Thai Horse (35 page)

yen dui yen

It did not surprise Cohen when Tollie Fong called him. It was customary
—
a requirement of honor by anyone who belonged to the triad societies, whether it was the traditional society, the Sun Lee On, or its underworld offshoot, the Chiu Chao. As was the tradition, Fong suggested a meeting that afternoon in an offbeat restaurant deep in Wanchai. They agreed on the basics. The meeting was set for four o’clock. Each would have three representatives of his own triad with him; each would select a judge from the Society in general to monitor the meeting; there would be no weapons. The attack on Cohen’s house was not specifically mentioned.

Cohen selected his most conservative
cheongsam
for the meeting. He left in the Rolls at three-forty-five, taking with him Sing, who was already out of the hospital, and two other members of his ‘family.’ Hatcher and Daphne were still behind closed doors in the bedroom. No need to tell them about the meeting yet.

The Rolls swept quietly down the
mo
untain, past the governor’s mansion and the U.S. consulate and down Connaught Street to noisy, rowdy Wanchai and then crept through teeming streets, threading its way between ricksha
w
s and pedestrians, to Lan Fung Alley, a dismal and deserted connector. A small sign in hand-painted calligraphy halfway down the narrow alley announced the presence of Lon Song, a tiny, nondescript restaurant favored by locals. The driver parked the Rolls as close to the entrance as he could get, and Cohen entered behind Sing and his two other aides.

Lon Song was a narrow, feebly lit place, barely big enough to accommodate its ten tables. The smell of garlic hung heavily in the air. It was four-ten and it was deserted except for the owner, an elderly but very erect man with a wisp of gray chin whiskers. He stared at Cohen through bifocals, smiled and bowed.

‘It is an honor, Tsu Fi,’ he said.

‘Are the others here yet?’

‘Hai.
Also the judges.’

‘Ho,’
Cohen said. He and his three men followed the old man back through the dingy corridor to a door at the rear. The owner opened it for him. T
h
ere was a small landing and a staircase that led down to a cellar room, a room that was dusty and poorly lit and obviously rarely used. In the center was a small table with two chairs facing each other on opposite sides. A tea service sat in the middle of the table. There were two cups.

Following tradition, Tollie Fo
n
g, who had committed the insult, had arrived first. He
sat
on the side of the table facing the stairwell. Behind him stood his three aides, their arms crossed over their chests.

There were two other men
in
the room. One was Sam Chin, an elder in the Chinese community and a respected banker, who was the
san wong
of one of the most honored triads in the Sun Lee On. The other was Lon Tung,
san wong
of the House of Seven Drums, one of the most dangerous of the Chiu Chao triads. They were there to monitor the meeting, to make sure there was no violence and that whatever the problem was it would be resolved satisfactorily, either with accepted apologies, or with a formal declaration of war between the two houses. Among the triads, a sudden and undeclared attack from one on another was considered dishonorable. Members of the offending family were ostracized. Fong’s alacrity in asking for the meeting was obligatory.

Fong stood as Cohen came down the stairs. He smiled a barely discernible smile. His reputation as the most ruthless assassin in the Chiu Chaos was undisputed.

He and Cohen sat down facing each other. Fong poured each a cup of tea. Nobody else spoke. Not even a throat was cleared. Fong took a sip of tea before starting. Cohen leaned back, sipped his tea and stared across the table at
Fong,
yen dui yen,
eye on
eye. The stare could not be broken until the problem was resolved, one way or another
—
either with forgiveness or with war.

According to tradition, the two men spoke through their judges, a ritual designed to prevent direct confrontations. Thus sarcasm and tonal inflections were removed from the negotiation. Fong held up one hand and Tung leaned over as Fong whispered in his ear.

‘I returned from Bangkok as soon as I heard about the unfortunate incident at your home last night,’ Tung said, repeating Fong’s whispered remarks.

Sam Chin leaned over Cohen, who whispered his response.

‘Mm goi,’
Chin
repeated what Cohen had said. ‘I am pleased you have acted so promptly.’

‘You understand that this attack was not done at my command? I did not order such an insult to your home.’

‘I do now, since you say so,’ was Cohen’s response.

‘I have come to offer an apology,’ Fong said through Lon Tung.

The conversation continued in this vein
—
Fong whispering his comments to Tung, who
r
epeated them, and Cohen replying through Chin.

‘You have violated my house,’ Cohen’s judge replied. ‘A dishonor to the oath of the triads.’

Fong quickly whispered a lengthy answer, his eyes beginning to glitter in the feeble light.

‘It was not me. But it was my Number One, and Lung has paid dearly for his sins. I come to apologize for his stupidity, and to ask that the Tsu Fi forgive me.’ He paused while Tung repeated his comments, then before Cohen could answer, whispered something further. Tung said, ‘And to offer compensation for this insult.’

Cohen leaned forward, playing the game to the hilt and whispering hurriedly to Chin. ‘I am sorry, I did not hear the last,’ he said.

Tung said, ‘Tollie Fong has offered to make compensation for the insult to the Tsu Fi.’

Cohen finally nodded. He took another sip of tea before whispering his retort to Chin.

‘Then I accept your apology,’ Chin repeated.

‘Mm goi,’
Tung said with a no
d
of his head. ‘And what compensation does the Tsu Fi feel is proper?’

Cohen took a sip of tea, his eyes still locked with Fong’s. Then he whispered slowly to Chin. Chin looked surprised, but only for a moment. He stood tip and said, ‘As tribute, you must set aside this feud with the
mei gwok
Hatcher.’

The men on both sides of the room were startled by the demand. The judges, Chin and T
u
ng, stared at each other. The demand, they knew, would cause trouble. Anger boiled up in Fong. Hate dilated the pupils in his eyes. By the
san wong’s
orders, he must grant the demand, but he had to protest to save face.

He shook his head but still remained
yen dui yen
with Cohen. ‘I cannot do that,’ he whispered to Tung in a voice thick with hatred and loud enough for Cohen to hear. ‘The
mei gwok yahn
murdered my father.’

‘It is my understanding that the
mei gwok
killed in self-defense,’ Cohen whispered in a voice just as loud, not waiting for Tung’s translation.

‘He dishonored the House of Fong, just as Lung dishonored your house,’ Fong answered crisply, still
yen dui
yen,
but now speaking directly to Cohen.

‘Then it is an even trade,’ Cohen quickly answered.

The response disarmed Fong for a moment. Fong was a killer, not a negotiator. ‘No! Not until Hatcher joins Lung in hell is it an even trade. What you ask is unreasonable.’

Cohen held his hands out in a gesture of futility. ‘Nevertheless it is the price you
m
ust pay for Lung’s dishonor.’

Fong slowly shook his head, his eyes still locked with Cohen’s, growing more angry with each word.

‘I made a blood promise, the oath of
ch’u-tiao,’
Fong said slowly.

‘Honor is honor,’ said Cohen. ‘I say the feud is over.’

‘And I say this thing between Hatcher and me is not your business,’ Fong said, leaning toward Cohen.

‘Then I cannot accept your apology,’ Cohen said with brittle authority.

Sam Chin stepped forward and cle
a
red his throat.
‘Deui mju,’
he said, bowing, ‘it occurs to
m
e that perhaps the Tsu Fi might offer a tribute more acceptable to the Tsu Fong so that this dispute may be resolved peacefully.’

Cohen was adamant. By tradition, Fong was virtually obligated to accept any demand within, reason.

‘No,’ he said. ‘My home has been compromised. I have a right to this request. It is particularly fitting because Lung made this attack for the purpose of killing the
mei gwok,
who was my guest.’

‘And I, too, say no,’ Fong quickly answered.

‘Then I’ll let it be known everywhere that Tollie Fong has violated his oath to the Sun Lee On.’

‘I am not of the Sun Lee On, I am C
h
iu Chao,’ he said.

‘We are all cousins in the oath,’ said Cohen. ‘If you betray the house of Tsu Fi, you betray the Chiu Chaos and all triads.’

‘So it shall be,’ Fong said, with a sneer in his voice, forcing the issue. He picked up his teacup and smashed it on the table. Cohen leaned back, startled by his outburst. Fong slashed the knife edge of his hand into the broken bits of china.

‘You are declaring
zhanzheng
on the Tsu Fi,’ Tung said, obviously surprised that Fong was ta
ki
ng this confrontation to the limit. ‘The Tsu Fi is right. You will face the wrath of both the Chiu Chaos and the Sun Lee On.’

‘Then I, too, must declare war
—
on the Tsu Fong,’ said Cohen. He stood up and, with disdain, swept the broken cup on the floor. ‘You have one hour to get out of Hong Kong,’ China said.

Fong stared up at him and his lips curled slightly.

‘You may still reconsider,’ Chin said slowly.

‘You have guts, Cohen, to threaten the
new
san wong
of the
White Palms.’

‘This island belongs to me,’ Cohen said with finality. ‘If you have any doubts about that, you’re dumber than I think you are.’

Fong stood up slowly. ‘You are a fool, Yankee,’ he said, ‘to make blood over
this
mei
gw
o
k
spy
. He is a liar. He cheats his friends. He kills those who trust him.’

‘My kind of guy,’ Cohen answered. ‘Your hour is running out.’

Fong stared at him for a few moments more.

‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘I will not dishonor
the
san wong
of the White Palms. But you humiliate me,
mei gwok,’
he said
to Cohen.

‘It’ll pass,’ Cohen said, and Fong bristled again. He turned to each of the judges, bowing to them in turn, and stormed up the stairway followed by his men. Lon Tung followed quickly behind him. Cohen’s shoulders slumped. He had won. His heart was rapping against his ribs, but he had succeeded and avoided a blood feud between himself and the White Palms.

Sam Chin touched Cohen’s shoulder. ‘I have never known you to be so difficult in such a negotiation,’ he said.

Cohen looked over at the elderly man.

‘I agree,’ he said wearily. ‘Unfortunately, San Wong, nothing else was appropriate.’

Tollie Fong stood outside the restaurant waiting for the car to be brought to him. There would be no war between the Tsu Fi and the Tsu Fong. The compromise with Cohen still stung, but it had been necessary. For now he would have to put
aside his
ch’u-tiao
to kill
Hatcher, but that was acceptable, in fact, it fit perfectly with his plans.

He had waited eight years to get Hatcher, he could wait a few more weeks. But in Tollie Fong’s mind, Hatcher was a dead man. It was just a matter of time.

The shadows outside were growing longer. Daphne lay beside Hatcher, turned and pressed against him, moving slowly until almost every inch of her touched his side.

‘I hope you do not cause all kinds of hell up there,’ she said. ‘Bad for my business,’

‘Good for your business. Maybe ‘we’ll get rid of Sam- Sam for you,’ Hatcher growled, turning toward her, pressing her tighter.

‘I may hold you to that promise of Indian cotton you made
—
how many years ago?’

‘A long time,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘When are you leaving?’

‘As soon as we finish upriver.’

‘And you won’t be back.’

He started to say something, but she put her hand over his mouth. ‘China told me everything. I know it is dangerous for you in Hong Kong. I just want to know this time. I would like to say joi
gin
properly
.’

‘You have already,’ his voice growled.

She put a long leg over his hip and pulled him even closer with it.

‘I’m not
through yet,’ she said huskily.