Jacqui Rose - Disobey

When Chang had arrived in Lo Wu, he’d slept rough, hiding out in the backstreets. During the day he’d tried to glean information about how to cross the border to Hong Kong. It’d taken over a month for Chang to find out what he needed, during which time he’d stolen food from shops and broken into houses to steal money. It all came naturally to him; even though crime had previously been absent in his life it now seemed second nature, and although he was fending for himself at only fourteen, Chang was the happiest he’d ever felt.

A man Chang had met when he’d been getting something to eat had told him about the yellow waters of the Sham Chun River which flowed unceasingly under the Lo Wu bridge; the only link between China and Hong Kong.

He’d told Chang about the town of Sham Chun which stood on the river, a few miles down from Lo Wu, telling Chang about the people who’d risked their lives by swimming the river to the British side to escape communist China.

But Chang hadn’t seen it as a risk as he’d listened to the tales of those that’d made it and those that’d perished by drowning or from the bullets of the soldiers who stood in the chain of sentry boxes along the shore. No, Chang had seen it as his bid to freedom.

At its widest point the river was less than a quarter of a mile across; an easy crossing to a strong swimmer like Chang. What wasn’t so easy to avoid was the manned twenty-four hours a day armed guards searching the river banks for any would-be escapees hiding out until the darkness of night.

Over the next few weeks, Chang took daily trips to Sham Chun to survey the river, taking in the position of the sentry boxes and the patrolling guard’s schedule, then on the 3rd July 1965 Chang hid amongst the rushes of the river, waiting for his chance to make the journey across.

Chang knew from hearing the nightly echoing of bullets across the river that the sentries would fire at the slightest noise and the waters would be aglow and riddled with bullets, but neither this nor the stories of failed escape attempts could deter Chang from lowering himself quietly into the cold blackness of the river.

The swim across had been almost uneventful until he’d seen a family of six a few metres behind him. The youngest child had begun to cry, and had immediately brought attention to the escapees.

Without a moment’s hesitation on hearing the child’s noise, the guards had opened fire, killing all those present and wounding Chang in his leg. The wound had been deep and the blood had poured out into the river but Chang had continued to swim through his pain and haziness, making it across to the other side, onto the safety of British-ruled soil.

He’d blacked out on the river bank and had woken up in the back of an old van, after a kindly man had driven past and seen him lying there. The man had taken Chang to his home, a tiny, squalid apartment within Kowloon Walled City; once thought to be the most densely populated place on Earth, with 50,000 people crammed into only a few blocks,

From the Fifties the walled city had been run by the triads and this was the place Chang Lee had learnt his trade; prostitution, gambling, drug dealing, along with implementing fear and torture.

Chang had lived within the walls of the city until the government destroyed it in 1994, forcibly evicting everyone; but by this time, Chang had become one of the most feared triads – powerful and ruthless, still basing his ethos on Chairman Mao.

Chang hadn’t minded leaving Kowloon Walled City, the place had become too small for him, and he too big for the place, and now he’d set his eyes on something more international; London.

In 1997, Chang found himself on a boat to England, and although the government’s demolishment of Kowloon had ultimately put paid to Chang’s livelihood, leaving him with no money, it hadn’t mattered to him. He knew it was only a matter of time before he built himself up again, along with his reputation; but this time it would be in London.

During the next twelve years Chang had gone to elocution lessons, involved himself in the heroin business, mainly in south-west London, making money and contacts; but then the bottom had dropped out of it, and he’d turned to gambling dens amongst other things. It was then he’d decided to move to Chinatown.

Through violence and manipulation, he’d secured the monopoly in illegal gambling, and no one had dared to challenge his position – that was, until now. Until Alfie Jennings had decided to open his own casino in Soho, breaking the rules of the pact which saw the triads run all casinos and the faces of London deal with whatever it was they dealt with. And now they were going to pay. Now, the rules had changed. Now, Chang was going to take over everything, and Soho was just the beginning of their takeover of London.

Lin nodded at Chang Lee as he drew an ace in the poker game he was playing with Mr Lee’s other men. ‘I would’ve liked to have done more, show them all what fear really is.’

Mr Lee stood up from the card table. He was already ten thousand down but he liked to occasionally lose to his inferiors; winning all the time was only something a fool would want, it made you lazy. ‘Slowly, Lin; slowly slowly catchy monkey. We want to do it properly. We want to force them out of Soho, like rats on a sinking boat. Soho will be ours, but patience is our path.’

Before Lin could answer, the buzzer rang. He looked on the monitors, immediately recognising the caller. It was Alfie Jennings.

Chang Lee gave a tight smile as he headed for the door. ‘I think I’ll leave the pleasure of a meeting with Mr Jennings to you, Lin.’ He paused, adding, ‘Oh and Lin, don’t forget to send the flowers.’ With that, Mr Lee left the room.

Alfie Jennings looked at his watch and quickly glanced around. He took a deep breath before again pressing the door buzzer of the unmarked basement office. They were taking the piss, he knew for a fact someone would be there. No doubt they’d be watching him on the CCTV cameras, thinking it was funny to make him wait. Well he’d show them. Oh yes, he was going to tell them just what he thought of their warnings and intimidation. No one, but no one was going to rip the piss out of the Jennings, especially not a bunch of noodle-eating triads.

Why should the triads have the monopoly on it all? Alfie hadn’t signed a fucking agreement saying they had the stakehold on casinos. There was enough money to go around and he not only wanted some of it, he was going to get it.

When Alfie had had the idea of opening a casino, he’d got one of his business associates to introduce him to Mr Lee, the head of the triads. He’d been polite, and asked them if he could open a casino, something he usually would never have done. He’d expected the man to say yes, but he’d just laughed in his face and given a point blank no. He’d asked three times more but he’d been warned off, something which had angered him no end, but had given him the nudge he needed; making him decide he didn’t need anyone’s permission to open a late-night illegal gambling den in his own club, Whispers.

It was a fucking muppet contract and of course, whoever had agreed to it had been a mug or a pussy, or both. No one would tell him what to do, and once he’d spoken to Mr Lee everything would get sorted and he, Alfie would carry on with his get-money-fast plan.

Of course he hadn’t told anyone what he was doing, but he’d spent his life playing by the rules of Soho and now it was time for Alfie to start to think about himself. And setting up this gambling club was doing exactly that. By the time word did get out to the other faces that he’d opened a casino behind everyone’s back, he’d be hopefully lying on the Costa del Sol with Franny, because that’s what it was all about. Having enough money behind him to wave goodbye to Soho and spend the rest of his days with Franny Doyle.