Gum Sook’s herbal tea had made him feel good the first two days, then his energy faded and he became tired. He was sleepless the last days of the trip.
“When you get back, go to Sister Kee the herbalist,” recommended Gum Sook. “Put together litchi and seaweed. Boil garlic and chives with duck eggs. Mix in red wine and royal jelly. Eat and drink like a thick soup. For two days. I’ll write it down so she’ll know what to do.”
He’d appeared weak, and the two da jops, kitchen helpers, made sure he got home okay after they’d landed at LaGuardia. A see gay, radio car, returned them to Chinatown, and he’d slept most of the first day back. He woke up remembering his regular massage and haircut appointment, and the key ring.
Bo felt Sai Go sagging, drifting, with his eyes shut, to another place. She was sad to see how drained he looked, sensing that he was slowly dying. She chanted a Buddhist prayer in her head that never showed on her face as she drove her elbows into the clenched muscle behind his lungs, pushing the cancers back.
Sai Go opened his eyes as he started to nod off, jerking his head backward. Bo gave him a final squeeze and began drumming his back with her fists. When she was done, she presented him with the talisman Kwan Kung card and the jade gourd, slipping the red cord of the pendant over his head.
Sai Go was touched, not only by her healing hands, but by her generous compassion, which he didn’t understand, and didn’t feel he had the time to figure out. Here was a woman, working hard and saving every dollar to pay off the snakeheads so they wouldn’t turn her into a whore, and yet she presented him with new talismans, trinkets he’d seen for sale on Chinatown streets that had probably set her back twenty dollars. Cheap enough, but it was the thought, he reminded himself.
“Thank you,” he said meekly. “But you shouldn’t have,” aware of the precariousness of her financial situation. He gave her the usual tip, but when he tried to pass her an extra twenty, she became hock hee, indignant, about accepting payment from him.
It was not Sai Go’s style to force it upon her.
“It’s only a small gift,” she said firmly. “Why won’t you let me enjoy giving something to you?”
He had nothing to say to that.
“How about this,” he suggested. “I’ll bet the twenty on a horse for you. It’ll be like Lotto, okay?”
Offered a chance to test her luck, she couldn’t refuse. A small smile broke through and she said, “If you like.”
“Good then,” he said, relieved. “I’ll bring you the ticket.”
At the OTB, Sai Go reviewed the list of entries and settled on the eighth horse in the eighth race, an eight-to-one underdog. Sai Go watched the odds changing across the board, the smart money running to the number five and number two horses, driving their odds down. The number eight horse looked even better to him then.
The teller at the window was confused when he saw the resident bookie purchase a legitimate ticket. He noticed Sai Go’s sickly pallor and thought better of making a wisecrack.
Sai Go paid quickly and avoided any players who were looking for action. On the street he bought a small silk jewelry purse. It cost a dollar and he chose a red one for luck, red with gold embroidery. He tucked the OTB ticket inside and zipped it up.
He returned to the New Canton and gave it to Bo, saying, “Look for the race on the deen see, TV, or check the papers. You have the number eight horse, named American Freedom. I hope it’s lucky for you.”
Bo ran her fingers over the red silk, holding the purse as if it was precious, and said, “Thank you,” so softly it seemed she was whispering to herself. She watched him go back out into the street, slowly crossing in the direction of Chatham Square, a tanned face against a dingy gray background of storefronts.
At the far corner, he paused and glanced back, and for an instant she believed she saw a smile on his face.
Space for Time
The world below was a cloudy gray drift of mountain ranges and valleys with the occasional appearance of roads, a small city or village. He’d passed this way many times before, he remembered, flying west from Toronto, where he’d broken in the first credit-card crews, to Vancouver, where the Red Circle was a top player in spite of the authorities.
Now, seated comfortably on Air Canada Flight 688, Gee Sin was cruising at twenty thousand feet, descending toward Vancouver, for a two-night layover before the long flight back to Hong Kong. He saw the Canadian coastline below and took a deep breath, as if a weight had been removed. He was already out, out of the United States, out of American airspace, out of its legal jurisdiction. Out of sight and out of mind.
He would not be present for any investigation into the shootings over the bus routes, or the bad blood between the Fukienese crews, or the feuding tongs. The Red Circle’s financial involvement would be on hold until the Fukienese side cleaned up its own house.
The attention that the shootings brought was disappointing. Best to postpone for now.
Credit-card operations in the numerous cities would proceed as scheduled.
While descending, Sin considered the Chinatown murder of Uncle Four, and decided that the matter of the stolen gold pandas and diamonds would be given to Grass Sandal. He would be instructed to arrange a meeting with the Chinatown limousine driver whom the New York City police had in custody. The incarcerated driver could provide details and clues leading to the missing mistress.
Best to do it from Hong Kong, he thought, where he had vastly more control of matters.
One of the triad’s law firms could start the necessary legal machinery needed to obtain the interview from there.
Otherwise, the holiday had been going well. A handful of shoppers had been arrested, as expected, but the majority were bringing in significant sums. Besides, shoppers could be recruited everywhere; they were expendable.
The volume from the phone and mail-order houses surpassed even his expectations. Grass Sandal had had to close or vacate several receiving locations because they’d filled up with electronic swag after they had been used for a number of weeks. Millions of dollars worth of laptops, camcorders, game systems, cameras, computer software were consolidated for reshipment, then passed through the fences, stores they had arrangements with. The goods were converted to cash and became counterfeit Gucci and Prada bags in Hong Kong, hills of bak fun, white powder in Cambodia, then changed to currency again in Europe, Canada, America.
Cheat the people all around.
The strategy of the triad was paying off.
Courage
Inside the small Pell Street walk-up, Sai Go sat slumped on his sofa, considering Chat Choy’s suggestion that they embark on another gambling junket. Sai Go wasn’t hungry, and didn’t feel like visiting Choy at Tang’s Dynasty like he usually did, collecting bets from the waiters while he was there.
The battery in the bathroom scale had died, but he knew he was still losing weight. The cancer was feeding on him from the inside.
He powered on the TV, muting the sound to the Chinese cable program. The casino at Foxwoods was promoting a cabaret show with Taiwanese talent, Longshot Lee had announced, “sexy” singers and dancers in skimpy neo-mod outfits. The hom sup lo, horny bastard, coming out in him. Twenty-five dollars would cover the round-trip bus, a buffet meal at Woks to Go, and twenty dollars worth of betting coupons and store discounts. Gum Sook had countered with The Plaza in Atlantic City, also staging a Chinese floor show, featuring a troupe of beautiful Malaysian acrobats in holiday costumes. And the buffet was Chinese, not gwailo.