In the criminal realm, every gangster would have known the real reason for the killings — because no grapevine was stronger than that of the underworld. And word of mouth aside, everyone in that world already knew the rules of the business. This was the ultimate cost of Triad betrayal.
Your firstborn.
As it always had been, throughout the centuries.
Shen Sun had needed no motivation for the job. Not when the reward for such a mission was to be the White Paper Fan at Shan Chu’s side in the glorious city of Macau.
That was the Perfect Harmony.
That was power.
Shen Sun stepped onto the Drive and gaped at the frenzy before him. The Parade of Lost Souls was an outdoor costume ball with more than ten thousand people in attendance. His employers had provided him with photographs of Riku Kwan and Courtney.
One of these girls was here in the crowd.
Shen Sun knew this undoubtedly. And this time, the night would be his. For Tran was with him, somewhere in the night, his spirit floating in the October winds. It gave Shen Sun the edge he needed. The confidence. This time he would be unstoppable. The gwailo would fall. And Shen Sun would take his rightful place in Macau. It was a goal he had been working towards for twenty long years. A goal that had cost him Father and Tran. A goal that would come to fruition.
All it would take was two more deaths.
Finale
Eighty-Nine
Grandview Park was packed by the time Courtney and Raine got there. They’d left the party at Que’s pad in full swing, and headed for the Parade of Lost Souls on Commercial Drive. Much to Courtney’s delight, Bobby came with them, and he brought a new friend of his, Tom or Shaun or John or whatever his name was. She couldn’t really remember — she’d had three coolers and two Cokes with cherry brandy — but he was tall and good-looking.
And good for Raine. Que had screwed her over again — but that was good anyway, because she seemed to like Bobby’s friend. The two were walking side by side and talking, Raine dressed in her naughty nurse uniform and him dressed up like that bad guy from that superhero movie.
Bobby looked at Courtney, grinned. ‘You look great, Court.’ It was the first thing he’d said for the last two blocks, and it made her more nervous than the uncomfortable silence.
‘Raine picked it for me.’ She gave him a quick glance, making eye-contact for a second then looking away. It was enough to send her heart into twitters. He was dressed all corny, in a Star Trek uniform. A yellow one, like he was Captain Kirk, or something.
‘Well, she did a good job,’ he replied. ‘You look amazing.’
She looked back at him again and smiled. When his eyes stayed on hers, intense and heavy, she felt her cheeks grow hot. She looked away from him, studied the crowd.
On the east end of Grandview Park, the band was setting up the stage. It was monstrous. There were a ton of lights, all red and white and blue and green, and some of them were already flashing. Loud explosions of firecrackers filled the air, sharp like gunfire, and a smoky haze floated through the crowd — firework and pot smoke, for the most part.
This was Commercial Drive, after all.
They all stopped a few feet from the stage and Bobby put down the backpack he was lugging around. It was a small dark blue thing, and it looked heavy the way he hoisted it. From it he took a two-litre bottle of Coke, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, one of cherry brandy and some plastic cups.
Courtney looked at the booze, shook her head. ‘I’m done, my head’s swimming.’
He acted like he didn’t hear her, filled the cup with Coke, then added a heavy dose of cherry brandy. He handed it to her.
‘Really, I’ve had-’
‘Come on, Court, enjoy yourself. The Parade only comes once a year.’
She looked back at him, at the cup in his hand, and was about to say no again when she caught Raine’s stare. She was giving her one of those Don’t-be-nerdy looks, and so was Bobby’s friend.
So she forced a smile, took the cup, and brought it to her lips. The cherry brandy smelled stronger than it had before, still good but really sweet, and her stomach quivered. She brought it to her lips, however, took a small sip. As she did so, Bobby reached out and lifted the bottom of the cup, forcing her to down more than she’d wanted. She almost choked, pulled the cup away from her lips, and stammered, ‘B-Bobby!’
He just laughed, and stared at her with those suck-me-in eyes of his. ‘You’re beautiful, Court,’ he said.
He grabbed her chin, tilted her head back and kissed her. His lips were soft and warm, and tasted of Jack Daniel’s and Coke. They felt oh-so good. Her entire body tingled and she didn’t want to stop. Even with Raine and Bobby’s friend right there watching them, she didn’t want to stop. She wanted him to keep kissing her forever.
Touching her. Feeling her.
He finally pulled away, and she felt a dizziness spill over her, fought to keep her balance.
‘I want to kiss you again later,’ he whispered. ‘When we’re alone.’
‘Okay,’ was all she got out. And before she knew it, he had refilled her cup with Coke and cherry brandy. ‘It’s enough,’ she said.
But he just smiled and kept pouring.
Ninety
Striker waded into the sea of masks. They were all around him. Ninjas covered with head-to-toe blackness. Clowns with sad and angry faces. Superheroes complete with capes and masks. Everywhere he looked it was nothing but hidden face after hidden face. And he knew that Shen Sun could be one of them.
Hiding somewhere amongst the crowd.
The situation couldn’t have been worse. Shen Sun had seen his face twice now, at the Kwan residence and at St Paul’s Hospital. If that wasn’t enough to etch it into the gunman’s memory, Striker’s face had been plastered on every TV screen around the city, twenty-four hours a day, for two straight days. In the end it meant one thing:
If Shen Sun was here in costume, he had the advantage.
‘Just keep moving,’ Felicia said, her voice sounding far away in the din of the crowd, even though she was just a few steps behind.
He nodded and pushed the bad thoughts from his mind. He marched slowly but determinedly through the crowd, focused on the immediacy of their situation.
The air stank — of pot, beer and body odour. Firework smoke saturated everything. And despite the October chill, it was hot and stuffy. Too many bodies were around him, tripping over and banging into each other. The crowds were like little whirlpools, turning this way and that.
‘Courtney!’ he called out. ‘Raine!’ But his voice was barely audible above the constant roar of the crowd. People were yelling and laughing, some dancing in the streets. A half block down, someone set off a series of firecrackers, and the explosions had Striker reaching for his pistol before he realised what they were.
‘Easy, Big Guy,’ Felicia said, and she put her hand against his back to let him know she was there.
When he made it to Grandview Park, he was blocked by an enormous stage, and had to circle round the band as they set up their gear. He grabbed the bass guitarist, a guy dressed up like a modern-day vampire, and asked him if the microphone was working yet.
It wasn’t.
Striker cursed. He left the vampire guitarist and pushed on through the thickening crowd. When he reached
