‘Where?’

‘All she said was that she didn’t actually know where it was going to be, that it might not even be in Hong Kong. She said she’d call as soon as she could. But she hasn’t.’ Honey pursed her lips into a tight, small smile and cocked her head to one side. ‘And you know how it is, Johnny …’ She wiggled again – playful and eager. ‘Out of sight, out of mind. Here’s my number in case you’ve lost it. And remember – any time, don’t hesitate, Teddy and I will be waiting.’

Mann walked back up to join Johnson Road, one of the main roads leading down to Causeway Bay. It was heaving. Every square inch was in motion. Intrusive neon flooded the street with false light and created day when it was night … Sam was having his usual banter with a few loud-mouthed tourists. Around the corner a scuffle was breaking out. Mann almost ignored it. There were plenty of coppers around patrolling the streets, they would deal with it in a minute. He almost turned and walked away, until he heard a familiar sound:

‘Hey, banana boy?’

The three men from the Havana Bar were walking his way. Mann turned and smiled. ‘Come for your lesson, boys?’

‘We heard you were some martial arts expert. We were in the Marines. We reckon we’re a match for you, banana boy …’

They fanned out – the two baldies to Mann’s right, the small one to his left.

Mann moved towards the passageway at the side of the Bond Bar, where the rubbish was dumped from the restaurants that backed onto it. He held up both his hands in a peace gesture then he stepped forward and put his arm around the shoulder of Ugly Fuck.

‘I can see you just want to have a good time: get drunk, get laid. Let me tell you where’s the best place to go for that.’

The big guy grunted his agreement. He was the most used to fighting and the most keen to avoid it when he could. Mann looked past him to the other two and saw Chip on his Shoulder nod, roll his eyes Mann’s way, and reach for a knife pouch he had hidden in his waistband.

Mann gripped Ugly Fuck hard and swung him round. The man took a heavy blow to the side of his head, delivered by Musclebound and meant for Mann. Ugly Fuck staggered back, hit the wall behind and sank into the piles of rotting veg waiting for collection. The punch had off-balanced Musclebound and Mann was right in thinking he didn’t have the speed in his feet to get out of trouble. While Mann’s left hand delivered a punch to Musclebound’s throat, his right hand snapped Chip on his Shoulder’s wrist. There was a sickening crack and a bestial scream as the smaller man dropped the knife and staggered off clutching his arm.

Mann walked away. ‘Hope you enjoyed your lesson, boys,’ he said over his shoulder.

47

Chan sat in the back of his car. He was early. He wanted to be there first. He had set up the meeting on mutual territory. It was in a small restaurant in Kowloon. It would be easy to guard. Privacy was paramount.

His driver drove past once. Chan peered inside. It looked dead. He had instructed the owner to shut it for the evening.

He drove past the restaurant again. The owner had closed it, as instructed. The place looked empty – dark. He saw the owner come nervously to the door of his restaurant and make last-minute checks to ensure all was as it should be. This was a big moment for him. It was a big moment for all of them. Chan was about to carve his own name in the triad world. He knew he wasn’t going to get promotion from his role of legal advisor, Paper Fan, to Incense Master and Deputy Mountain Master. They were dead men’s shoes and he couldn’t wait for that. So, if he couldn’t kill them off, he would spread sideways within the Wo Shing Shing and create his own society. He would use the cloak of the Wo Shing Shing to hold the men’s allegiance to him. CK would know nothing about it. Their loyalty would be to Chan. When he had collected enough powerful allies he would be in a position to oust his father-in-law. The promises of wealth and power would be enough to convert several prominent Chinese officials.

Chan parked up. He left the driver in the car and took three men with him. One of them was his secondin-command – Stevie Ho. Stevie held the rank of Grass Sandal. His role was one of collector of debts, organiser of meetings. He was a stocky man, taller than average, with a goatee beard and a bald head. He had sustained an injury across the right eye, and one side of his face didn’t match the other. He was an ex-policeman.

Stevie had joined the force at the same time as Johnny Mann. They were cadets together. After he graduated, Stevie was given the opportunity to go undercover and infiltrate the triad gangs. He’d accepted it gladly, and before three years was up Stevie was a fully fledged member of the Wo Shing Shing. The temptations proved too much. It was a common problem with undercover work. There was no middle road to walk. The other two men with them, Chan’s bodyguards, were ordinary members, the lowest ranking in the triad world.

The restaurant owner met them at the door. Bowing continuously, he stood back to let them pass.

‘Show us the room where it is to take place,’ said Stevie, and shook his hand with the secret handshake.

The owner led them through to the back room. It was barely lit and clouded with the pungent smell of incense. In the centre of the room an altar was laid out, with two brass single-stemmed candlesticks, three red stones, a brass bowl for burning paper, a jug of wine and five wine cups, a pot of tea and three tea bowls, and a small thin-bladed knife. To the right of the room, on the wall, was a mock gateway, above which was a piece of yellow paper.

‘Good,’ said Stevie, and nodded his approval in the direction of the owner, who bowed repeatedly and wiped the sweat from his head with his apron.

Stevie and the others were all dressed in simple cotton suits. He handed Chan his robes – a red Buddhist-style monk’s garment. The restaurant owner announced the arrival of the new recruit. Stevie went out to meet him and led him in. He was a short man, in his late sixties, wearing glasses. He had thinning hair and a large round head. He was an important minister in the Fujian Province in China.

The man stood at the doorway and opened his shirt to reveal a bare chest. Then he removed his shoes and stood barefoot. It was tradition that he should make himself appear poor and dishevelled. In his hand he carried a yellow piece of paper, on which he had written his name and his pledge to Chan and the Wo Shing Shing.

Stevie led him forward and stopped beneath the symbolic gateway of the east lodge, over which was hung the sheet of yellow paper.

‘Swear to your identity,’ Chan said.

‘I swear I am Sun Yat-sen.’

Chan took the man’s hand and shook it with the new secret handshake that he must use. His index outstretched to press into Sun Yat-sen’s palm, his middle and fourth finger tucked away, and with his little finger he tapped the outside of the minister’s hand three times. The two bodyguards picked up the swords and held them aloft to form an arch. This would represent the mountain of knives which had been part of the triad initiation since the beginning. After leading the minister beneath the archway, Stevie lit the two candles on the altar and handed the minister three red stones, which he held in his hands as he began to read the thirty-three oaths.

I shall not disclose the secrets of this society, not even to my parents, brothers or my wife. I shall never disclose the secrets for money. I will be killed by a myriad of swords if I do so.

I will offer financial assistance to sworn brothers who are in trouble. If I break this oath I will be killed by five thunderbolts.