by Ian Hamilton
Among the executive committee — and, in fact, among the entire Hong Kong triad community — it was common knowledge that Uncle had a special contact within the Hong Kong police, but the only other person who knew the contact’s name was Tian. The contact was Zhang Delun, and he was now Chief Superintendent of the Northern New Territories Division of the Hong Kong Police Force. Tian had been friends with Zhang’s father, also a policeman, and had looked after Zhang and his family when the father died. As a mentor to both Uncle and Zhang, Tian had recognized the young men’s pragmatism and trustworthiness. He had brought them together, believing that, despite their divergent career aspirations, they could help each other. His judgement had been sound. Over the years, Zhang and Uncle had exchanged information, confidences, and favours that contributed to both the welfare of their organizations and to their own advancement.
“Will you speak to your contact?” Wang asked. “He might know if the OCTB is prepared to strike even if the problem is in Macau.”
“It’s too soon for that,” Uncle said. “I’ll wait until I see how Cho reacts.”
“If Tian is right about Cho,” Hui said, “this could be the start of a war.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Uncle left Fanling in a taxi at five-thirty to make his way to Happy Valley. He had invited Fong to join him but his Straw Sandal had begged off; what with the shootings, gambling, and servicing his mama-san, he hadn’t had much rest the night before. “Then use at least part of the evening to make those phone calls about Man to the other Straw Sandals,” Uncle had said.
The taxi took Uncle as far as Tsim Sha Tsui in Kowloon. He could have stayed in the car to travel to Hong Kong Island via the Cross-Harbour Tunnel, but out of habit and a bit of superstition he took the Star Ferry across Victoria Harbour to Central and then caught a cab to Happy Valley. The racetrack was already packed when he arrived, and he smiled when he heard the familiar buzz of excitement in the air. It didn’t seem to matter how often he walked through those gates; every time he did he felt a surge of adrenalin.
He made his way to the grandstand on the third level, settled into his seat, and opened the racing form. His choice for the first race, which had been at four-to-one odds in the morning line, was now five to one. He smiled. It was a good sign when the odds were moving in his favour. He decided to bet on the horse to win and place, and then chose two horses to include in quinellas with it.
He went inside the grandstand to the betting windows. As always, the lineups were long, but they moved quickly, and Uncle got his bet down ten minutes before post time. The horses were on the track when he returned to his seat, and he studied his choice. The three-year-old colt had a spring in his step and looked eager to run. Uncle eyed the inside of the horse’s back legs, looking for any sign of sweat that might indicate he was stressed. He saw none and sat back, feeling confident about his chances.
Twenty minutes later Uncle re-entered the grandstand with his winning tickets. He started each visit to the racetrack with a budget based on how much he was prepared to lose if all his choices ran out of the money. But the budget was adjustable if he was ahead, and there was no better way to begin an evening than with a big win. He’d double his bet for the next race, and there would be no limit to what he could be betting by the end of the night if he kept winning.
“Uncle, are you in line to bet or to cash?” a familiar voice asked.
Uncle turned and saw Sammy Wing standing in the line next to him. “I won. How did you do?”
“My horse was second, but I had him in the quinella.”
“That was shrewd,” Uncle said. “I was hoping you’d be here. Is Tse with you?”
“Yeah. He decided to splurge — we’re sitting in a box. He knew you’d be here and wants you to join us.”
Uncle cashed in and then stood off to one side to wait for Sammy. He and Uncle were the same age and the same height, but Sammy weighed about double what Uncle did. He had always been heavy-bodied, but now he was just fat. The agility he’d possessed as a younger man was gone, replaced by a waddle.
Sammy had joined the triads when he was eighteen, so he had spent seven more years in the brotherhood than Uncle. They had never been close friends — more friends of convenience. Sammy had always assumed he’d become the Mountain Master in Wanchai, and when Uncle achieved that goal in Fanling five years before him, Sammy responded with a resentment that didn’t end until he’d finally made it to the top. Once they were colleagues of equal rank, Sammy had become more amenable, and Uncle was businesslike enough to forget the other man’s jealousy.
“How much did you win?” Sammy asked as he approached.
“Nine thousand,” Uncle said.
“When you retire, you can make your pocket money here and in Sha Tin.”
“I have no intention of retiring.”
“Me neither,” Sammy said.
“What do you think about the recent events in Macau?” Uncle asked as he followed Sammy to the box.
“A disaster.”
“What does Tse think?”
“Ask him yourself.”
Tse stood up as they entered the private box. He was five years younger than both of them, six inches taller than either of them, and as thin as Uncle. “So good to see you, Uncle,” he said.
The box had six chairs in a row facing the track. In front of the chairs a ledge ran from wall to wall, providing a resting place for drinks and racing forms. There was a bottle of water and another of San Miguel on the ledge.
“Are you the only occupants?” Uncle asked.
“Yes,” Tse said. “I got your message from earlier today. I knew you wanted to talk, so I thought we should have some privacy.”
“I’m very concerned about what’s going on between Cho and Yin,” said Uncle.
“We all are,” Tse said. “Take a seat.”
“Have you heard anything from your police contact?” Sammy asked.
“Not yet, but my fear is that when I do, it will be too late to stop what those warring idiots have set in motion,” Uncle said. He took a seat next to Tse.
“Yin did have a right to support his Sun Yee On brothers in Macau,” Sammy said.
“Are you suggesting that Cho didn’t have a right to defend his turf?” Tse asked.
“No,” Sammy said, after a slight hesitation.
“Let’s assume you’re both correct,” Uncle said. “That still doesn’t make it any less of a mess. After killing the Red Pole, Yin will feel that he’s evened the score. Tse, I’m told that you know Cho quite well. How do you think he’ll respond? Is there any chance he’ll decide there’s nothing to be gained by retaliating?”
“I’ve been doing business with him for six years. Reasonable is not a word I’d use to describe him. He’s hard-headed and he loses his temper more easily than most,” Tse said. “Part of the problem is that he feels he has the Macanese police in his pocket and he doesn’t have to worry about the OCTB. He thinks he’s insulated from the machinations of the Hong Kong gangs.”
“Are you saying he’ll extend this war with Yin?” Uncle asked.
“It’s more of a skirmish than a war,” Sammy said. “Besides, despite my friend Tse’s opinions about Cho, I have to think the man is smart enough to realize that taking on Yin’s gang is a losing proposition.”
“He is smart, but not in the way you suggest,” Tse said to Sammy.
“What do you mean?” Uncle asked, noticing Sammy’s frown at the rebuke.
“He knows we’re apprehensive about the OCTB, while he has nothing to fear from the Macanese cops,” Tse said. “He might be willing to gamble that it’s Yin who won’t risk taking this feud any further.”
“Do you really think he’d risk striking back at Yin for the death of his Red Pole?” Uncle asked.
“That’s what I expect is in his mind.”
“Can you talk to him?
” Uncle asked.
“Yes. In fact, I’ve already made plans to go to Macau tomorrow,” Tse said. “He’s agreed to meet with me, but I can’t promise he’ll listen.”
“I feel better already, just knowing that you’re going,” said Uncle.
“I’ll do what I can,” Tse said, then turned towards the track. “But enough about Cho. Which horse do you like in this race?”
Uncle’s success in the first race was duplicated in the second, and both he and Tse cashed in large winning tickets. Sammy went with a different choice, lost, and then grumbled about the jockey who had been riding his horse. Uncle smiled and said nothing. One of the reasons he hadn’t bet on that horse was precisely because of the jockey.
Uncle’s winning streak ended in the third race, and he also failed to cash in for the fourth and the fifth. All three men were now drinking beer, and their conversation had become less guarded. Sammy openly enjoyed each of Uncle’s losses and couldn’t resist bragging about his wins. He was betting on the favourites. Uncle was tempted to point out that one of his wins had returned more money than three or more of Sammy’s combined, but he resisted.
Tse had been betting on Uncle’s choices. “We need to recoup,” he said to Uncle as he looked at the sixth-race entries.
“Number five can’t lose,” Sammy said.
Number five was the favourite that Uncle had put a star next to on his racing form. “I can’t bet on a horse that returns two-to-five odds,” he said. “I think number three has a shot, and it’s at eight to one.”
“A small return on a sure thing is better than no return on a long shot,” Sammy said.
“There are no sure things in horse racing,” Uncle said.
“For a man who has a reputation for being the most cautious of any of us, it always surprises me to see the chances you’re willing to take at the racetrack,” Sammy said. “I’ve often wondered, which is the real Uncle?”
Uncle shrugged. “I’m going to bet now,” he said to Tse. “Do you want me to place yours or will you do it yourself?”
Tse reached into his pocket. “Put five hundred on the number-three horse to win and place,” he said to Uncle.
Uncle placed their bets, and when he returned to the box, he saw there was a fresh round of beers. He took a deep swig and noticed that his colleagues had already downed half their bottles. “Since you’re both here, do you mind if I save myself having to make phone calls to you later?” Uncle asked.
“Phone calls about what?” Sammy asked.
“I’ve been told that Man has been holding a series of meetings with some of the Mountain Masters. I was going to ask if either of you has been part of them.”
Sammy glanced ever so briefly at Tse and then quickly turned to Uncle. “I have no idea what meetings you’re referring to,” he said.
He’s lying to me was Uncle’s immediate thought, but he simply nodded and said nothing. He looked at Tse, who was staring very deliberately at the track, where the horses were being assembled at the starting gate.
“Your pick looks ready to run,” Tse said to Uncle as the gate opened and the horses hurtled out.
The race was a thousand metres. After five hundred, Uncle’s horse was last, more than fifteen lengths behind the favourite. He said, “He may have looked ready, but I’m afraid this isn’t his day.”
The number-three horse made up a little ground in the stretch, but it still finished ten lengths behind number five.
“See, there are sure things,” Sammy said.
Ten minutes later Sammy left the box to cash in his ticket. Uncle waited for a minute after the door closed before he said to Tse, “Why is Man having meetings?”
“Don’t be paranoid.”
“So he is having meetings.”
“Yes, but they aren’t anything for you to get alarmed about,” said Tse. “He’s concerned about what’s going to happen when the British hand over Hong Kong to the Chinese. That’s only two years away, and he believes it’s time we started focusing on it.”
“Focus on it how?”
“As you know better than most, the Communists don’t have much tolerance for triads. I know you negotiated our way back in to China to a small extent, but there’s still a fear that when the Communists take over Hong Kong, they will consider us a threat and try to destroy us.”
“And how does Man intend to deal with that threat — if it actually materializes?” asked Uncle.
“He believes the triads need to consolidate their bases. The stronger each gang is, the less eager the PLA or the Security Service might be to take us on.”
Uncle stared at Tse until his colleague averted his eyes. Tse looked uncomfortable, and that in turn spiked Uncle’s discomfort. “I agree it makes sense to discuss the implications of the Chinese takeover,” he said slowly. “What I don’t understand is why Man is meeting with Mountain Masters on an individual basis, and why no one in the New Territories has been invited.”
“Man thinks the greatest threat is to the big-city gangs on Hong Kong Island and in Kowloon. We’re the largest and most visible,” Tse said. “With all due respect to the New Territories, he doesn’t think the Communists will concern themselves with gangs in places like Tai Po.”
“Or Fanling.”
“Perhaps.”
Uncle drained his beer. “Assuming that’s true, what does Man mean specifically when he says the city gangs need to consolidate their bases and grow stronger?”
“He says they need to recruit more men.”
“Is that all?”
“No,” Tse said, then became quiet.
“Don’t stop there,” said Uncle.
Tse sighed. “I think I’ve already said too much. I’m worried that anything else I say might be misconstrued.”
Uncle started to speak but stopped at the sound of a loud knock on the door.
“Come in,” Tse said, sounding relieved.
The door opened and a man Uncle recognized as Tse’s Red Pole stood grim-faced in the entrance.
“What’s going on?” Tse asked.
“Boss, there’s been a shootout in Kowloon.”
“Who’s involved?”
“Yin’s crew and the gang from Macau.”
“Are you sure it was them?”
“I’m certain about Yin, and who else would attack them on their home ground than those idiots from Macau?”
“How bad is it?”
“At least two of Yin’s men and one of the guys from Macau are dead. More are wounded. The Macau gang burst into a bar where Yin’s guys gather.”
Tse looked at Uncle. “I guess that means there’s no reason for me to go to Macau tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SIX
Uncle left the Happy Valley racetrack fifteen minutes later, not sure what he should be most worried about — the escalating war between Macau and Kowloon, or what Tse had told him about Man. He was desperate to get to a phone but first had to endure two cab rides and the ferry trip across the harbour before he got to his apartment. The travel time passed so slowly he almost wished he had one of those new mobile phones.
When he reached his apartment, Uncle raced upstairs. His first call was to Wang, at the restaurant he used as his nighttime headquarters. “Those fools from Macau attacked Yin’s men in Kowloon tonight. They killed at least two,” he said as soon as he heard Wang’s voice. “We should prepare for the OCTB to authorize an offensive against all the gangs. Keep our men off the streets. Let’s not give them any easy targets.”
“Okay, boss.”
“I’ll touch base later when —” Uncle started to say, then saw he had an incoming call that couldn’t be ignored. “I have to go. We’ll talk later,” he said quickly, and switched lines.
“Uncle, what the hell is going on with you people?” Zhang Delun asked.
“There’s a dispute between o
ne of the gangs in Kowloon and one in Macau. It will be resolved.”
“Is this a carryover from the shootings in Macau?” Zhang asked.
“Yes.”
“We can’t tolerate that kind of behaviour in Hong Kong. If there are disputes, they should be settled in private, not in public.”
“I know, but the problem is restricted to Kowloon. You know we maintain peace in the New Territories.”
“Headquarters doesn’t differentiate between triads in the northern sector and triads in Kowloon,” Zhang said. “I want you to know that we’ve been put on alert. If there’s any more violence, every division will be expected to take some kind of action. Pass the word to your colleagues.”
“Most of them dislike public displays of violence as much as you do, but I will talk to them, and we’ll bring whatever influence we have to bear on the Macau-Kowloon situation.”
“Do it quickly. As I said, we’ve already been put on alert, and it won’t take much to trigger a reaction.”
“Thanks for the call. It’s appreciated.”
“Keep your head down, Uncle,” Zhang said, and ended the conversation.
Uncle felt a sense of relief as he hung up. That the police weren’t yet committed to coming after them was good news; the fact that they had been put on alert wasn’t. What was important now was to bring an immediate end to the hostilities between Yin and Cho. He thought about who to call next and decided Tse was still the best option. Uncle thought he would have gone home after the racetrack and dialled that number.
“Wei,” Tse answered.
“This is Uncle.”
“I was hoping you’d call,” Tse said. “Have you heard from your police contact?”
“He says all the divisions have been put on alert, but they won’t do anything drastic unless there’s another public display of violence,” Uncle said.
“Thank goodness they’re holding off.”
“We still need to bring an end to this nonsense, and we have to do it as quickly as possible,” Uncle said. “I’ve been thinking about Macau. You should reconsider your decision. Someone has to talk to Cho, and you’re the best man for the job. Don’t say no to me.”
