The survivor

Seventy-Eight

Shen Sun Soone stood rooted to the spot. The sweet aroma of Chinese pork buns filled the air around him, but it did not stir his hunger. All he thought of was the Man with the Bamboo Spine.

The 14K assassin.

The Man with the Bamboo Spine was Dai Huen Jai, a former Big Circle Boy — one of the Vietnamese National Liberation Army soldiers turned mercenary. These men had a willingness to resort to unnecessary torture. And they did so in horrifically creative ways. Death by slow boiling; death by skinning; death by disembowelment — all procedures conjured up to inspire fear in their enemies.

And it worked with great success.

‘Take seat,’ the waitress said to Shen Sun. ‘You take seat. You order food. Eat much.’

Shen Sun left the restaurant, feeling divided. A part of him longed for Macau, where Shan Chu was located. If only he could go there and hold tea with Shan Chu, then there might be hope. But that was impossible. Shan Chu was Dragon Head, above even Sheung Fa. He did what was necessary to protect the syndicate. And because of that, the order for Shen Sun’s death was understandable. The Triad need for secrecy superseded everything else. So when Shen Sun’s photo started popping up on every TV screen around the city, his fate was sealed.

The news media had ordered his death, every bit as much as Shan Chu.

The door to the Jin Ho Cafe slammed shut from the wind, the glass rattling. It tore him from his stupor. Woke him to the harsh truth. There was no future — not for him. Perhaps there never had been. Perhaps he had died that day in the camps, and now he was nothing more than a shadow wandering this earth.

He stood on the corner of East Hastings and Hawks and stared at the cold expanse of sky. Moments ago it had seemed sunny. Now it was grey.

He reached under his shirt, pulled the Glock from his waistband and placed the barrel flush against his temple. His finger rested heavy on the trigger. The steel was cold. But there was an easiness now. Peace. He gently squeezed the trigger.

And stopped.

Something had caught his eye. Something across the road. It was subtle at first, like the softest change of wind. But it was there. It was undeniably there.

And it was magnificent.

Across the road, on the north side of Hastings, was the Sunshine Market. The store awning was old and yellow with a dozen golden pennants hanging down. Each one boasted a symbol — Peace, Strength, Prosperity, Wisdom. The wind tilted them all towards the west.

All except one.

In the centre hung a single red pennant. Triangular. And on its face was the character for Perseverance. Unlike all the other ones, this pennant tilted towards the east. Against the wind. And Shen Sun could not believe his eyes.

It was a sign, he knew. A glorious rescue. He stared at that red triangular pennant tilting towards the east, and felt his eyes turn wet. Soon tears ran down his cheeks, tasting salty on his lips.

‘Tran?’ he asked.

The wind died and all the pennants stopped flapping.

Shen Sun let the gun fall to his side. Smiled. He would finish the mission. And he would survive. Like he always had, no matter what came up against him, be it the Khmer Rouge, the Shadow Dragons, a Big Circle Boy. Or some gwailo cop chasing him down at every turn.

Nothing could stop him.

He looked east, in the last direction he had seen the Man with the Bamboo Spine marching. Only a few blocks away was Raymur Street. And that told Shen Sun the true destination of his newfound enemy. The Strathcona Projects.

The Man with the Bamboo Spine was going after Father.