Crazy Rich Asians (30 page)

“B. Tai! I can’t believe you made us fly in this old sardine can! Your G5 had a time-to-climb
I could grow a beard in! We should have taken my family’s Falcon 7X,” Evan Fung (of
the Fung Electronics Fungs) complained.

“My dad’s waiting for the G650 to launch into service, and then you can kiss my ass,
Fungus!” Bernard retorted.

Roderick Liang (of the Liang Finance Group Liangs) chimed
in, “I’m a Bombardier man myself. Our Global 6000 has such a big cabin, you can do
backflips down the aisle.”

“Can you
ah guahs
^*
stop comparing the size of your planes and let’s hit the casinos, please?” Johnny
Pang (his mother is an Aw, of
those
Aws) cut in.

“Well guys, hold on to your balls, because I have a very special treat arranged for
all of us!” Bernard declared.

Nick climbed wearily into one of the tanklike cars, hoping that Colin’s bachelor weekend
would proceed without incident. Colin had been on edge all week, and heading to the
gambling capital of the world with a group of testosterone-and-whiskey-fueled guys
was a recipe for disaster.

“This wasn’t the Oxford reunion I was expecting,” Mehmet said to Nick in a low voice.

“Well, aside from his cousin Lionel and the two of us, I don’t think Colin knows anyone
here either,” Nick remarked wryly, glancing at some of the other passengers. The lineup
of Beijing princelings and Taiwanese trust-fund brats was definitely more Bernard’s
crowd.

As the convoy of Rolls-Royces sped along the coastal highway that skirted the island,
gigantic billboards flashing the names of casinos could be seen from miles away. Soon
the gaming resorts came into view like small mountains—behemoth blocks of glass and
concrete that pulsated with lurid colors in the midafternoon haze. “It’s just like
Vegas, except with an ocean view,” Mehmet remarked in awe.

“Vegas is the kiddie pool. This is where the real high rollers come to play,” Evan
remarked.
^†

As the Rolls squeezed through the narrow lanes of Felicidade in Macau’s old town,
Nick admired the colorful rows of nineteenth-century Portuguese shop houses, thinking
that this could be a nice place to bring Rachel after Colin’s wedding. The limos finally
pulled up in front of a row of dingy shops on rua de Alfandega. Bernard led the group
into what appeared to be an old Chinese apothecary with scratched glass cabinets selling
ginseng root, edible bird nests,
dried shark fins, fake rhino tusks, and all manner of herbal curiosities. A few elderly
ladies sat clustered in front of a small television set, watching a Cantonese soap
opera, while a rail-thin Chinese man in a faded Hawaiian shirt leaned against the
back counter eyeing the group with a bored look.

Bernard looked at the man and asked brashly, “I’m here to buy ginseng royal jelly.”

“What type you want?” the fellow said disinterestedly.

“Prince of Peace.”

“What size jar?”

“Sixty-nine ounces.”

“Let me see if we have some. Follow me,” the man said, his voice suddenly shifting
into a rather unexpected Aussie accent. The group followed him toward the back of
the shop and through a dim storeroom lined from floor to ceiling with neatly stacked
rows of cardboard cartons. Every carton was stamped “China Ginseng for Export Only.”
The man pushed lightly against a stack of wide boxes in the corner, and the whole
section seemed to collapse backward effortlessly, revealing a long passageway glowing
with cobalt-blue LED lights. “Straight through here,” he said. As the guys wandered
down the passageway, the muffled roar became louder and louder, and at the end of
the hall, smoked-glass doors parted automatically to reveal an astonishing sight.

The space, which resembled a sort of indoor gymnasium with bleachers on both sides
of a sunken pit, was packed standing room only with a boisterous cheering crowd. Though
they could not see past the audience, they could hear the blood-curdling growls of
dogs tearing into each other’s flesh.

“Welcome to the greatest dogfighting arena in the world!” Bernard proudly announced.
“They only use Presa Canario mastiffs here—they are a hundred times more vicious than
pit bulls. This is going to be damn
shiok
,
^‡
man!”

“Where do we place the bets?” Johnny asked excitedly.

“Er … isn’t this illegal?” Lionel asked, peering nervously at the main fighting cage.
Nick could tell Lionel wanted to look away but found himself curiously drawn to the
scene of two huge dogs, all
muscle and sinew and fangs, rolling viciously in a pit smeared with their own blood.

“Of course it’s illegal!” Bernard answered.

“I don’t know about this, Bernard. Colin and I cannot risk being caught at some illegal
dogfight right before the wedding,” Lionel continued.

“You are
such
a typical Singaporean! So damn scared of everything! Don’t be so fucking
boring
,” Bernard said contemptuously.

“That’s not the point, Bernard. This is just plain cruel,” Nick interjected.

“
Alamak
, are you a member of Greenpeace? You’re witnessing a great sporting tradition! These
dogs have been bred for centuries in the Canary Islands to do nothing but fight,”
Bernard huffed, squinting his eyes.

The chanting of the crowd became deafening as the match reached its grisly climax.
Both dogs had clamped tightly onto each other’s throats, locked in a Sisyphean chokehold,
and Nick could see that the skin around the brown dog’s throat was half torn off,
flapping against the snout of the other dog. “Well I’ve seen enough,” he grimaced,
turning his back on the fight.

“Come on,
lah
. This is a BACHELOR PARTY! Don’t shit on my fun, Nickyboy,” Bernard shouted over
the chanting. One of the dogs gave a piercing shriek as the other mastiff snapped
into the soft of its belly.

“There’s nothing fun about this,” Mehmet said firmly, nauseated by the sight of the
fresh warm blood squirting everywhere.

“Ay,
bhai singh
,
^§
isn’t goat-fucking a tradition in your country? Don’t you all think goat pussy is
the closest thing to real vag?” Bernard countered.

Nick’s jaw tightened, but Mehmet just laughed. “You sound like you’re speaking from
experience.”

Bernard flared his nostrils, trying to figure out whether he should feel insulted.

“Bernard, why don’t you stay? Those who don’t want to be here can head to the hotel
first, and we can all meet up later,” Colin suggested, trying to play the diplomat.

“Suits me fine.”

“Okay, then, I’ll take the group to the hotel and we’ll meet up at—”

“
Wah lan!
^‖
I organized this specially for you, and
you’re
not staying?” Bernard sounded frustrated.

“Er … to be honest, I don’t care for this either,” Colin said, trying to look apologetic.

Bernard paused for a moment, supremely conflicted. He wanted to enjoy the dogfights,
but at the same time he wanted everyone to witness the profuse ass-kissing he would
receive from hotel management the minute they pulled up to the resort.

“ ’Kay
lah
, it’s your party,” Bernard muttered sulkily.

The sumptuous lobby of the Wynn Macau boasted a huge gilt mural on the ceiling that
featured animals of the Chinese zodiac, and at least half the assembled group were
relieved to be someplace where the animals were covered in twenty-two-carat gold instead
of blood. At the reception desk, Bernard was having one of the classic fits he was
renowned for the world over.

“What the fuck! I’m a VVIP here, and I booked the most expensive suite in this entire
hotel
almost a week ago
. How can it not be ready?” Bernard raged to the manager.

“I do apologize, Mr. Tai. Checkout time for the Presidential Penthouse is four o’clock,
so the previous guests have not yet vacated the room. But as soon as they do, we’ll
have the suite serviced and turned around for you in no time at all,” the manager
said.

“Who are these bastards? I’ll bet they’re Hongkies! Those
ya ya
^a
Hongkies always think they own the world!”

The manager never broke his smile throughout Bernard’s tirade. He didn’t want to do
anything to jeopardize the business of
Dato’
Tai Toh Lui’s son—the boy was such a bloody brilliant loser at the baccarat tables.
“Some of the grand salon suites reserved for your party are ready. Please allow me
to escort you there with a few bottles of your favorite Cristal.”

“I’m not going to dirty my Tod’s setting foot in one of those rat holes! I want my
duplex or nothing,” Bernard said petulantly.

“Bernard, why don’t we visit the casino first?” Colin calmly suggested. “It’s what
we would have done anyway.”

“I’ll go to the casino, but you guys need to give us the best private VVIP gambling
salon right now,” Bernard demanded of the manager.

“Of course, of course. We
always
have our most exclusive gaming salon available to you, Mr. Tai,” the manager said
deftly.

Just then, Alistair Cheng wandered into the lobby, looking slightly disheveled.

“Alistair, so glad you found us!” Colin greeted him heartily.

“Told you it wouldn’t be a problem. Hong Kong’s just thirty minutes away by hydrofoil,
and I know Macau like the back of my hand—I used to skip school and come here all
the time with my classmates,” Alistair said. He caught sight of Nick and went over
to give him a hug.

“Aiyoh, how sweet. Is this your boyfriend, Nickyboy?” Bernard said mockingly.

“Alistair’s my cousin,” Nick replied.

“So you guys played with each other’s cocks while growing up,” Bernard taunted, laughing
at his own joke.

Nick ignored him, wondering how it was possible that Bernard hadn’t changed one bit
since they were in primary school. He turned back to his cousin and said, “Hey, I
thought you were coming to visit me in New York this spring. What happened?”

“A girl happened, Nick.”

“Really? Who’s the lucky girl?”

“Her name’s Kitty. She’s an amazingly talented actress from Taiwan. You’ll meet her
next week—I’m bringing her to Colin’s wedding.”

“Wow, I can’t wait to meet the girl who finally stole the heart-breaker’s heart,”
Nick teased. Alistair was just twenty-six, but his baby-face good looks and laid-back
persona had already made him renowned for leaving a trail of broken hearts all over
the Pacific Rim. (Aside from ex-girlfriends in Hong Kong, Singapore, Thailand, Taipei,
Shanghai, and one summer fling in Vancouver, a diplomat’s daughter at his college
in Sydney famously became so obsessed that she attempted to overdose on Benadryl just
to get his attention.)

“Hey, I heard you brought
your
girlfriend to Singapore too,” Alistair said.

“Word travels fast, doesn’t it?”

“My mum heard it from Radio One Asia.”

“You know, I’m beginning to suspect that Cassandra has me under surveillance,” Nick
said wryly.

The group entered the sprawling casino where the gaming tables seemed to glow with
a peachy, golden light. Colin crossed the opulent sea anemone–patterned carpet and
approached the Texas hold ’em table. “Colin, the VIP salons are this way,” Bernard
said, trying to steer Colin toward the sumptuous salons reserved for high rollers.

“But it’s more fun to play five-dollar poker,” Colin argued.

“No, no, we’re moguls, man! I created that whole scene with the manager just so we
could score the best VIP room. Why would you want to mix with all these smelly Mainlanders
out here?” Bernard said.

“Let me just play a couple of rounds here and then we’ll go to the VIP room, okay?”
Colin pleaded.

“I’ll join you, Colin,” Alistair said, sliding into a seat.

Bernard smiled tightly, looking like a rabid Boston terrier. “Well I’m going to our
VIP room. I can’t play at these kiddie tables—I only get hard when I’m betting at
least thirty thousand per hand,” he said with a sniff. “Who’s with me?” Most of Bernard’s
entourage peeled off with him, with the exception of Nick, Mehmet, and Lionel. Colin’s
face clouded over.

Nick took the other seat beside Colin. “I have to warn you guys, two years in New
York has made me quite a cardsharp. Prepare to be schooled by the master … Colin,
remind me what game this is?” he said, trying to lighten the mood. As the dealer began
to expertly flick the cards across the table, Nick quietly fumed. Bernard had always
been a troublemaker. Why should things be any different this weekend?

It all happened so fast, the next thing Nick remembered was the feeling of cold damp
mud against his neck and a strange face looking down on him. Dark skin, freckles,
a shock of brownish-black hair.

“Are you okay?” the dark boy asked.

“I think so,” Nick said, his vision coming back into focus. His entire back was soaked
in muddy water from being pushed into the ditch. He got up slowly and looked around
to see Bernard leering at him, red-faced, arms crossed like an angry old man.