White Tiger

Chen Song opened the door for Chen Gui, moving like a robot. Chen Gui climbed into the passenger seat. Chen Song took up position behind the wheel, still wearing a dazed look. Chen Gui slapped him hard. Chen Song shook his head and came out of his trance.

“Start the engine. Take us home.”

Chen Song started the engine. The gates swung open again to permit them to leave, and swung shut behind them as soon as they reached the street, blocking their view. The bodies, of course, would be disposed of forthwith. Just like the bodies of Boss Hong and Boss Sun had vanished that fateful night years ago when Lin Yubo brought them to this same house to meet Pak’s brother, the night tiger, who slew them and their helpless bodyguards without mercy, clearing the way for Lin Yubo to command the united Shanghai Dragon Tongs. They had not left the meeting unhappy, as Lin Yubo promised.

They negotiated the light traffic in silence. When they were very nearly back where they started, at Chen Gui’s house, Chen Song said, “Uncle. I think we are being followed.”

Chen Gui looked in his side mirror. A black sedan cruised behind them. “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Just keep on driving.”

“They could be Fujianese! We have no protection!”

Chen Gui took pleasure in saying, “They are our protection.” He watched for a reaction. Chen Song’s expression changed from open-mouthed surprise to blank-faced puzzlement as he tried to deduce what was going on. And finally, frowning realization.

“Why did you have them killed, uncle?” he asked.

“To demonstrate the power of the night tigers! The name is not to be mocked under any circumstances. You understand?” Chen Song nodded. Chen Gui opened a pack of American cigarettes, and regretted not having sufficient time to purchase his maximum duty free allowance before they fled Japan. He lit one using the car’s lighter. “The night tiger you saw is the older brother of he who met us at the door,” he continued. “You may guess his age. Yet he went through your best men like a knife through rice paper. Tell me, did any of them stand a chance against him? Huh?” Chen Song stared straight ahead, the muscles of his jaw working. “You already know the answer. Good. The night tiger and his brother have trained together since childhood. Consider how easily the brother might have killed you for your stupidity. Out of respect for me he allowed you to live. And for no other reason!” Chen Song flinched, obviously having thoughts of his own mortality, which pleased Chen Gui further. “Tell me, Chen Song. Did I do the right thing in not leaving you back there?”

Chen Song swallowed loud enough for him to hear. “Uncle, you have my full loyalty and devotion. You know this. All I was thinking about was your safety. Nothing else.”

“Just keep driving,” Chen Gui said. “And think of what you have learned today. This is not a movie! Death is not heroic. It comes swiftly and without warning. There is no time for posturing or strutting.”

“No, uncle.”

Sentries opened the compound doors and they rolled inside. The black sedan followed them in. Chen Song climbed out and hurried to open Chen Gui’s door. Ignoring him, Chen Gui climbed out, flicked his half-smoked cigarette away and greeted his cousin, Yuan Lau, who had answered his call and brought his soldiers with him, older men, gray haired men, hardened men who had proved their loyalty to the family during the worst of times, before Lin Yubo brought peace and order to Shanghai.

Chen Gui took Yuan Lau inside and explained the situation. Chen Song followed them at a respectful distance and kept his silence. Yuan Lau accepted his instructions as if he had never left Chen Gui’s side all these years, and rejoined his men to pass on the orders. Chen Gui felt safer already.

In the study, Chen Song closed the door and said, “What can I do to regain your favor, uncle?”

“I’ll think of something,” Chen Gui told him. “Now leave me, I have a phone call to make.” He sighed. “A very expensive phone call.” Lin Yubo hadn’t offered to pay Bai Hu’s expenses and fee; he had only ordered Chen Gui to make whatever financial arrangements were necessary to send the gweizi to the United States.

He waved Chen Song outside. Chen Song opened the door, and stepped back in surprise as one of Yuan Lau’s men stepped into the study and moved to stand by the door, his hands clasped in front of him. He ignored Chen Song completely. Chen Song sucked in a deep breath and Chen Gui thought he was going to say something, but instead he simply left the room, closing the door behind him. The man by the door stared straight ahead, a human statue. Chen Gui approved.

He found the Bai Hu’s telephone number in his index and dialed. It was picked up on the fifth ring and the gweizi said something Chen Gui didn’t understand, a string of fast Japanese words.

Chen Gui lit another cigarette and shook out the match. “I hope I have not disturbed you,” he said.

“I thought we had an agreement,” the Bai Hu said, switching effortlessly to Mandarin. His tone oozed disapproval. “No direct calls.”

“How would you like to earn a half a million dollars?” Chen Gui said. “It would involve your traveling to the United States. To San Francisco. Call it a special job. What do you say?”

He thought he might have to bargain further and up the price, but the answer came sooner and much easier than he had expected.

CHAPTER 9

San Francisco, California

Mid-day traffic combined with an automobile/pedestrian accident at the intersections of Market and Gough kept Chee Wei from driving as fast as Ryker would have liked. To make matters worse, it appeared the entire city of San Francisco had decided to take its collective lunch hour at the same time, leaving the downtown area mired in near-gridlock. Even if they’d been in a marked cruiser with the lights and siren going, they wouldn’t have made better progress.

“Well, this sucks balls,” Chee Wei said.

“You have experience with that, I guess,” Ryker said.

Chee Wei fidgeted a bit in the driver’s seat. “Hey, I’m a Democrat, but I’m not that open-minded. What’s that address again?”

Ryker looked at his notebook. Suzy’s handwriting wasn’t exactly a portrait of neatness, but it was serviceable.

“Twenty-four twenty-three Quintara. On the corner of Quintara and Thirty-third Street.”

“Nice ‘hood,” Chee Wei said. “Very family-oriented.”

“I hope we’ll be able to confirm that soon.”

“You think Lin’s guys will beat us there?”

Ryker shrugged. “Only if they have the same address we do.”

“Hope they don’t.”

“Hope is a bad word, you should stop using it,” Ryker sighed. He twisted in his seat, looking for a gap in the traffic to exploit. There was nothing. A bottled water truck blocked most of his view.

Chee Wei drummed his fingertips on the Crown Vic’s black dashboard, then began fiddling with the GPS.

“We’ll have to cut through the side streets to get there any time before the sun goes down,” he remarked. “We might be able to make the turn onto Octavia, then cut across to Sunset that way.”

“Sounds like a plan, unless you’ve got a helicopter in your pants.” Ryker checked his watch as the Crown Vic trundled forward, then leaned back in his seat. He rested his elbow on the armrest and cupped his chin in his right hand, impatient with the holdup.

“What?” Chee Wei asked, reading his body language. “You mean to tell me you’re not used to San Francisco traffic, after all this time?”

“I’m trying to decide if I want to ask for a patrol unit to head over to the address.”

“So you do think Lin’s guys will get there ahead of us,” Chee Wei said.