In Gwan-Dai's Name
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Synopsis
Hong Kong in the mid 90s...
A commando-style raid on Shatin Racecourse nets HK $270,000,000 and causes the violent deaths of several police guards. A special detective team discovers this was perpetrated by ex-military from mainland China, and funded by local triads. But what significance has the headless corpse of a Westerner dumped among the garbage of a Kowloon alley?
With the handover to China only a few years off, nothing must threaten Hong Kong's stability. Though the police task-force works day and night, not even a total security alert can prevent disaster.
In a chilling time-race, cops and their shadowy opponents clash in a sequence of explosive engagements throughout Hong Kong, Macao, the Chinese mainland, and even Tokyo.
Release date: April 4, 2013
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Print pages: 768
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In Gwan-Dai's Name
Steven Griffiths
It would be impossible to write anything that recreates the unique experience of police work in Hong Kong without reference
to some of the many Chinese words and idioms which the European officer comes to learn.
Here are explanations of some of those used most frequently in this novel.
Ah Chan
Person from the Mainland; country hick (derog.).
Ah Char
Indian or Pakistani (derog.).
Ah Goh
Elder brother (also used as honorific to a senior).
Ah Gung
Grandfather (also used as honorific to a very senior person).
Ah Je
Elder sister.
Ah Yor
Person who lives on boats; low-born (derog.).
aiyah!
Mild exclamation.
amah
Maid or servant (usually living in the home of the employer).
Baak Chi Sin
White Paper Fan (Triad Master of Administration).
baak pei jue
European (white-skinned pig).
bai Gwan-Dai
Ceremony at which the god Gwan-Dai is honoured.
bai san
Ceremony of worship – general.
blue lantern
Triad follower not yet fully initiated.
bo biu
Bodyguard.
bong baan
Police Inspector.
chai lo
Cop.
chai yan
Policeman.
Chan Fat
Anybody (same meaning as ‘John Doe’ in USA).
char siu bau
Spicy pork buns (also woman’s breasts – slang).
chat
Penis (slang).
cheng sik faan
To host a dinner party.
cheung
Gun.
Chi Gung
Martial art which utilises breath control and internal energy.
chi sau
Pushing hands, also sticking hands. An exercise to develop sensitivity and balance.
Chiu Chau
Ethnic Chinese group originating in the Swatow region of Mainland China.
Cho Haai
Grass Sandal. (Triad logistical support.)
Choh Gwoon
One who sits in charge (triad term). (See also Shan Chiu and First Route Marshal.)
da fei gei
Shooting at airplanes (masturbation – male).
da gip
Robbery.
dai dong
Illegal casino.
dai fong
CID duty room.
Dai Huen Jai
Big Circle Gang. Criminal groups originating from the Canton area of mainland China – usually ex-soldiers of the People’s
Liberation Army (PLA).
dai lo
Elder brother; mentor. Generally used to refer to one’s immediate superior. In triad slang dai lo means a man’s protector.
Dai Luk
The big chunk (mainland China).
dai pai dong
An open-air cooked food stall.
dai sik wooi
Dinner party or celebration (literally, big eating party).
dai siu
Big-Small. Chinese gambling game using three dice.
dang yat jan
Wait a moment.
dim gaai
Why? Also used as noun to mean an official inquiry.
dim sum
Breakfast snacks served in Chinese restaurants.
diu lei lo mo
Fuck your old mother (Cantonese curse).
dui m’jiu
Excuse me. (An apology.)
fai ji
Chopsticks.
Fei Foo Dui
Special Duties Unit (the leaping tigers).
foh gei
Constable (slang).
fong sam
Don’t worry (relax your heart).
fung shui
Chinese art of divination (wind and water).
gau cheung
Dog track.
gau dim
Right enough. An expression of satisfaction.
gau meng!
Help! Literally, save life.
ging chaat
Police (formal).
gung on
Inner council.
gwai lo
A European. Originally faan gwai lo, meaning foreign devil.
gwai tau jai
An informer or spy.
Gwan-Dai
Chinese martial god. In life a great general and hero at the time of the Han dynasty.
Haak sei wooi
Triad society.
hai m’hai a?
Completes a question: ‘Is or is not?’
heung jiu
Joss-sticks.
hing dai
Brothers. Members of the same group. Particularly strong in police, triad or martial arts context.
ho
Positive expression: good, right, fine, very.
ho lui mo gin
Long time no see.
hoi cheung
Open fire.
hung gaai
Red Chicken. Name for incompletely refined heroin No. 3, a reddish granular substance. The fully finished product, heroin
No. 4, is known as baak fan or ‘white powder’.
Hung Kwan
Red Cudgel (triad enforcer).
jaap chai
Detective.
jau gau
Yellow running dog. Chinese lackey.
jing ji bo
Special Branch (political police).
jo san
Good morning.
kai do
One-man ferry boat.
kuen wong
King boxer. Common nickname for one who quickly resorts to violence.
lap sap
Garbage. Rubbish.
lor you
Anus (slang).
lui ging
Woman police officer.
luk ye
Penis (slang).
m’goi (sai)
Thanks (very much).
ma jai
Little horse. A follower.
mat ye si?
What’s the problem?
mau saat
Murder.
mo choh
That’s right.
mo man tai
No questions. No problem.
mo yuk!
Don’t move!
nei ho ma?
How are you?
pai kau
Gambling game using Chinese dominoes.
pu le a moh
Fuck your old mother (Chiu Chau).
puk gaai!
Fall dead in the street! (Cantonese curse).
sai lo
Little brother (also used to refer to the penis).
sair
Snake (also used to describe illegal immigrants).
San Yee On
Chiu Chau triad society.
sap ji
Chinese character denoting the number ten.
Sap Sei Kei
14K. Pro-Taiwanese triad society.
sei gau jai
49 member. Lowest level initiated triad member.
sei yee luk
426 member. Enforcer (See Hung Kwan).
Shan Chiu
Master of the Lodge (Chief Triad Official).
si fat
Anus (slang).
si gon
Responsibility.
Sifu
Master or teacher. One who is learned in a particular art or skill.
sik faan
Have a meal (literally, eat rice).
sin saang
Mister. Sir.
siu ye
An evening snack. Usually taken in a group.
sor jai
Crazy guy.
sor mooi
Crazy girl or crazy little sister.
sui
Water. Usually used in slang form to mean money.
Tai Chi
Complete system of health and self-defence (also Tai Chi Chuan – Tai Chi fist).
Tin Hau
Goddess of the sea. Much favoured by fishermen and boat-dwellers.
tin kei
Pray to heaven! (Usage is similar to ‘for God’s sake!’)
tit kuen yam
Chiu chau tea. Iron Goddess of Mercy.
walla-walla
A one-man ferry paddled from the rear by a single oar drawn from side to side.
wei?
Chinese response when answering the phone.
Wong Tai Sin
District of Kowloon named after the Chinese god whose temple may be found there.
Wu Chi
The void from which the universe was created.
yam booi!
Drink up! Cheers!
yam jui jau
Drunk.
yam sing!
Bottoms up! Drink to the last!
yau mo gau choh!
Are you kidding? Expression of disbelief.
Yen-lo
The keeper of the gates of hell.
yit hei
The warming characteristic in food which when taken to excess produces stomach and blood disorders and leads to skin eruptions.
It was the first small tremor in the night sky that warned him of their coming. The Hungry Ghosts were now returning.
Then, through the rain-spattered windscreen, he watched their magic begin. Far beyond the harsh glitter of the street, high
above the ragged black curtain of the Kowloon foothills, the first muted glows appeared as their dead fingers pressed against
the membrane of the sky. Soft explosions breaking in amber clusters and echoing back and forth between burnt black banks of
cloud.
Gwan-Dai was hunched in the secure darkness of the vehicle, watching the few last revellers still out on the Kowloon strip
tumble homeward through the rain. And as he watched – the lime-green wash from the dashboard LEDs painting his face into a
mask of hatred – one hand massaged the hilt of a large hunting knife somewhere near his thigh. Abruptly his thumb strayed
across the razor-edge of the blade, drawing blood – and his mind was made up. Thrilled by the spectral presence all around
him, he knew now that he must kill again.
For this was not just any night. This was a special night: the Festival of the Hungry Ghosts, when Yen-Lo, the keeper of the
underworld, unlocks the gates of hell and sets free a legion of lost souls to torment man. Even now he could sense their distant
shrieks as they clawed their way back from the celestial matrix.
Again he listened to the sound of the thunder, like the sharp crack of dry bamboo snapping. And he thought he heard a deeper groan of ancient locks turning, and stone gates moving against their hinges. Then the dragon’s deep-throated
roar as it chased the lightning across the South China sky. Receding and ultimately lost within the infinite.
Time to act, he decided – for the approaching spirits demanded a sacrifice.
As he swung the taxi off the Golden Mile and into Sai Yee Street, fat droplets of rain were bouncing knee-high from the pavement.
Kowloon was wet and bright with neon: a whore clothed in tawdry lurex and cheap jewellery, her streets reflecting the multicoloured
sleaze palaces ranged along her roads. Through the rolled-down window he saw the small charred piles of joss papers swirl
in the brimming gutters … many-hued paper scraps and the phoney million-dollar banknotes labelled BANK OF HELL which local shopkeepers burned to appease the Hungry Ghosts.
Cruising along the narrow street, where ranks of shabby tenements rose up into the darkness on either side, he dropped the
gear-stick into second and studied the lighted bars at street level. Outside them stood Chinese pimps and toughs, gang members
mostly, hustling their pitches or dealing a little red chicken – while, inside, their bosses lounged on velvet banquettes
gulping five-star brandy. A succession of garish reflections and suspicious glances crossed his windscreen, until at last
he reached the strobing purple sign of the Barking Peacock Club, and he pulled into a tight space at the kerb.
It was a part of Kowloon he knew well: Mongkok – a name meaning ‘busy corner’. It was that, all right: the most densely populated
quarter square-mile in the world. A place where the action was available around the clock, and the police thought twice before
answering a local emergency call. The glitzy façades of the nightclubs gave a false appearance of glamour, but behind this fear and intimidation haunted the crowded tenements. This was a place where
triads ruled; the police knew that. A place where the gangs preyed remorselessly on local businesses; where rivals fought
blade wars for protection concessions, spilling each other’s blood to protect their fiefdoms. A place where countless people
could come to satisfy any physical need. It was all here: the tiny fifty-dollar packet of China White – ninety-eight per cent
pure; the willing young woman with a cheung saam dress open to her thigh. Anything you could name – but for a price. The blazing ideograms told their own story: New Lucky Ballroom … Special Body Massage … Hostess Service Provided. All major credit cards welcome.
Setting the handbrake, Gwan-Dai tuned the radio to an all-night FM station that played mostly Cantonese love songs, and he
leaned back in the seat. The female singer’s voice was like the whispering of silk as it slid gently in and out of his consciousness.
This position was good, he decided; here he could observe the frontage of the Barking Peacock and watch adulterous couples
come tumbling out through the motorised glass doors in search of a motel room. And soon even the whores would leave to make
their lonely way home.
As he settled down to wait, he let the silky voice from the radio wash over him; he imagined the girl’s mouth pressed close
to the microphone – full and red, and opening like a flower. Like the girl he now waited for, she would be soft and pretty
– and alone. When last he had seen the girl it had been through a pavement throng, but tonight’s rain had all but dissolved
the crowds. Aside from a few strutting bouncers and the touts poking their weaselly heads expectantly out of doorways, there
was almost no one now. Tropical storm Nadia had come up from the Philippines like a wildcat; though narrowly missing Hong
Kong, and instead hurling itself against the Vietnamese coastline, it still left twenty-four hours of rain in its wake. Now the streets of Kowloon were deluged, and the rising water-level lapped around the entrances to the Mass
Transit underground railway. On the hillsides wooden squatter shacks clung precariously, as if expecting to be swept away
at any minute.
Gwan-Dai’s left hand strayed from the steering-wheel to stroke the enamelled surface of the mask lying on the seat beside
him. It was hard and cool to the touch: an opera mask of red and black, ornately decorated with thin gold lines. The terrible
face of the martial god Gwan-Dai. With exaggerated reverence the driver lifted it in both hands, letting the black silk beard
spill into his lap. For an electric moment he gazed in awe upon the power of the face, the wildly curving eyebrows, the fiercely
down-turned mouth. Placing it over his face, he adjusted the rearview mirror – and saw the god mask come to life.
On the fourth floor of the Barking Peacock, well up from the clamour of the disco floor, four men filed into a darkened room
and took their seats before a large video screen.
Even had the light been good, it would have required an educated eye to distinguish between the two Chinese and their guests,
for though all four men possessed the same black hair and almond-shaped eyes, one of them was a stocky Korean and the other
a slender Japanese.
While the two visitors waited, sucking on their thin cigars, one of the Chinese found the video controller and activated the
viewing equipment. The other one, who gave the orders, was taller than the average Chinese, handsome and heavily tanned, and
his chest and shoulders stretched the white dinner-jacket. He showed a certain charm when he spoke to his guests, but there
was something unsettling, menacing even, about those good looks, which made the others listen carefully when he spoke. The
name on his Hong Kong ID card was Kwan Kui-cheung, a name he had since westernised to Tony Kwan for the purpose of expanding his business into overseas markets.
But the other men in the room knew him better as ‘Red Cudgel’, his official designation within the Society. Something in his
manner let one know there was power and money behind him, and violence within.
‘Take a long hard look,’ growled Kwan, indicating the screen. ‘Then tell me what you think?’
He had trouble sounding his consonants: the TH in THINK softened into an F; the Ts on the ends of words were swallowed whole. Not that the others were now concerned with matters of diction. All eyes in the
room were fixed on the video screen, watching two naked bodies writhe together in the most private of human interactions.
The bed was huge and round, with sheets of pale silk. Above their heads a wooden ceiling-fan twirled slowly. From the girl’s
face, her pale smooth flesh and shining blue-black hair, it was obvious she was Chinese; from the dark curly hair on the big
man’s back and shoulders as he pumped between her thighs, it was equally clear that he was Caucasian.
‘Where are they?’ asked Rhee the Korean, throwing back his head to release a plume of cigar smoke towards the ceiling.
‘Right above our heads,’ answered Tony Kwan. ‘That’s where they usually go. First they have sex, then they do a little business.
The information he gives her is always excellent. I don’t want to meet him myself, so we use Ruby as our cut-out.’
‘Does she know she’s on camera?’ asked Rhee, wondering how far they had taken her into their confidence.
Red Cudgel smiled thinly.
‘Ruby? Of course she does. Forget any worries you may have. She’s our property, and safe enough. Just concentrate on the American
she’s humping with. Phase one of our operation begins tomorrow. We must make up our minds about him tonight’
‘I understand, Red Cudgel,’ said Rhee. He waved his cigar towards the protagonists on the screen. ‘But how can we see who
he is, when his face is stuck between her tits?’
‘Patience, brother,’ said Red Cudgel. ‘My Ruby has her orders. She knows what to do.’
Less than a minute later the girl in the bed moaned aloud, struggling to free herself from under the American’s weight.
‘No good for me like this!’ she panted into his ear, rolling the big man over on his back. ‘Can’t feel nothing. Want you right
inside of me.’
As realisation dawned, the American grinned up at her. His face eager, he reached for her breasts.
As Ruby slid down upon him the Westerner’s head slammed back into the pillow. A groan accompanied the sudden arching of his
buttocks. At that moment, in the room below, Red Cudgel pulled the video camera into a tight close-up of his face, and he
operated a digitalised graphics interface which froze the picture. It took another five seconds for the software to rebuild
the enhanced close-up and feed it back to the screen, simulating normal lighting conditions.
‘Well?’ he asked, impatient for an answer.
‘That’s him,’ said Rhee with conviction. Beside him the slim Japanese blinked once, but said nothing.
‘You’re sure?’ pressed the Chinese, adjusting the wing collar at his throat.
‘No question about it. That’s the American I saw in the club in Metro Manila. He’s a Company man, I’m sure of it. There’s
a chance he might have wandered from the fold, but I’d say that if he’s the source for your information, then you’ve got problems.’
‘Meaning?’ Red Cudgel continued to press him.
Rhee held his gaze.
‘Ask yourself who is using whom.’
Red Cudgel snapped off the video, his irritation undisguised, and strode to an altar shelf in one corner of the room, where a white statuette gazed benignly down. Tin Hau
was goddess of the sea, most beloved deity of the sea-going Tanka fishermen from whom Red Cudgel was descended. The act of
lighting three joss-sticks and placing them upright within the brass urn gave him the time he needed to think. By the time
he turned around again, he had already decided what must be done.
But first he wanted to hear what these foreign devils had to say – these consultants who had come so highly recommended and
for whom he had paid so dearly.
‘Tell me, Rhee, what would you do in my place?’ he asked.
Rhee studied the glowing tip of his own cigar. ‘A double agent is a liability forever. They can never be trusted. Bearing
in mind the nature of what you have planned for the next few weeks, you cannot afford to keep him around. Providing he has
already handed over the sought-after document, I would wash him away now, before he causes you further trouble.’
The Chinese nodded thoughtfully, and continued to pace the room.
‘A sound enough strategy,’ he said stopping by the desk to stub out his cigar in a deep crystal ashtray. ‘But a wise man judges
by actions, not words.’
‘Meaning …?’ asked Rhee, stiffening in his seat, ready to seize upon any slight to his reputation.
‘Meaning, perhaps, it is time we see how good this man of yours really is.’ Red Cudgel’s gaze fixed on the Japanese sitting
to Rhee’s right. Thus far Okamoto had remained silent; his face had registered only mild disgust at the enlarged images of
sweating flesh which had appeared on the video screen. Now Red Cudgel thought it was time to see exactly what he had bought.
‘What about a demonstration of this absolute commitment you mentioned.’
Rhee kept his composure. For the money Red Cudgel was paying, the man was entitled to air his doubts. And when Rhee studied the young man sitting silently beside him, he sometimes
felt doubts himself. The Japanese showed no external capacity for violence; indeed there was a certain meekness in his appearance.
His skin was ghostly pale, his lashes were long and fine; his face resembled the delicate features of a girl.
Rhee addressed his acolyte with several rapid sentences of fluent Japanese. The pale young man gave a quick, curt nod of his
close-cropped head. He lifted a long leather case from the floor by his feet, and began to pick open the straps at one end
of it.
Red Cudgel exchanged glances with the other Chinese – an officer known by his position within the Society as ‘Vanguard’ –
and both men watched closely as Okamoto continued to loosen the knots with his long fingers. Both had been silently wondering
what this leather bag might contain. Now their eyes widened as the Japanese peeled back the flap and carefully drew out an
ornate sword sheathed in a scabbard of lacquered red wood.
The young foreigner’s face registered intense concentration as he drew the hilt a mere four inches from the wood, revealing
a gleaming and perfect steel blade with a clover-leaf pattern at its edge. Glancing around him, the Japanese saw their grudging
looks of appreciation, though he knew in his heart that these two Chinese gangsters were incapable of understanding the true
nature of the katana he now held in his hands … or the enlightened spirit it represented.
It was a sword of the Genroku period: from a time when swords were worn as symbols of social status. This was an example of
the art of the master swordmaker Ikkanshi Tadatsuna, and it carried his signature on the blade, along with the date: December
1699 in Western terms. There was a deep sheen to the surface of the steel; relief carvings depicted carp swimming up a waterfall,
with branches of plum blossom as embellishment. The sword mountings were also exquisite: lacquered vermilion on magnolia wood, overlaid with lacquered gold. The bindings were
of black waxed silk braid plaited over a leaping golden carp device on either side of the hilt, and the pommel was a perfectly
polished red stone the size of a quail’s egg. To complete the artistic balance, the sword guard had been conceived as a simple
blackened surface relieved only by the raised pattern of a single peony blossom in gold.
These Chinese triads were ignorant, reflected Okamoto; they could not begin to know what a masterpiece of the swordmaker’s
art this piece represented. Or what price he had paid in order to possess it.
The young man inclined his head, then spoke softly so that only Rhee could hear.
Nodding in understanding, Rhee turned back to the two Chinese.
‘Red Cudgel,’ he said, ‘Okamoto presents his compliments and says he awaits your pleasure.’
Moments later, in the upstairs apartment, Ruby Tang’s shuddering climax was interrupted by the urgent warble of the telephone.
It rang a dozen times more before her breathless voice came on the line.
‘Wei!’
‘Ruby, this is Tony. Finish up and bring our friend back downstairs. I’ve some friends here who’d like to meet him.’
‘Ho!’ she said, acknowledging the order. ‘Give me fifteen minutes.’
‘Make it ten,’ ordered Red Cudgel. A new note of concern entered his voice. ‘Did he bring the document?’
‘Of course,’ she said, lowering her voice as she fished in her handbag. ‘I have it here in my hand.’
‘Good.’ His relief was audible. ‘After you bring Reicher to me, go down on to the dance floor. That crazy little bitch you
just hired is playing up again. She’s making us look bad in front of our guests from the mainland. Send her home before I have her mouth stitched.’
‘Ho!’ said Ruby obediently. ‘I’ll attend to that at once.’
Brown eyes burning behind the slits of the mask, Gwan-Dai watched the girl come downstairs into the pink and purple glow of
the club entrance. Just as before, she wore stiletto heels and a rose-tinted chiffon dress with spangles across the bodice,
but this time she was not alone. There was another woman, equally attractive but too well-dressed to be just another of the
club hostesses. As they walked out across the pavement, heads lowered against the drenching rain, he realised the second,
older woman was supporting the other, who was clearly the worse for drink. Gwan-Dai set down the mask and watched with interest.
There seemed to be some trouble between them.
Ruby Tang gripped the younger girl by the upper arm, her fingernails biting deep. She scolded loudly as she pushed her towards
the red Mercedes sports coupé parked at the kerb. What this girl had done was unforgivable: neglecting her duties and indulging
herself in unseemly behaviour with a bunch of young triad ‘Blue Lanterns’ of no particular standing. She had drunk far too
much brandy, becoming loud and unruly, and knocking over glasses, which could bring the club a bad name. Small wonder that
Red Cudgel wanted her out now. It did not matter that the kid was depressed – a one-month abortion still fresh in her mind.
What mattered was that she, Ruby Tang, was the hostess captain of the Barking Peacock, and this girl was her responsibility.
It was Ruby’s own face which was now at stake.
‘Sor mooi! Stand still while I open this door,’ she ordered irritably, fumbling in her bag for the keys to the Mercedes.
The drunken girl was not listening. Staggering against the front wing, she toppled sideways on to her back, and lay across
the bonnet, staring upwards, oblivious to the rain splashing on her face. As Ruby Tang reached for her arm once more, the
girl opened her eyes and began to curse loudly.
‘Leave me alone, poison woman! I’m going back inside!’
‘No you won’t,’ snapped Ruby Tang. ‘I’m taking you home before you cause more trouble. You’ll sleep it off alone tonight!’
‘Trouble? What trouble I cause? You’re crazy!’ argued the younger woman.
Ruby shook her head in disgust.
‘You’re the crazy one. Look at you behaving like a piece of trash. All you had to do was smile and flash your little tits
for your boss’s guests.’
‘Those men were like kids in a candy store – hands here, hands everywhere!’
‘Nevertheless, they were special guests.’
The girl’s head rolled to one side and the bright red bud of her mouth twisted in a bitter sneer.
‘Special! – Diu lei lo mo! Wise up, won’t you? Those bastards were nothing special. Just Ah Chan from across the border.’ She raised her head just enough to spit into the gutter. ‘Probably illegals! With dirt from the
communes still beneath their fingernails!’
Ruby Tang stiffened at the mention of the words Ah Chan – a derogatory term for recent arrivals from China. Invariably such men were looked down on by Hong Kong Chinese as ignorant
and uncouth, but from their ranks had come some of the most vicious gangsters in the colony. Already the girl had said too
much.
‘Listen to me, little sister.’ Any remaining sympathy was gone now. ‘Tonight you were entertaining important businessmen.
That’s all you’ll say if anyone asks – ming baak?’
But the girl remained abusively defiant, emboldened by the brandy in her stomach.
‘What businessmen? You think I’m stupid, think I don’t know Dai Huen Jai when I see them? Diu lei lo mo! Think I can’t guess why they’re here?’
‘Hold that tongue before it chokes you!’ cautioned Ruby nervously, reaching for the girl and finding a pair of flailing arms
fending her off.
‘It has to be something really big. Chan Ming showed me the pistol shoved inside his waistband – big as a fucking cannon!’
In a flash of anger Ruby slapped the arms aside and seized the girl by the hair, lifting her up off the bonnet with a squeal
of pain. Ruby’s hand then struck like the lash of a whip, catching the hostess across the jaw, spinning her round and sending
her sprawling into the gutter with a splash. Standing over her, Ruby Tang issued a final warning through clenched teeth.
‘Don’t you know what happens to little drunks with big mouths!’
All at once the girl’s bravado crumbled. Her head fell forward and she began to cry.
At such an abject sight Ruby felt her heart melt. She had once been a hostess herself, a long time ago. She knew well enough
the misery they suffered. Theirs was a life of continual debt, frequent beatings, and the constant threat of greater violence.
Finally Ruby stretched out her hand to help the girl back to her feet. She hugged her close, clucking like a parent with a
wayward child.
‘Sssshhh, it’s all right now,’ she cooed, smoothing her damp hair. ‘Whatever are we to do with you?’
‘I’m sorry … Ah je,’ the other managed between her sobs, addressing Ruby respectfully now as Elder Sister. ‘Yam jui jau – getting drunk – causing you so much trouble. I really am sor mooi.’
Ruby smiled goodnaturedly. Sor mooi – crazy little girl. This had been her nickname from the day she arrived at the Barking Peacock, but underneath the bravado and big talk here was just another frightened kid. And one who
to some of the many Chinese words and idioms which the European officer comes to learn.
Here are explanations of some of those used most frequently in this novel.
Ah Chan
Person from the Mainland; country hick (derog.).
Ah Char
Indian or Pakistani (derog.).
Ah Goh
Elder brother (also used as honorific to a senior).
Ah Gung
Grandfather (also used as honorific to a very senior person).
Ah Je
Elder sister.
Ah Yor
Person who lives on boats; low-born (derog.).
aiyah!
Mild exclamation.
amah
Maid or servant (usually living in the home of the employer).
Baak Chi Sin
White Paper Fan (Triad Master of Administration).
baak pei jue
European (white-skinned pig).
bai Gwan-Dai
Ceremony at which the god Gwan-Dai is honoured.
bai san
Ceremony of worship – general.
blue lantern
Triad follower not yet fully initiated.
bo biu
Bodyguard.
bong baan
Police Inspector.
chai lo
Cop.
chai yan
Policeman.
Chan Fat
Anybody (same meaning as ‘John Doe’ in USA).
char siu bau
Spicy pork buns (also woman’s breasts – slang).
chat
Penis (slang).
cheng sik faan
To host a dinner party.
cheung
Gun.
Chi Gung
Martial art which utilises breath control and internal energy.
chi sau
Pushing hands, also sticking hands. An exercise to develop sensitivity and balance.
Chiu Chau
Ethnic Chinese group originating in the Swatow region of Mainland China.
Cho Haai
Grass Sandal. (Triad logistical support.)
Choh Gwoon
One who sits in charge (triad term). (See also Shan Chiu and First Route Marshal.)
da fei gei
Shooting at airplanes (masturbation – male).
da gip
Robbery.
dai dong
Illegal casino.
dai fong
CID duty room.
Dai Huen Jai
Big Circle Gang. Criminal groups originating from the Canton area of mainland China – usually ex-soldiers of the People’s
Liberation Army (PLA).
dai lo
Elder brother; mentor. Generally used to refer to one’s immediate superior. In triad slang dai lo means a man’s protector.
Dai Luk
The big chunk (mainland China).
dai pai dong
An open-air cooked food stall.
dai sik wooi
Dinner party or celebration (literally, big eating party).
dai siu
Big-Small. Chinese gambling game using three dice.
dang yat jan
Wait a moment.
dim gaai
Why? Also used as noun to mean an official inquiry.
dim sum
Breakfast snacks served in Chinese restaurants.
diu lei lo mo
Fuck your old mother (Cantonese curse).
dui m’jiu
Excuse me. (An apology.)
fai ji
Chopsticks.
Fei Foo Dui
Special Duties Unit (the leaping tigers).
foh gei
Constable (slang).
fong sam
Don’t worry (relax your heart).
fung shui
Chinese art of divination (wind and water).
gau cheung
Dog track.
gau dim
Right enough. An expression of satisfaction.
gau meng!
Help! Literally, save life.
ging chaat
Police (formal).
gung on
Inner council.
gwai lo
A European. Originally faan gwai lo, meaning foreign devil.
gwai tau jai
An informer or spy.
Gwan-Dai
Chinese martial god. In life a great general and hero at the time of the Han dynasty.
Haak sei wooi
Triad society.
hai m’hai a?
Completes a question: ‘Is or is not?’
heung jiu
Joss-sticks.
hing dai
Brothers. Members of the same group. Particularly strong in police, triad or martial arts context.
ho
Positive expression: good, right, fine, very.
ho lui mo gin
Long time no see.
hoi cheung
Open fire.
hung gaai
Red Chicken. Name for incompletely refined heroin No. 3, a reddish granular substance. The fully finished product, heroin
No. 4, is known as baak fan or ‘white powder’.
Hung Kwan
Red Cudgel (triad enforcer).
jaap chai
Detective.
jau gau
Yellow running dog. Chinese lackey.
jing ji bo
Special Branch (political police).
jo san
Good morning.
kai do
One-man ferry boat.
kuen wong
King boxer. Common nickname for one who quickly resorts to violence.
lap sap
Garbage. Rubbish.
lor you
Anus (slang).
lui ging
Woman police officer.
luk ye
Penis (slang).
m’goi (sai)
Thanks (very much).
ma jai
Little horse. A follower.
mat ye si?
What’s the problem?
mau saat
Murder.
mo choh
That’s right.
mo man tai
No questions. No problem.
mo yuk!
Don’t move!
nei ho ma?
How are you?
pai kau
Gambling game using Chinese dominoes.
pu le a moh
Fuck your old mother (Chiu Chau).
puk gaai!
Fall dead in the street! (Cantonese curse).
sai lo
Little brother (also used to refer to the penis).
sair
Snake (also used to describe illegal immigrants).
San Yee On
Chiu Chau triad society.
sap ji
Chinese character denoting the number ten.
Sap Sei Kei
14K. Pro-Taiwanese triad society.
sei gau jai
49 member. Lowest level initiated triad member.
sei yee luk
426 member. Enforcer (See Hung Kwan).
Shan Chiu
Master of the Lodge (Chief Triad Official).
si fat
Anus (slang).
si gon
Responsibility.
Sifu
Master or teacher. One who is learned in a particular art or skill.
sik faan
Have a meal (literally, eat rice).
sin saang
Mister. Sir.
siu ye
An evening snack. Usually taken in a group.
sor jai
Crazy guy.
sor mooi
Crazy girl or crazy little sister.
sui
Water. Usually used in slang form to mean money.
Tai Chi
Complete system of health and self-defence (also Tai Chi Chuan – Tai Chi fist).
Tin Hau
Goddess of the sea. Much favoured by fishermen and boat-dwellers.
tin kei
Pray to heaven! (Usage is similar to ‘for God’s sake!’)
tit kuen yam
Chiu chau tea. Iron Goddess of Mercy.
walla-walla
A one-man ferry paddled from the rear by a single oar drawn from side to side.
wei?
Chinese response when answering the phone.
Wong Tai Sin
District of Kowloon named after the Chinese god whose temple may be found there.
Wu Chi
The void from which the universe was created.
yam booi!
Drink up! Cheers!
yam jui jau
Drunk.
yam sing!
Bottoms up! Drink to the last!
yau mo gau choh!
Are you kidding? Expression of disbelief.
Yen-lo
The keeper of the gates of hell.
yit hei
The warming characteristic in food which when taken to excess produces stomach and blood disorders and leads to skin eruptions.
It was the first small tremor in the night sky that warned him of their coming. The Hungry Ghosts were now returning.
Then, through the rain-spattered windscreen, he watched their magic begin. Far beyond the harsh glitter of the street, high
above the ragged black curtain of the Kowloon foothills, the first muted glows appeared as their dead fingers pressed against
the membrane of the sky. Soft explosions breaking in amber clusters and echoing back and forth between burnt black banks of
cloud.
Gwan-Dai was hunched in the secure darkness of the vehicle, watching the few last revellers still out on the Kowloon strip
tumble homeward through the rain. And as he watched – the lime-green wash from the dashboard LEDs painting his face into a
mask of hatred – one hand massaged the hilt of a large hunting knife somewhere near his thigh. Abruptly his thumb strayed
across the razor-edge of the blade, drawing blood – and his mind was made up. Thrilled by the spectral presence all around
him, he knew now that he must kill again.
For this was not just any night. This was a special night: the Festival of the Hungry Ghosts, when Yen-Lo, the keeper of the
underworld, unlocks the gates of hell and sets free a legion of lost souls to torment man. Even now he could sense their distant
shrieks as they clawed their way back from the celestial matrix.
Again he listened to the sound of the thunder, like the sharp crack of dry bamboo snapping. And he thought he heard a deeper groan of ancient locks turning, and stone gates moving against their hinges. Then the dragon’s deep-throated
roar as it chased the lightning across the South China sky. Receding and ultimately lost within the infinite.
Time to act, he decided – for the approaching spirits demanded a sacrifice.
As he swung the taxi off the Golden Mile and into Sai Yee Street, fat droplets of rain were bouncing knee-high from the pavement.
Kowloon was wet and bright with neon: a whore clothed in tawdry lurex and cheap jewellery, her streets reflecting the multicoloured
sleaze palaces ranged along her roads. Through the rolled-down window he saw the small charred piles of joss papers swirl
in the brimming gutters … many-hued paper scraps and the phoney million-dollar banknotes labelled BANK OF HELL which local shopkeepers burned to appease the Hungry Ghosts.
Cruising along the narrow street, where ranks of shabby tenements rose up into the darkness on either side, he dropped the
gear-stick into second and studied the lighted bars at street level. Outside them stood Chinese pimps and toughs, gang members
mostly, hustling their pitches or dealing a little red chicken – while, inside, their bosses lounged on velvet banquettes
gulping five-star brandy. A succession of garish reflections and suspicious glances crossed his windscreen, until at last
he reached the strobing purple sign of the Barking Peacock Club, and he pulled into a tight space at the kerb.
It was a part of Kowloon he knew well: Mongkok – a name meaning ‘busy corner’. It was that, all right: the most densely populated
quarter square-mile in the world. A place where the action was available around the clock, and the police thought twice before
answering a local emergency call. The glitzy façades of the nightclubs gave a false appearance of glamour, but behind this fear and intimidation haunted the crowded tenements. This was a place where
triads ruled; the police knew that. A place where the gangs preyed remorselessly on local businesses; where rivals fought
blade wars for protection concessions, spilling each other’s blood to protect their fiefdoms. A place where countless people
could come to satisfy any physical need. It was all here: the tiny fifty-dollar packet of China White – ninety-eight per cent
pure; the willing young woman with a cheung saam dress open to her thigh. Anything you could name – but for a price. The blazing ideograms told their own story: New Lucky Ballroom … Special Body Massage … Hostess Service Provided. All major credit cards welcome.
Setting the handbrake, Gwan-Dai tuned the radio to an all-night FM station that played mostly Cantonese love songs, and he
leaned back in the seat. The female singer’s voice was like the whispering of silk as it slid gently in and out of his consciousness.
This position was good, he decided; here he could observe the frontage of the Barking Peacock and watch adulterous couples
come tumbling out through the motorised glass doors in search of a motel room. And soon even the whores would leave to make
their lonely way home.
As he settled down to wait, he let the silky voice from the radio wash over him; he imagined the girl’s mouth pressed close
to the microphone – full and red, and opening like a flower. Like the girl he now waited for, she would be soft and pretty
– and alone. When last he had seen the girl it had been through a pavement throng, but tonight’s rain had all but dissolved
the crowds. Aside from a few strutting bouncers and the touts poking their weaselly heads expectantly out of doorways, there
was almost no one now. Tropical storm Nadia had come up from the Philippines like a wildcat; though narrowly missing Hong
Kong, and instead hurling itself against the Vietnamese coastline, it still left twenty-four hours of rain in its wake. Now the streets of Kowloon were deluged, and the rising water-level lapped around the entrances to the Mass
Transit underground railway. On the hillsides wooden squatter shacks clung precariously, as if expecting to be swept away
at any minute.
Gwan-Dai’s left hand strayed from the steering-wheel to stroke the enamelled surface of the mask lying on the seat beside
him. It was hard and cool to the touch: an opera mask of red and black, ornately decorated with thin gold lines. The terrible
face of the martial god Gwan-Dai. With exaggerated reverence the driver lifted it in both hands, letting the black silk beard
spill into his lap. For an electric moment he gazed in awe upon the power of the face, the wildly curving eyebrows, the fiercely
down-turned mouth. Placing it over his face, he adjusted the rearview mirror – and saw the god mask come to life.
On the fourth floor of the Barking Peacock, well up from the clamour of the disco floor, four men filed into a darkened room
and took their seats before a large video screen.
Even had the light been good, it would have required an educated eye to distinguish between the two Chinese and their guests,
for though all four men possessed the same black hair and almond-shaped eyes, one of them was a stocky Korean and the other
a slender Japanese.
While the two visitors waited, sucking on their thin cigars, one of the Chinese found the video controller and activated the
viewing equipment. The other one, who gave the orders, was taller than the average Chinese, handsome and heavily tanned, and
his chest and shoulders stretched the white dinner-jacket. He showed a certain charm when he spoke to his guests, but there
was something unsettling, menacing even, about those good looks, which made the others listen carefully when he spoke. The
name on his Hong Kong ID card was Kwan Kui-cheung, a name he had since westernised to Tony Kwan for the purpose of expanding his business into overseas markets.
But the other men in the room knew him better as ‘Red Cudgel’, his official designation within the Society. Something in his
manner let one know there was power and money behind him, and violence within.
‘Take a long hard look,’ growled Kwan, indicating the screen. ‘Then tell me what you think?’
He had trouble sounding his consonants: the TH in THINK softened into an F; the Ts on the ends of words were swallowed whole. Not that the others were now concerned with matters of diction. All eyes in the
room were fixed on the video screen, watching two naked bodies writhe together in the most private of human interactions.
The bed was huge and round, with sheets of pale silk. Above their heads a wooden ceiling-fan twirled slowly. From the girl’s
face, her pale smooth flesh and shining blue-black hair, it was obvious she was Chinese; from the dark curly hair on the big
man’s back and shoulders as he pumped between her thighs, it was equally clear that he was Caucasian.
‘Where are they?’ asked Rhee the Korean, throwing back his head to release a plume of cigar smoke towards the ceiling.
‘Right above our heads,’ answered Tony Kwan. ‘That’s where they usually go. First they have sex, then they do a little business.
The information he gives her is always excellent. I don’t want to meet him myself, so we use Ruby as our cut-out.’
‘Does she know she’s on camera?’ asked Rhee, wondering how far they had taken her into their confidence.
Red Cudgel smiled thinly.
‘Ruby? Of course she does. Forget any worries you may have. She’s our property, and safe enough. Just concentrate on the American
she’s humping with. Phase one of our operation begins tomorrow. We must make up our minds about him tonight’
‘I understand, Red Cudgel,’ said Rhee. He waved his cigar towards the protagonists on the screen. ‘But how can we see who
he is, when his face is stuck between her tits?’
‘Patience, brother,’ said Red Cudgel. ‘My Ruby has her orders. She knows what to do.’
Less than a minute later the girl in the bed moaned aloud, struggling to free herself from under the American’s weight.
‘No good for me like this!’ she panted into his ear, rolling the big man over on his back. ‘Can’t feel nothing. Want you right
inside of me.’
As realisation dawned, the American grinned up at her. His face eager, he reached for her breasts.
As Ruby slid down upon him the Westerner’s head slammed back into the pillow. A groan accompanied the sudden arching of his
buttocks. At that moment, in the room below, Red Cudgel pulled the video camera into a tight close-up of his face, and he
operated a digitalised graphics interface which froze the picture. It took another five seconds for the software to rebuild
the enhanced close-up and feed it back to the screen, simulating normal lighting conditions.
‘Well?’ he asked, impatient for an answer.
‘That’s him,’ said Rhee with conviction. Beside him the slim Japanese blinked once, but said nothing.
‘You’re sure?’ pressed the Chinese, adjusting the wing collar at his throat.
‘No question about it. That’s the American I saw in the club in Metro Manila. He’s a Company man, I’m sure of it. There’s
a chance he might have wandered from the fold, but I’d say that if he’s the source for your information, then you’ve got problems.’
‘Meaning?’ Red Cudgel continued to press him.
Rhee held his gaze.
‘Ask yourself who is using whom.’
Red Cudgel snapped off the video, his irritation undisguised, and strode to an altar shelf in one corner of the room, where a white statuette gazed benignly down. Tin Hau
was goddess of the sea, most beloved deity of the sea-going Tanka fishermen from whom Red Cudgel was descended. The act of
lighting three joss-sticks and placing them upright within the brass urn gave him the time he needed to think. By the time
he turned around again, he had already decided what must be done.
But first he wanted to hear what these foreign devils had to say – these consultants who had come so highly recommended and
for whom he had paid so dearly.
‘Tell me, Rhee, what would you do in my place?’ he asked.
Rhee studied the glowing tip of his own cigar. ‘A double agent is a liability forever. They can never be trusted. Bearing
in mind the nature of what you have planned for the next few weeks, you cannot afford to keep him around. Providing he has
already handed over the sought-after document, I would wash him away now, before he causes you further trouble.’
The Chinese nodded thoughtfully, and continued to pace the room.
‘A sound enough strategy,’ he said stopping by the desk to stub out his cigar in a deep crystal ashtray. ‘But a wise man judges
by actions, not words.’
‘Meaning …?’ asked Rhee, stiffening in his seat, ready to seize upon any slight to his reputation.
‘Meaning, perhaps, it is time we see how good this man of yours really is.’ Red Cudgel’s gaze fixed on the Japanese sitting
to Rhee’s right. Thus far Okamoto had remained silent; his face had registered only mild disgust at the enlarged images of
sweating flesh which had appeared on the video screen. Now Red Cudgel thought it was time to see exactly what he had bought.
‘What about a demonstration of this absolute commitment you mentioned.’
Rhee kept his composure. For the money Red Cudgel was paying, the man was entitled to air his doubts. And when Rhee studied the young man sitting silently beside him, he sometimes
felt doubts himself. The Japanese showed no external capacity for violence; indeed there was a certain meekness in his appearance.
His skin was ghostly pale, his lashes were long and fine; his face resembled the delicate features of a girl.
Rhee addressed his acolyte with several rapid sentences of fluent Japanese. The pale young man gave a quick, curt nod of his
close-cropped head. He lifted a long leather case from the floor by his feet, and began to pick open the straps at one end
of it.
Red Cudgel exchanged glances with the other Chinese – an officer known by his position within the Society as ‘Vanguard’ –
and both men watched closely as Okamoto continued to loosen the knots with his long fingers. Both had been silently wondering
what this leather bag might contain. Now their eyes widened as the Japanese peeled back the flap and carefully drew out an
ornate sword sheathed in a scabbard of lacquered red wood.
The young foreigner’s face registered intense concentration as he drew the hilt a mere four inches from the wood, revealing
a gleaming and perfect steel blade with a clover-leaf pattern at its edge. Glancing around him, the Japanese saw their grudging
looks of appreciation, though he knew in his heart that these two Chinese gangsters were incapable of understanding the true
nature of the katana he now held in his hands … or the enlightened spirit it represented.
It was a sword of the Genroku period: from a time when swords were worn as symbols of social status. This was an example of
the art of the master swordmaker Ikkanshi Tadatsuna, and it carried his signature on the blade, along with the date: December
1699 in Western terms. There was a deep sheen to the surface of the steel; relief carvings depicted carp swimming up a waterfall,
with branches of plum blossom as embellishment. The sword mountings were also exquisite: lacquered vermilion on magnolia wood, overlaid with lacquered gold. The bindings were
of black waxed silk braid plaited over a leaping golden carp device on either side of the hilt, and the pommel was a perfectly
polished red stone the size of a quail’s egg. To complete the artistic balance, the sword guard had been conceived as a simple
blackened surface relieved only by the raised pattern of a single peony blossom in gold.
These Chinese triads were ignorant, reflected Okamoto; they could not begin to know what a masterpiece of the swordmaker’s
art this piece represented. Or what price he had paid in order to possess it.
The young man inclined his head, then spoke softly so that only Rhee could hear.
Nodding in understanding, Rhee turned back to the two Chinese.
‘Red Cudgel,’ he said, ‘Okamoto presents his compliments and says he awaits your pleasure.’
Moments later, in the upstairs apartment, Ruby Tang’s shuddering climax was interrupted by the urgent warble of the telephone.
It rang a dozen times more before her breathless voice came on the line.
‘Wei!’
‘Ruby, this is Tony. Finish up and bring our friend back downstairs. I’ve some friends here who’d like to meet him.’
‘Ho!’ she said, acknowledging the order. ‘Give me fifteen minutes.’
‘Make it ten,’ ordered Red Cudgel. A new note of concern entered his voice. ‘Did he bring the document?’
‘Of course,’ she said, lowering her voice as she fished in her handbag. ‘I have it here in my hand.’
‘Good.’ His relief was audible. ‘After you bring Reicher to me, go down on to the dance floor. That crazy little bitch you
just hired is playing up again. She’s making us look bad in front of our guests from the mainland. Send her home before I have her mouth stitched.’
‘Ho!’ said Ruby obediently. ‘I’ll attend to that at once.’
Brown eyes burning behind the slits of the mask, Gwan-Dai watched the girl come downstairs into the pink and purple glow of
the club entrance. Just as before, she wore stiletto heels and a rose-tinted chiffon dress with spangles across the bodice,
but this time she was not alone. There was another woman, equally attractive but too well-dressed to be just another of the
club hostesses. As they walked out across the pavement, heads lowered against the drenching rain, he realised the second,
older woman was supporting the other, who was clearly the worse for drink. Gwan-Dai set down the mask and watched with interest.
There seemed to be some trouble between them.
Ruby Tang gripped the younger girl by the upper arm, her fingernails biting deep. She scolded loudly as she pushed her towards
the red Mercedes sports coupé parked at the kerb. What this girl had done was unforgivable: neglecting her duties and indulging
herself in unseemly behaviour with a bunch of young triad ‘Blue Lanterns’ of no particular standing. She had drunk far too
much brandy, becoming loud and unruly, and knocking over glasses, which could bring the club a bad name. Small wonder that
Red Cudgel wanted her out now. It did not matter that the kid was depressed – a one-month abortion still fresh in her mind.
What mattered was that she, Ruby Tang, was the hostess captain of the Barking Peacock, and this girl was her responsibility.
It was Ruby’s own face which was now at stake.
‘Sor mooi! Stand still while I open this door,’ she ordered irritably, fumbling in her bag for the keys to the Mercedes.
The drunken girl was not listening. Staggering against the front wing, she toppled sideways on to her back, and lay across
the bonnet, staring upwards, oblivious to the rain splashing on her face. As Ruby Tang reached for her arm once more, the
girl opened her eyes and began to curse loudly.
‘Leave me alone, poison woman! I’m going back inside!’
‘No you won’t,’ snapped Ruby Tang. ‘I’m taking you home before you cause more trouble. You’ll sleep it off alone tonight!’
‘Trouble? What trouble I cause? You’re crazy!’ argued the younger woman.
Ruby shook her head in disgust.
‘You’re the crazy one. Look at you behaving like a piece of trash. All you had to do was smile and flash your little tits
for your boss’s guests.’
‘Those men were like kids in a candy store – hands here, hands everywhere!’
‘Nevertheless, they were special guests.’
The girl’s head rolled to one side and the bright red bud of her mouth twisted in a bitter sneer.
‘Special! – Diu lei lo mo! Wise up, won’t you? Those bastards were nothing special. Just Ah Chan from across the border.’ She raised her head just enough to spit into the gutter. ‘Probably illegals! With dirt from the
communes still beneath their fingernails!’
Ruby Tang stiffened at the mention of the words Ah Chan – a derogatory term for recent arrivals from China. Invariably such men were looked down on by Hong Kong Chinese as ignorant
and uncouth, but from their ranks had come some of the most vicious gangsters in the colony. Already the girl had said too
much.
‘Listen to me, little sister.’ Any remaining sympathy was gone now. ‘Tonight you were entertaining important businessmen.
That’s all you’ll say if anyone asks – ming baak?’
But the girl remained abusively defiant, emboldened by the brandy in her stomach.
‘What businessmen? You think I’m stupid, think I don’t know Dai Huen Jai when I see them? Diu lei lo mo! Think I can’t guess why they’re here?’
‘Hold that tongue before it chokes you!’ cautioned Ruby nervously, reaching for the girl and finding a pair of flailing arms
fending her off.
‘It has to be something really big. Chan Ming showed me the pistol shoved inside his waistband – big as a fucking cannon!’
In a flash of anger Ruby slapped the arms aside and seized the girl by the hair, lifting her up off the bonnet with a squeal
of pain. Ruby’s hand then struck like the lash of a whip, catching the hostess across the jaw, spinning her round and sending
her sprawling into the gutter with a splash. Standing over her, Ruby Tang issued a final warning through clenched teeth.
‘Don’t you know what happens to little drunks with big mouths!’
All at once the girl’s bravado crumbled. Her head fell forward and she began to cry.
At such an abject sight Ruby felt her heart melt. She had once been a hostess herself, a long time ago. She knew well enough
the misery they suffered. Theirs was a life of continual debt, frequent beatings, and the constant threat of greater violence.
Finally Ruby stretched out her hand to help the girl back to her feet. She hugged her close, clucking like a parent with a
wayward child.
‘Sssshhh, it’s all right now,’ she cooed, smoothing her damp hair. ‘Whatever are we to do with you?’
‘I’m sorry … Ah je,’ the other managed between her sobs, addressing Ruby respectfully now as Elder Sister. ‘Yam jui jau – getting drunk – causing you so much trouble. I really am sor mooi.’
Ruby smiled goodnaturedly. Sor mooi – crazy little girl. This had been her nickname from the day she arrived at the Barking Peacock, but underneath the bravado and big talk here was just another frightened kid. And one who
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