The first thing Striker saw was a huge number four, followed by the image of a red triangular flag.
Grace noted his stare, and explained: ‘The pennant is triangular, representing the three basic forces of the universe — Heaven, Earth and Man.’
‘I’ve seen that pennant before,’ Striker said, ‘but I didn’t know it represented the Shadow Dragons.’
‘It doesn’t.’
Striker gave Felicia a glance, saw the confusion masking her face, and he felt it, too.
Grace continued: ‘The Shadow Dragons are nothing in the big scheme of things; what they are is the tail of the beast. If you want to define them — categorise them in some way — they’re a feeder gang, just puppets, doing the nasty work for their superiors back East and hoping to one day become an accepted part of the real gang.’
‘And what real gang are we talking about here?’ Felicia asked. ‘The Angels?’
Grace shook her head, suppressed a laugh. ‘Sorry. Everyone says that. No, it goes further back than that, I’m afraid. And worlds away. What you’re dealing with here is the Fourteen K.’
Striker stiffened. ‘Fourteen K? Aren’t they a division of the Triads?’
Grace nodded slowly. ‘That’s exactly what I mean.’
‘The Triad Syndicate.’ The words felt strange on Striker’s tongue. ‘I thought they were dismantled. Folklore.’
Grace raised an eyebrow. ‘They would like you to think so. Though the folklore stuff isn’t too far off when you consider the Triad ways. And their history.’ She turned to Felicia. ‘The Triads were born out of secrecy, you know, by refugee monks.’
‘Monks?’
‘Well, they were essentially rebels back then — revolutionaries determined to overthrow the Qing or Manchu Dynasty. We’re talking way back here.’
‘When exactly?’ Striker asked.
‘The seventeen hundreds.’
Felicia made a sound. ‘Christ, that’s ancient.’
‘Maybe so, but even today, the history lingers. To be accepted into the gang is a complicated process involving swearing thirty-six oaths before the altar, and with many convoluted rituals and sacred phrases. Sham Tai Wang Fung is one of them.’
‘ Sham Tai — what?’
‘ Sham Tai Wang Fung — Extensive Transformation and Uniting Heaven.’ Grace took a sip of her coffee. ‘The penalty for betrayal is death by “a myriad of swords and thunderbolts”. Or at least, that is the oath. As you can tell, this stuff is extremely outdated, but the ceremonies remain, especially in the Far East where they are very superstitious.’
‘The Far East as in Toronto?’ Striker asked.
‘As in Hong Kong. Their headquarters.’
Felicia put down her latte, wiped her mouth. ‘Not to be rude, but it sounds ridiculous.’
Grace nodded. ‘To the Western world, yes. Every belief the Triads hold is logic mixed with superstition. Strategic yet tempered by mysticism, planned thoroughly yet done so with numerology.’
‘Numerology?’ Striker asked.
Grace nodded. ‘Oh yes, numerology is huge in the Triad Syndicate.’ She turned the folder pages until she found a listing. ‘Here, look at this. The list ascends in order of status.’ She turned it so that Striker could see.
Numerology of Triad Hierarchy
426 — Red Pole. Brigade Enforcer.
415 — Pak Tsz Sin. White Paper Fan. Senior advisor.
Knowledge of Triad history.
438 — Sheung Fa. Canada Liaison Officer.
483 — Fu Chan Shu. Deputy Leader.
489 — Shan Chu. King Daddy. Dragon Head.
As Striker read the list and made notes in his notebook, Grace spoke. ‘You say this guy had a number 13 tattooed on his body. Where was it?’
‘Chest. Left side.’
Grace nodded. ‘The number 13 covers the heart because it’s out of respect for the thirteen monks.’
Now Striker felt completely lost. ‘What monks?’
‘The Shao Lin monks, in the Fujian Province. We’re talking four hundred years ago, but it does show you who — and what — you’re dealing with here. The Triads have alliances all across the seas: in the Philippines, Hong Kong, Macau, Cambodia, Viet Nam — the list is as long as there are places. And they will never go away.’
Striker thought this over for a moment. Then: ‘What I still don’t get is how a group of teenage kids from Saint Patrick’s High School got tangled up with a global gang.’
Grace agreed. ‘I really see no connection, Detective. The Triads are a very secretive group. They would never be involved in something like this.’
‘That’s the problem,’ Striker said. ‘They are.’
Seventy-Five
Que Wong’s friend, better known as Mr Creepy to Courtney and Raine, had his own pad in the 1800 block of East Georgia Street — a bad part of town but perfect for the girls as it was only four blocks away from Commercial Drive and Venables Street, the starting point for the Parade of Lost Souls party.
The building was old, even for Commercial Drive, made up of cracked grey concrete and filthy windows. Out front, a small grassy area was blocked off by a rusted iron fence. Inside it was a teeter-totter with a swing set, neither of which looked used.
Courtney reached the front entrance. Dressed in nothing but her Little Red Riding Hood costume, she felt exposed, a step away from being naked, and she suddenly realised how much of her ass the costume revealed. It was too much. Hadn’t seemed like this in the change room. And she was cold, wished she’d brought a jacket or something.
From somewhere above, maybe on the third floor, she could hear a baby crying and a couple arguing. The man’s voice was slurred and distorted. Trying to ignore the clatter, she pressed the building buzzer and found it broken. She pushed on the front door and it opened anyway.
Once inside, a musty smell hit her; it seemed to come from the worn-out brown carpets. The building interior was cold and dark. Mr Creepy’s apartment was on the sixth floor. One look at the small rickety booth of an elevator convinced Courtney to take the stairs, which were equally narrow and confining. When she reached the sixth floor, she stepped into the hallway and heard the loud ruckus of a party going on. As she walked down the hall and around the corner, she realised it was coming from Mr Creepy’s place.
The front door was wide open, and people were spilling out into the halls. The air was heavy with cigarette and pot smoke. It made Courtney hesitate, unsure.
But then Raine poked her head out, spotted Courtney and let out a squeal. ‘Oh my GOD — you look so hot in that costume.’
Courtney looked down at herself, felt suddenly self-conscious. Her cheeks blushed and her throat went dry. She looked back up at Raine, saw her huge boobs busting out of her nurse’s costume, and knew she could never compete with that.
‘You look great, too,’ she said. ‘Every guy at the party’s gonna wanna be with you.’
Raine laughed, pulled her inside where the music was louder. Something heavy, pounding. Bad-ass Rap. ‘I’ll get you a cooler — strawberry or peach?’
‘Peach,’ Courtney said, and looked around.
The crowd was a blend of weirdos and strangers. Out on the sundeck was a handful of Asian guys, all with tinted blond hair and leather and red gangster hoodies. They were smoking up some pot. In the kitchen was another group of guys and girls, mixed races, most of them looking older than her and Raine. A lot older. Some of them wore torn-up jeans and black jackets and had a biker look to them. They were drinking hard stuff. Jack
