Henry Chang - Red Jade

The other Asians aboard were Japanese and Korean tourist families out for a day trip.

The ferry boat had several decks and Mona had gone to the top, pausing at the rail to watch the boat leave the dock. As the boat churned into the bay a sudden gust of wind snatched the Mon Chang Supermarket’s plastic bag from her grasp, carrying it toward the water. She could only watch as the wind dashed the red bag of snacks into the riptides.

In her distress, she clutched the charm in her fist, and swallowed a breath. The red jade bangle turned cold on her wrist, its chill like a warning.

Follow the flow, the charm advised, test the waters.

She dragged her thumbnail across its jade surface again.

Faith avoids disaster.

As the ferry cut its way into Puget Sound, she kept her focus on the red plastic bag, watching it swirl and bob, the weight inside of the cha siew , roast pork, and the chun pui mui keeping it in the water, while the sealed bag of rice crackers kept it afloat.

The flow washed the red bag onto the shore near a park and a pier leading to a group of big red umbrellas she recognized as part of the sundeck of the Spa Garden.

The ferry gained speed, signaling with a blast of its horn.

She took a breath and sat on a bench by the rail, watching the red bag disappear into the distance, along with the big red umbrellas and the small patch of beachfront park. How blessed, she mused, the wind and water giving me direction.

Her view slowly encompassed mountains crowned by a blue haze, and bald eagles swooping past old forts and lighthouses. She’d lost her appetite and decided to eat after they reached Victoria. Chinese food, she figured, in Chinatown. There were no whales to be seen but the scenic landscapes soothed her.

When they arrived at the Inner Harbor, the weather had cleared considerably. The beautiful bay was sparkling, and she checked into the nearby James Bay Inn. Shortly after, she toured the streets en route to Chinatown, and passed under a Gate of Harmonious Interest. She felt another layer of dread lift. This Chinatown was old, but not very far from the ones she’d visited in Vancouver.

The ferry would return her to Say nga touh , Seattle, the next afternoon.

He shuffled the deck and deftly fanned the cards out. The articulation had become second nature. He packed the deck, then cut it into halves, folded them back together.

Gee Sin shifted the cell phone, waited for the connection to clear. The line had experienced interference recently. He flipped out a card, replacing it in the deck. Flipping the cards open-faced had been harder to master, having as much to do with the thumb and finger as with wrist and forearm.

He flipped up a pair of jacks.

Jacks in the morning, the king takes warning.

Outside his picture window, the clouds spread over Victoria Harbour under a shrimp-gray sky. He swallowed a Vicodin, chasing it with a shot of brandy, neat. The splash of cold water that followed chilled the fire in his throat. He knew the painkiller would make a beeline to his brain.

It was Tsai’s voice on the international connection to New York, giving Gee Sin the call he knew would come. Tsai, still a 432, Gee Sin evaluated, but up and coming.

Paper Fan saw the gloomy expanse of the Wan Chai waterfront, the Mid-Levels, Mongkok, fading into the soupy mist. He held the cell phone to his left ear with his shoulder, shuffled the deck again, and spread the cards out on the countertop.

“This comes to us,” Tsai said, “from one of our sister Grass Sandals.”

There was a short burst of static over the line. Gee Sin knew some of the local chapters had recruited women into their operations.

“A woman made a donation to a temple,” Tsai continued, “in Say nga touh. ”

Gee Sin understood that he meant Seattle, and asked, “Don’t women make donations all the time?”

“Yes, but not in gold ,” emphasized Tsai. “They don’t usually donate gold coins.”

“A coin?” Gee Sin remembered the stolen one-ounce Pandas. “What make of coin?”

“A gold Panda.” Tsai paused. “She wasn’t sure what size.”

“But why donate a gold coin?” Gee Sin felt the pulling drifting sensation of the Vicodin. There was more breakup, clicking on the line.

“It’s an old way of thinking,” said Tsai. “From when our countrymen were refugees, during jo non , fleeing from the Japanese. Our hingdaai , brothers, converted all their paper money to gold. Because metal doesn’t burn like paper does, and gold doesn’t lose its value like government currency.”

Gee Sin gave this a moment, then asked, “Was this an older woman, then?”

“No, she fit the general profile. Thirties to forties, short to average height.”

“What else?” asked Gee Sin, the brandy rushing through his blood now.

“The monk said she prayed briefly and left.”

“Is that strange?” He caressed the deck of cards, his vision starting to blur.

“Well, it was after the Lantern Festival. Lots of people in and out of the temple. Our female cho hai there reported that the sister monk remembered that the woman didn’t sign the log-in book.”

They waited through a moment of crackling noise.

Tsai continued, “She said the woman was dressed all in black, and reminded her of a movie star in a magazine.”

“You have people in place?” Gee Sin’s words began to slur.

“We’re watching the temple,” Tsai said crisply, “with help from local 49s, Hip Ching say gow jai , fighters.”

“Where are you now?” Gee Sin heard himself asking.

“I’m preparing to go to the airport. JFK.”

Gee Sin didn’t approve of using the 49s, but advised, “Call me when you get to Say nga touh .” He hung up, and put the cell phone down.

The deck of cards beckoned him as a feeling of goodness and compassion washed over him. He squeezed the deck and smoothly flipped out the top three cards.

A King of Hearts.

A Queen of Spades.

A King of Diamonds.

He put the deck down. A black, hak , queen, trapped between a pair of blood-red kings.

Soon , Gee Sin the Paper Fan anticipated, the trail ends.

Mona felt groggy, looking up as if in a daze, snug beneath a shiny black covering, a blanket. She was observing a candlelit ceremony of some kind, two men in robes, Buddhist-like, in front of an altar. One man wore a red sash, the other a green headband. The shadowy air was thick with incense. Chanting? But not Buddhist.

The man who was the Incense Master wore a grass sandal on his left foot and was exchanging hand signals with the gathering of new recruits.

She was almost swept away by a wave of dizziness.

She’d thought the recruits were dogs at first, obediently seated on their haunches. The murmuring sound cut abruptly to silence and she soon realized these were men on their knees, sitting back on their heels. Their faces were flickering images in the candlelight, glimpses of an ancient ritual. They were reciting an oath.

I shall not betray my brethren …

Angling for a better view, she discovered she was bound onto a black mattress, spread-eagled and naked under the covering. Like a sacrificial lamb.

I shall not betray. The penalty is death. The oaths declined to murmurs again.

Then the Incense Master held up a Ming Dynasty-type dagger, and the recruits turned their attention to her on the mattress. She saw lines of leering lecherous men, evil hock sear wui , snakeheads, rising up from their crouched postures.

They formed a long line as, to her shock, the black satin sheet that was covering her was slowly pulled away, exposing all of her in the dim shadowy light. With lolling, dripping tongues, the men resembled dogs again. Triad mongrels.