Neon Dragon (16 page)

“I'm fine. Just drive and listen.”

Harry shifted his position with meticulous care. I wondered if his plan for the brothel involved a lot of broken-field running.

“The triads go back into Chinese history. It's an interesting story. After the Manchus conquered China, they set up the Ch'ing dynasty. They ruled China for over three hundred years. In 1672, the Ch'ing emperor, Kang Xi, got help from the monks in a monastery called Shaolin in Fukien. They were experts in the martial arts. Did you ever watch reruns of the television series called
Kung Fu?
”

“Sometimes. In my high-school days.”

“Then you understand something about the idea of Shaolin. The emperor needed help to drive off the invading Xi Lu barbarians. There were only 108 Shaolin monks, but they repelled the Xi Lu barbarians. The emperor rewarded the monks, and they went back to the Shaolin monastery.

“Two of the senior officials in the emperor's court wanted to overthrow him, but they were afraid of the Shaolin monks, who were obviously loyal to the emperor. So they convinced the emperor that the Shaolin could be dangerous to him as revolutionaries. The emperor fell for it. He had the monastery burned, and all but five of the monks were killed. Those five are supposed to be the ‘Five Ancestors' who created the first triad. They called the triad ‘
Hung
'—‘red'—because of a red light that appeared in the sky during their first ceremony. It
was later called a ‘triad' from their idea of the relationship between heaven, earth, and man. By adopting heaven as their father and earth as their mother, they were free to ignore the bonds of their real families and country and give their loyalty to each other as brothers and to the organization.

“The Chinese officials from the old Ming dynasty who were thrown out by the Ch'ings and even the poor classes joined into triads patterned after that first ‘red' society. They used secret oaths and ceremonies and all the trappings. The whole purpose of the triad was patriotic—the overthrow of the Ch'ing dynasty.

“Then in 1912, Sun Yat-Sen's revolution finally overthrew the Ch'ings and established the Republic of China. Most of the old triad leaders who weren't absorbed into the new government stayed with the triads for the status and power. The problem was that there was no patriotic cause left. So they turned to organized criminal activity. The old triad values of patriotism, brotherhood, and righteousness of the last three centuries got warped into pure loyalty to the triad. And the triads became purely criminal organizations.

“After the communists took over in China, most of the triads moved to Hong Kong. There were about thirty of them there when the mainland took back Hong Kong, in spite of the fact that a Hong Kong statute makes it a crime to belong to a triad. They're probably mostly still intact.”

We were passing the Museum of Science, heading in the direction of the once and former Boston Garden and North Station to come into Chinatown from the North End.

“Interesting, Harry. What does it have to do with the Dragon Lady's brothel?”

“I'm getting to that. Listen to me. There are thirty-six oaths of loyalty that every new member swears on the night he's inducted. Like, they promise not to disclose any of the secrets of the Hung family to anyone, parents, brothers and spouses included. If they do, they agree to be killed by many swords. They also swear that if a brother goes
away or is arrested or killed, they will help his wife and children. They agree to be killed by thunderbolts if they don't do this.

“They're quite amazing. None of the thirty-six oaths ever mentions criminal activity. But when they pledge complete loyalty to the brethren, it pulls them away from all of the norms and values of the rest of society. There's no room for other loyalties. Robbing, beating, killing—it's all allowed if it serves the purpose of the organization. And if it's done to someone outside the circle.”

The more he got into it, the more animated Harry became, and the less restricted he seemed in his motion.

“You're telling me we're dealing with fanatics here.”

He shook his head. I was glad to see that he could.

“Not in the sense of being crazies. Just in the sense of being totally dedicated to the cause—which is the business of the tong.”

“What's the difference between a tong and a triad?”

“The tongs originated in the United States or Canada. In many cases they were formed as branches of a triad by people who left Hong Kong or Taiwan.”

I was surprised. “Are they big in Canada?”

“Enormous. It's easier to do the smuggling into Canada first and then into the United States.”

“Smuggling what?”

“Aliens, drugs, whatever. They bring over girls for the prostitution houses. They recruit young men, usually already criminals over there, for the youth gangs that are affiliated with the tongs. These people are illegal aliens, so the tong has a good grip on them.”

“What else are they into?”

“Every type of crime that's profitable in the Chinese community. Extortion is everywhere. Everyone pays
lomo
, ‘lucky money'—shopkeepers, restaurants, even famous entertainers who come over from China to play in the Chinese theatres here. They also pander to the vices that exist in the community. Gambling has always been a way to escape the present with a chance for a different future. Drugs, particularly
opium, go back centuries. It's certainly not a large percentage of the people. But it's enough for the tong to turn a good profit.

“The greatest protection the tongs have is that as long as they don't bother anyone outside of Chinatown, whatever police and politicians they haven't bought don't get too excited about law enforcement. Then, too, they have the Chinese community so frightened of reprisals from their muscle, the youth gangs, that they won't go to the police. Anyway, it's sort of inbred in the Chinese to deal with their problems in their own community. They've learned not to expect much from the white system.”

I maneuvered through the circle of traffic that leads, for those who survive it, to the new openings of the so-called Big Dig that replaced the old Southeast Expressway.

“What percentage of the people are involved in the tongs?”

“Minimal. I don't now the exact numbers, but it's like asking what percentage of the Italian people are in the Mafia. The percentage is tiny. Most Chinese are incredibly peaceful, hardworking. They send their children to the best schools they can. They lead good, moral lives. There are infinitely more Chinese victims than criminals.”

“Tell me about the youth gangs, Harry. Were those gang members that got you?”

He nodded slowly. “That's another institution. The tongs need enforcers, primarily for two purposes. They need protection for the gambling dens, and they need muscle for their extortion rackets. They're like the replacement for the old hatchetmen.

“The youth gangs are perfect for that. They take in young recruits beginning anywhere from thirteen years old, up. Most poor communities have juvenile delinquents. But what makes these gangs especially powerful and controllable is the mystique of the triad trappings. They're recruited by the tongs with the old triad initiation ceremonies and oaths of loyalty. Everything has a triad twist to it. For example, when they demand ransom or extortion money, the amount is generally in some multiple of 36 for the 36 oaths, or 108 for the original 108
Shaolin monks. This ‘secret society' mystique is effective. It not only instills fear in the community, but it forges these delinquents into a disciplined gang.

“The way it works, each tong usually has its own youth gang as an affiliate of the tong. For example, one tong in New York had the Ghost Shadows. Another tong had the Flying Dragons. You don't want to mess with either one.”

I pulled into a parking lot close to the Washington Street end of Beach Street. I liked the park-and-lock policy. Just in case we came out of that brothel at a dead run, ten steps ahead of thirty-six teenagers with hatchets, I didn't want to wait for an attendant to fetch the car from the bowels of some garage.

We sat in the car for a minute. I wanted to get the plan straight before we walked into the neighborhood.

“So how do we do it, Harry?”

He turned slightly toward me and realized he was still better off looking straight ahead.

“There are a lot of little low-stakes gambling dens in Chinatown. They're like family businesses. But the tong always runs one major high-stakes gambling den. It's a twenty-four-hour-a-day operation. It's like a giant bank for very serious gambling, drug deals, whatever. There's a lot of money floating around inside. That's where the tong is most vulnerable. That's why a major function of the youth gang is guarding the den. I think I know where it is.”

“How?”

“I read the signals. Young, tough kids around the building. There's usually just one slip of paper somewhere on the outside with two Chinese characters meaning ‘in action.' I think I saw it.”

“Where?”

“The building down the block from the no-name coffee shop.”

“All right, suppose you're right. How do you use it?”

“We use the weapon of choice in Chinatown.”

“Which is?”

“Fear. That's what gives the tong control over the community. Maybe it'll give us some control over the tong. First we reach the Dragon Lady. Let's go.”

“Wait a minute, Harry. Are you going to threaten to go to the police?”

“Hardly. The police are useless. Once in a while they'll raid a gambling den to appear to be doing something. They arrest some of the old people the den keeps around. The judge'll fine them a hundred dollars, and it's on with the show. I don't know what it's like here in Boston, but the tong usually has some of the police tied up.”

“So if they're not afraid of the police, what?”

“The tong has a rival. The
Dai Huen Jai.
The Big Circle Boys. They're a bunch of loose-knit bands of criminals from around the southern provincial capital of Canton. In Hong Kong, that area's called the “Big Circle” because that's what it looks like on a map.

“These babies are tough. They run about twenty to forty years old, and they're seasoned fighters. Most of them are out of the Chinese military or are former members of the top-gun Red Guard. A lot of them are wanted criminals in China.

“Their organization smuggles them out of China into Canada, then to the United States. They're brought in specifically to commit crimes, usually robbery of everything from jewelry stores to gambling dens. When things get hot, they're smuggled somewhere else. They're violent enough to be feared even by the tongs.”

“And exactly how are you going to use this?”

“Follow this inscrutable Chinese and learn.”

He opened the door, but I couldn't let one question hang. I grabbed his elbow.

“One question, Harry. How do you know all this? I mean the oaths and all that.”

I think he wanted to be out of the car before I asked the question. I could see his lips tighten.

“What's the difference?”

It came out harsher than he'd intended. He saw my expression and softened his.

“Sometime I'll tell you, Mike. I will. This isn't the time. We've got business.”

I nodded.

He was out of the car with both feet on the sidewalk in around sixty seconds flat. I said a prayer that “the plan” did not call for blistering speed. I followed him, but not without grabbing and donning my Henry Osterwald hat from the back seat.

THE WIND OUT OF THE EAST
was whipping twenty-one-degree air salted with snow particles into our faces. In spite of it, I could feel the beading of perspiration on my forehead and upper lip.

We moved down Beach Street from the opposite direction of the no-name coffee shop. I was about four paces behind Harry in case they recognized us together. There was no trouble keeping up.

I had no idea what kind of watch the youth gang would keep on a brothel at nine-thirty in the morning. There was hardly anyone in sight on the street.

The only activity we saw was in the poultry shop that we passed on our right. Ancient wooden cages along the walls held a dusty, feathery collection of live chickens and ducks. Three old Chinese women seemed to be singing the morning gossip to each other while they waited their turn. A fourth watched a rail-thin clerk of somewhere between twenty and forty years grab the quacking duck she pointed to out of the cage and lock one wing behind the other. They were as oblivious to us as I prayed the rest of the local citizenry might be.

When we reached the door of the brothel, I felt the same grappling sensation in the stomach that I had two nights before. Harry neither speeded up nor slowed down as he turned right and pushed open the door. I checked the street one last time. No one.

I scuttled in and closed the door. I was a step behind Harry as we crossed through that mangy hallway to the stairs. The only light was still what fought its way through a century of grime on the door glass, but as far as I could see, there was no one inside. My observation was confirmed by the fact that no one had killed us. Yet.

We climbed. I've heard steps creak, but these roared. I'm sure it was magnified in my mind, but every step was like jumping on the tail of another cat.

Harry stopped a step from the top. I was crowding him from behind, squinting to squeeze every bit of information out of the pitiful rays of light that made it to the top of the stairs.

There were two doors. I couldn't remember which one we used two nights before. I remembered the story, “The Lady or the Tiger,” and thought of the clear possibility of finding “two tigers, no lady.”

I whispered, “Which door?”

Harry turned to make what I suppose was a guess, but instead drove an elbow into my chest so hard I had to grab for what I hoped was a rail to keep from taking the stairs backwards. He was recoiling from a blast of daylight that hit him with surprise harder than he hit me. The first door had swung open. From the gasp of the figure that stood framed in the door, Harry and I had thrown as much of a shock as we received.