by Ian Hamilton
No one answered Ng’s home phone, and when Uncle called his office, he was told that Ng could be reached on his mobile. While more and more of his colleagues were using mobile phones, Uncle had resisted the trend. He embraced change in a lot of ways, but he had been told that the police could monitor calls made on cellphones. Still, it seemed to be the only way to reach Ng, Uncle thought as he dialled the number.
“Wei,” Ng answered, the sounds of traffic in the background.
“This is Uncle. Can you call me back on a landline? I’m at my office.”
“Is this urgent? I’m in my car and I won’t be near a landline for at least half an hour.”
“Have you heard about what happened in Macau?” Uncle asked, deciding to forgo caution.
“Who hasn’t? Those guys think they’re cowboys and Macau is the Wild West,” Ng said. “The place can get wild, I grant you that, but there’s no reason to start shooting at brothers. I know they’ll say they were simply defending their turf, but there’s a time and place for everything. In front of the Grand Hyatt Hotel, with all those civilians coming and going, isn’t the place.”
“You heard about the little girl?”
“The papers are full of it.”
“I mean, did you hear that she died this morning?”
Ng went silent and then said, “Fuck. We really didn’t need that. How do you know about it?”
“Fong is in Macau, and he has a source who works at the hospital there. I don’t think it’s been made public yet.”
“The publicity will be horrendous when it comes out,” Ng said. “How do you think the cops will react?”
“I’m not sure exactly. All I know is that it would be wise for all of us to keep things as quiet as possible for the next few days.”
“I agree. I’ll pass the word on to my men.”
“Has Yin contacted you? He’s the one we really need to lie low. I’ve called his house twice, but I haven’t been able to reach him.”
“I haven’t heard from him.”
“Do you know anyone who has?” Uncle asked.
“No, but it’s been a week since I talked to another Mountain Master.”
“Isn’t that unusual?”
“I don’t know. I never gave it much thought,” said Ng.
“So you haven’t been in touch with Man?”
“I’ve got no business in Kowloon, and besides, I don’t like that son of a bitch,” Ng said. He hesitated before adding, “Is there a particular reason why you mention Man? Does it have something to do with what Yin’s been up to?”
“No. I was told that Man’s been meeting with various Mountain Masters. I was wondering if you were one of them.”
“Meetings about what?”
“I have no idea.”
“If it’s true, I’m sure it has nothing to do with the New Territories. All Man cares about is business in Kowloon and what’s going on across the harbour on Hong Kong Island.”
“That’s what I’ve always assumed,” Uncle said.
“And now you think differently?”
“No, I just heard a rumour about meetings and it made me curious.”
“Are you going to talk to anyone else about this?”
“Perhaps.”
“I will too. I’m tight with Poon in Mong Kok, and Zhao in Kowloon is married to my wife’s cousin. Both of them have always been open with me,” Ng said.
“I’m going to Happy Valley tonight. I normally see Sammy Wing and Tse there. If I do, I’ll prod them a bit. But Ng, I think we both need to be subtle.”
“I know I have a reputation for being blunt, but I can be sneaky when I need to be.”
“I said subtle, not sneaky.”
“They’re the same thing as far as I am concerned.”
“If you say so,” Uncle said, and then he saw he had an incoming call. “Ng, I have to go. If you track down Yin, let me know, and let’s touch base tomorrow morning about Man.”
“Talk to you then, if not before,” Ng said.
Uncle switched lines. “Wei.”
“There’s more trouble here,” Fong said in a rush.
“What’s happened this time?” Uncle asked with a sense of dread.
“Kan just phoned me. He said the Macau gang’s Red Pole was gunned down in front of his apartment building about half an hour ago.”
“Was it those fools from Kowloon?” Uncle asked, knowing what kind of chaos another killing would unleash.
“That’s what everyone assumes.”
“Is the Red Pole dead?” Uncle asked, grasping at a last vestige of hope.
“Uncle, there were four shooters. They weren’t leaving anything to chance.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The only positive thing Uncle could wring out of the news of the Red Pole’s death was that it had happened in Macau. The former Portuguese colony was more than sixty kilometres by air or sea from Hong Kong, and more than a hundred by car. And the Macanese police force was less than zealous when it came to going after triads. Uncle could only hope they kept behaving like that. Still, he couldn’t take it for granted, he thought, as he reached for the phone.
His first call was to Ng.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” Ng said.
“I wish it wasn’t necessary, but I thought you should know that the Macau gang’s Red Pole was shot dead this morning outside his apartment,” Uncle said. “We have to assume Yin was involved.”
“He didn’t waste any time, did he.”
“No, he did not. What we need to do now is ensure that this is the end of it. We can’t let things escalate any further or spill into Hong Kong,” Uncle said.
“For that to happen, the guys in Macau will have to accept that their Red Pole’s death squares things with Yin’s Kowloon gang,” Ng said. “I don’t want to sound negative, but I don’t think that’s likely.”
“I know. But, though they may not be in a mood to listen, we still need to try to talk sense into them,” Uncle said. “Cho is the Mountain Master in Macau. Do you know him?”
“I’ve met him a few times but we barely spoke. I’m not sure he’d recognize me if we bumped into each other.”
“I don’t know him either. We have to find someone he knows and trusts who will be willing to talk to him.”
“I’ve been told that your friend Tse helped finance Cho’s moneylending business in the casinos.”
“Then that’s who I’ll call,” said Uncle.
“Good luck. I’ll be in touch later today,” Ng said.
This isn’t how I planned to spend my morning, Uncle thought as he called Happy Valley. The phone rang five times before going to voicemail. It was the only number Uncle had for Tse. “This is Uncle. I need to talk to you. Call me as soon as you can,” he said, and then sighed in frustration.
He got up from his desk and went into the outer office. Hui, his White Paper Fan, was standing at Mo’s desk and the two men were talking.
“Do you want to go over the accounts?” Hui asked Uncle.
“Maybe later. For now I’d like to talk to you in my office,” Uncle said.
Hui followed him and sat in one of the two chairs in front of Uncle’s desk. “Is this about Macau?” he asked.
“Yes. Did you hear the girl died?”
“No. That’s really bad news.”
Hui had succeeded Xu Bo, Uncle’s closest friend, as White Paper Fan when Xu left Fanling to return to his home city of Shanghai. When Mao Zedong had taken power in China, one of the first things he did was order the People’s Liberation Army to eradicate the triads. Xu, like nearly every other gang member, had fled China to go to Hong Kong. His return more than ten years earlier had been negotiated with Deng Xiaoping by Uncle. Since then, Xu had been slowly and carefully building his own gang from scratch in Shanghai, using
the strategies Uncle employed in Fanling. Uncle wasn’t as close to Hui but respected him for his talents as a money manager, and for an attitude that was low-key and typically unflappable.
“As bad as it is, I’m even more worried about what’s going on between Yin and the Macau gang,” Uncle said. “Macau’s Red Pole was killed this morning, and whether Yin’s people did it or not, they’re going to be blamed.”
“Who else could have done it?”
“No one I can think of.”
“You’re obviously concerned about the violence spreading,” Hui said.
Uncle wasn’t surprised by how calmly Hui had processed the situation, and that was one reason why he was discussing it with him. “I want to reach out to the Mountain Master in Macau through Tse, but I haven’t had any success. And even if I can get Tse to intervene, there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to put out the fire,” Uncle said. “I’d like to get the executive committee together this afternoon. We need to have a plan in place if this spirals out of control. Call everyone and ask them to be here for two. Don’t bother about Fong; he’s on his way back from Macau and will come directly to the office.”
“Okay, boss.”
“One more thing,” Uncle said. “I’ve been told that Man has been meeting with some of the other Mountain Masters. I don’t know the details, but I’d like to find out. Fong and Kan, the Straw Sandal in Tai Po, are making some discreet phone calls. I’d like you to do the same.”
“Meetings about what?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like you to find out.”
Hui pursed his lips. “Things have been quiet. When I mentioned that to Wang last week, he said maybe things are too quiet.”
“It’s Wang’s nature to be paranoid, which is one of the reasons he’s such a good Red Pole. Thank god we have him,” Uncle said. His pushed aside his newspapers and the racing form. “I’ll go over the accounts now. Ask Mo to bring them in.”
The paperwork occupied the next three hours, as Uncle didn’t just review the accounts but also compared the numbers against those on charts he kept in his desk drawer. The charts were a historical record of the gang’s finances from the days when Uncle was White Paper Fan. He had started keeping them during his first year, as a way of providing perspective whenever financial decisions had to be made. Many of his colleagues tended to think in the short term, almost day-to-day, and were always eager to spend money without considering the long-term implications. Uncle had thought it was his responsibility to explain the consequences of their management decisions. When he became Mountain Master, he maintained the charts; even though there weren’t many projects the gang couldn’t afford to undertake, he liked the financial discipline they imposed.
When he had finished, he tucked the racing form under one arm and carried the account reports into the outer office. Mo was at his desk, two clerks had arrived, and through a glass window Uncle could see Hui on his office phone. Uncle handed the printed sheets back to Mo. “I’m going to the café across the street for a coffee. I’ll be back in an hour,” he said.
The café had three tables set up on the sidewalk. There had been a time in Fanling when tables on the sidewalk meant an eviction was in progress, but the town — like the rest of Hong Kong — was becoming more westernized. Shops that served brewed coffee instead of instant were popping up all over town. Uncle still made instant at his apartment, but the café had become a frequent haunt. He sat at the last available table, ordered a plain black coffee, and began to scour the racing form for nuggets of information he might have overlooked. Two coffees and five cigarettes later, he folded the form. Unlike most race days, Uncle now had a firm notion of which horse he was going to bet on in every race, and barring anything dramatic like a late scratch, a jockey change, or a massive shift in the odds, he wasn’t likely to change his mind.
Uncle rose from the table. As he started across the street, he saw Fong getting out of a taxi in front of the office. He shouted and Fong waved, then stood waiting for him. He carried an overnight bag that was so small Uncle doubted it could hold more than a toilet kit, a change of underwear, and a clean shirt. Like Uncle, Fong lived a spartan life, except for him it wasn’t by choice — gambling consumed most of his money.
“Hey, boss, has anything happened since we talked?” Fong asked.
“No. I reached out to Yin and I called Tse to ask if he’d talk to Cho, the Mountain Master in Macau, but I didn’t manage to talk to either of them,” he said. “I did speak to Ng, and he’s making some phone calls about Man. I’ve asked Hui to do the same. I figure that between you, Kan, and them we’ll get an idea of what’s going on.”
“I haven’t made any calls yet. I’ll start when I get upstairs.”
“I’ve called an executive committee meeting for two o’clock, so you don’t have much time. Everyone but Yu should be there,” said Uncle. His deputy Mountain Master wasn’t due back from a holiday in Thailand until the next day.
“Speaking of the committee, here come Wang and Tian,” Fong said, looking past Uncle.
Uncle turned to greet his old comrades. The two men walked side by side, Tian holding on to the larger, stronger Wang’s arm for support. Tian was in his seventies and had suffered from arthritis for many years. Some days the pain was so bad it crippled him, yet he never complained and never missed a day of work. Wang was in his late sixties, which was old for a man responsible for protecting the gang members and their turf. But he was still fit and adept with knife and gun, projected a fearsome demeanour that accurately reflected his fierce interior, and had the complete loyalty of his foot soldiers.
The four men exchanged handshakes and Uncle hugged Tian gently. “How are you feeling today, my old friend?” he asked.
“I’ve been better and I’ve been worse, but it’s a long time since I’ve been this angry,” Tian said. “I assume this meeting is to talk about what those fucking idiots in Kowloon and Macau have been doing.”
“It is, but let’s not start until Pang arrives and we’re all settled upstairs.”
Tian’s progress on the stairs was slow and awkward as he and Wang took one careful step at a time, Uncle and Fong trailing behind. Uncle knew Wang could easily have carried him, but Tian was a proud man and would have considered that humiliating. By the time they reached the top, Pang, the gang’s Incense Master, had joined them. The five men went directly to the boardroom, where Hui was waiting. The room was the same size as the executive offices and couldn’t accommodate anything more than a large, round table, six chairs, and a side table. Hui had set up an ice bucket full of beers, a pitcher of water, and six glasses on the smaller table.
“Thanks to all of you for coming at such short notice,” Uncle said, taking a bottle of San Miguel from the bucket before he sat down. Everyone except Tian followed suit.
“What are you hearing on the street about this mess in Macau?” Uncle asked.
Wang, Tian, and Pang exchanged looks as if they were determining who would go first. Tian was the most senior; when Wang nodded at him, he said, “The men, like me, are angry. There’s no excuse for bringing civilians into a turf war. And killing that girl was unpardonable. Whoever fired the bullet that killed her should be thrown out of the brotherhood.”
“Or worse,” Wang said.
“According to what I was told, there’s no way of knowing who fired the actual bullet. It was a drive-by, with four shooters firing at the same time,” Fong said.
“Then the brotherhood should deal with whoever gave the order,” Wang said.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen. The order probably came from Cho, the Mountain Master,” Tian said.
“Do you know him?” Uncle asked.
“I met him a few times when I was a forty-niner, and then later when we set up our first betting shops. He visited to see how they worked and if he could copy them in Macau,” Tian said. “He was a mean prick th
en and, from what I’ve heard, he hasn’t improved.”
“Well, whatever his mood, it could only have gotten worse after what Yin did this morning,” Fong said.
“What are you talking about?” Wang asked.
“Cho’s Red Pole was shot and killed outside his apartment building this morning,” Uncle said.
“What a dumb thing to do,” Tian said.
“Yin’s gang has to be twice the size of Cho’s. Maybe Cho will see reason and not take this any further,” Hui said.
“Not a chance,” said Tian.
“Cho has a decent working relationship with Tse. I’m hoping Tse will agree to try to talk sense into him,” said Uncle.
“You could send the entire United Nations to talk to him, it won’t make any difference. If Yin took out his Red Pole, Cho is going to retaliate,” Tian said.
“If he does, and he chooses to do it in Kowloon, that’s going to bring in the OCTB,” Uncle said. “And if they do come in, they won’t restrict themselves to Yin’s turf in Kowloon. They’ll be up everyone’s ass.”
“What can we do?” Pang asked.
“I won’t give up on Tse. Hopefully I’ll see him tonight at Happy Valley and convince him to at least try to talk Cho into a truce,” Uncle said. “But, given Tian’s pessimism, I think we’ll have to prepare for some upheaval.”
“We assume a low profile?” Wang asked.
“Yes, as low as possible. Let’s close the casinos for now. We’ll operate the betting shops tonight, but let’s not commit to opening them on Sunday until we know where things stand,” Uncle said. “I can’t imagine the night market or the massage parlours being a police target, so we’ll leave them alone.”
“We’re going to lose quite a bit of income,” Hui said.
“We can afford it. I would rather lose a few days or even weeks of revenue than risk blowing up everything we’ve spent all these years building,” Uncle said. “We also have some official relationships we have to protect. We can’t forget about them.”
