The survivor

Eighty-Eight

Shen Sun crept out of the bushes and turned away from the police. He moved steadily into the adjoining cul-de-sac and began trying the door handles of the parked cars. He tried four of them before finding one that was unlocked — a grey, older model Honda Civic.

His favourite type.

He jumped inside, searched for a hidden key, found none. Taking his gun, he unloaded the clip and chamber, then used the butt end to break the ignition. Once the console was split open, he hotwired the car. Seconds later, he reloaded his pistol with the few bullets he had left, then drove south down Glen Street until he found a clearing.

He turned off the headlights, left the car running. From this vantage point he could see the group of cops on Raymur Street below. They were still standing out front of Father’s apartment. Before, they had been calm — now they were arguing. And in the centre of them all was the Homicide Detective. Jacob Striker.

Something bad was happening. Shen Sun could see it in the cop’s face.

He waited with great patience until the gwailo signalled for the woman cop to join him and they both jumped into the car. They did a quick U-turn, tires skidding on the road, then accelerated north on Raymur before turning east.

The lane was one that Shen Sun knew. It rounded back onto East Hastings Street. Sure enough, thirty seconds later, the cruiser breached the roadside, turned east, and sped down Hastings at a high rate of speed.

Shen Sun put the Civic in drive and followed them, flooring it to catch up. The road was busy with Friday-night traffic, made worse by the Halloween crowds. Shen Sun used this to his advantage. He followed the undercover police cruiser east. When the tail-lights lit up and the car came to an abrupt stop on the corner of Venables and Commercial, Shen Sun knew exactly where they were going.

The Parade of Lost Souls.

He pulled over not a half block away, and watched the two cops get out. He smiled when they both pointed at the crowd of costume-faced partygoers and hurried up the Drive. There was urgency on the gwailo’s face. More than Shen Sun had seen before.

The sight intrigued him. Jacob Striker had been the calmest adversary he had ever faced — back at the school, at the Kwan residence, at the hospital. He had been a man of ice.

So why this sudden urgency?

The answer came to him like flowers blossoming in his heart. Only two things would cause this emotional reaction from the hero cop: either he was going after Riku Kwan, or he was going after his daughter Courtney.

Shen Sun leaped from the Civic, stuffing his pistol down the back of his pants. A momentary euphoria flooded him as he hurried towards Commercial Drive. He was nearing the end of his journey; he could feel it. And it now seemed so long ago that Kim Pham had come to him with the promise of a place in Macau, sent down from Shan Chu himself. The question of why the Triads had chosen him for the St Patrick’s High mission never crossed Shen Sun’s mind. Not once. He knew why. It was because he was logical. He was ruthless. He was without emotion.

But more than all that, he was a survivor.

The Angkor had proven that.

The St Patrick’s High mission had been simple and straightforward: kill the firstborn of every individual who had disrespected the gang and dared to steal from the underground bank on Pandora Street. Almost thirty-eight million dollars had been lost. And all of it 14K property.

It was sacred.

The most frustrating part was that the plan had been perfect. The firstborns would have been killed, the parents made aware of the cost of their larceny, and then the issue of interest-owed repayments would have been addressed.

Unless they wanted to lose their other children, too.

Fall guys had all been put in place. Sherman Chan, Que Wong and Raymond Leung would have been labelled as teenage spree killers, thereby keeping the police and public anger contained. And when the police eventually did discover that there were other possible suspects — through times of death and blood testing — Shen Sun and Tran would be long gone.

Far, far away in Macau.

In the criminal realm, every gangster would have known the real reason for the killings — because no grapevine was stronger than that of the underworld. And word of mouth aside, everyone in that world already knew the rules of the business. This was the ultimate cost of Triad betrayal.

Your firstborn.

As it always had been, throughout the centuries.

Shen Sun had needed no motivation for the job. Not when the reward for such a mission was to be the White Paper Fan at Shan Chu’s side in the glorious city of Macau.

That was the Perfect Harmony.

That was power.

Shen Sun stepped onto the Drive and gaped at the frenzy before him. The Parade of Lost Souls was an outdoor costume ball with more than ten thousand people in attendance. His employers had provided him with photographs of Riku Kwan and Courtney.

One of these girls was here in the crowd.

Shen Sun knew this undoubtedly. And this time, the night would be his. For Tran was with him, somewhere in the night, his spirit floating in the October winds. It gave Shen Sun the edge he needed. The confidence. This time he would be unstoppable. The gwailo would fall. And Shen Sun would take his rightful place in Macau. It was a goal he had been working towards for twenty long years. A goal that had cost him Father and Tran. A goal that would come to fruition.

All it would take was two more deaths.