name Chu.
The table was littered with the labels I had peeled off the bottles. A one-speaker jukebox in the corner belted out I Love Rock and Roll by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts. The place was empty except for a few local elders and us.
Earlier, Chu took me to an ATM. I paid him the remaining money and I was now his sugar daddy, feeding him beers. I didn’t care. Chu was turning out to be a gold mine of information. Loose lips ain’t sinking this ship.
“Chu, tell me about your gang.” The question was direct and I meant for it to startle him.
Chu stared me down for a moment and then burst into laughter. “I second in command. Very powerful.”
I laughed along, “I can see! How is business?”
Over the course of our Tsingtao drinking fest, I learned Chu was a member of the Fan Gang, one of the many factions contributing to the Triad organization. Sing Chow was the gang’s leader. He formed the gang two years ago and operated from his father’s restaurant, the House of Chow. The gang’s calling card? Elegant fans with razor blade tips.
Chu said Sing was a big fan of Stephen Chow movies, primarily Kung Fu Hustle. Apparently he modeled their gang after the Axe Gang. I immediately thought of a young Jerry Lewis running the Crips. The TV Guide blurb would read, “A threatening gang sets out to take over their neighborhood. Chaos and hilarity ensue.”
Thanks to a few more beers, Chu admitted the gang was disorganized; things were not going well. He even doubted their ability to be a respected as reputable faction like Sing preached. This was what I wanted to hear. The Fan Gang sounded like a possibility, considering I had no other options. If what Chu said was true, and the future of the gang was questionable, I would have a solid reason for offering my services.
I needed to know if the gang was open to outside help. Chu was swilling his ninth Tsingtao and getting closer to a state of muchas cervezas, señor. It was now or never. “I can help you––the gang really––but I need to meet Sing,” I said.
Chu looked at me, confused. I suspect he thought I said something else.
“Chu? Do you understand what I’m saying?” I waited for a response, as Chu drained the last of his beer. “I’m a consultant. I help organizations operate better. I think I can help. I believe your gang is very capable of achieving success.”
His tight-lipped response may have said no but his body language cried for help. His flickering eyes avoiding me, the nervous bouncing of his left leg…I have to make this easier for him. “If the other members care about the gang as much as you do, we could see progress almost immediately. But I need to meet with Sing. Can you arrange for this to happen?”
Chu placed his empty beer bottle on the table, “One more beer, then we make time to meet, okay?”
I was impressed. Nine Tsingtao’s and a little stroking of the ego was all it took for the second in command to introduce me to the head honcho. This was too easy.
And it worried me.
Chapter 37
I said goodbye to Chu and his smoky hangout and headed back to my hotel. I felt the day was productive, considering the whole trip was a shot in the dark. The Fan Gang seemed to meet my gang criteria: dumb and dumber.
Chu said he would call me tomorrow and give me the details for the meeting. I crossed my fingers and hoped all would go well, considering I was out a little over fifteen hundred Hong Kong dollars. It wasn’t much, just under two hundred in American dollars, but still, I wasn’t rolling in the dough and I needed this investment to pay off. I decided to follow up with the parlors in case things fell apart with Chu and the Fan Gang.
I was halfway back to my hotel, when my phone rang. It was Tav calling.
“Yo, Darb, how’s the Kong treatin’ you? Are you loving it?”
“The Kong is pretty cool so far. Did a bunch of sightseeing today, checked out an old part of town, met a Triad, possible meeting being set up to meet the leader. You know, typical tourist stuff.” I could sense Tav’s confusion. It felt good.
“Wait, you actually met a Triad?”
“I did. I’m expecting a call from him tomorrow about meeting the head guy, Sing Chow; he’s the leader of the Fan Gang.”
“Fan Gang?”
“I know, it’s offbeat but this leader got the idea from a movie called Kung Fu Hustle.”
“Hold up. Are you crazy? How is this safe? You know nothing about these guys. You could be walking into a trap and end up like those tourists who are kidnap
ped and then held hostage as their captors take their ATM and credit cards to make daily withdraws.”
“You have a tall imagination, Tav.”
“No, I’m serious. I saw this show on cable. Two women were being interviewed about it. And they were the lucky ones. Most of the time, the hostages are killed after the criminals drain their accounts.”
“Yeah, well, from what I know so far, the gang is unorganized and on the verge of collapse. Plus, they’re sort of pathetic.”
“I bet you think that’s case study material?”
“Yup.”
“You’re not worried at all about getting kidnapped or killed?”
“A little, but the way I look at it, I’m selling a service. This is business.”
“I dunno, Darb. Sounds dangerous. Tell you what: Let’s check in everyday, okay?”
“All right, we’ll do that.” To be truthful, I thought this was a good idea. I was nervous as heck but letting it show would send Tav over the edge. I needed for him to be himself.
“How are things back at the office?”
“Same old crap. Printing, stapling, and paper clipping for the goddamn man. Part of me wishes I were there. Sounds like a lot of fun. I could get my Asian persuasion on. Oh, and I think you should know, Harold’s been snooping. He doesn’t think there was a death.”
“There might be if I don’t play my cards right,” I joked. “What kind of digging has he been doing?”
“Asking around like he cares in hopes someone slips, but he’s not gonna get anything because no one knows anything. Still, I thought you should know.”
Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella) Page 9
