Second Chance

Chapter 3 - Mayhem at Eve's Garden

It was a case of déjà vu.

Eve’s Garden, with its striking Victorian architecture and lavish décor, was an elegant enclave where its mostly white patrons danced to music played by a band at the ballroom. It was also host to some of the highest-stakes gambling that could be found in Beijing. Yet it reminded Jake so much of The Paramount Nightclub; it was packed, it was noisy, and it housed whores … tall, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned they might be, but they were still whores.

He was toast.

On the other hand, Wing-mun was jubilant and wasted no time in getting wild. As soon as they made themselves comfy at the bar counter, he drank, danced, and joked with everyone, especially the women. He, like Jake before, was a charming womanizer. However, the crime lord one-upped him with his twice-a-day s*x session every day without fail. His s****l prowess led to Jake nicknaming him “Joy-stick”.

One of the male patrons who Wing-mun said hello to was the warlord General Tang Chok. An ex-bandit with a large moustache and a physically imposing figure, he practically owned Beijing ever since the death of the despot President Yuan Shih-kai. Actually it was the general who approached them and shook Wing-mun’s hand. Both seemed to know each other. As the mobster and the general exchanged pleasantries, the volume from the band was a great deal higher than before. Jake reckoned the players had had a glass of wine too many tonight. Yet Wing-mun was laughing when General Tang said something and vice versa.

How could they hear each other over this din? Jake wondered. He decided to put his suspicions to the test when Wing-mun introduced the general to him.

“General, meet my partner and sworn brother, Jake Lone,” the mob boss said, almost shouting.

Flashing his best smile, Jake shook the general’s hand and greeted him: “Hi, you despicable big piece of cow dung, how are you?”

“Never felt better, thank you,” General Tang responded, returning his smile. He then excused himself and left the club with his entourage.

Jake was right. The general and Wing-mun were just shamming courteousness.

“I help feed his thirty-thousand troops and he leaves my Beijing operations alone in return,” Wing-mun said during the intermission, when they were able to talk like human beings again. He knew Jake was dying to ask him about his friendship with the general. “Doing business in Beijing is different from Shanghai; here, the warlord, not the banker, is your best friend.”

“I’ll remember that,” Jake said, sipping his brandy.

“He has a younger brother named Tang Lap. I am sure you know him. He was about to become the next mayor of Shanghai. But a bullet ended his career.”

Jake was startled. “Yes, I know Tang Lap,” he said softly as he didn’t want anyone at the bar counter to hear them. “I, or rather my alter-ego Mr Clean, was the one who pulled the trigger.”

“The general told me he had slain the mastermind behind his brother’s murder and knew the assassin was you – your killing technique is legendary – and he swore full revenge,” Wing-mun confided. “The only thing preventing him from carrying out his task was that nobody had seen the face of Mr Clean; those who had, died in your hands before they could tell others. If I remember correctly, you said there were only three people who knew your secret identity: me, your late wife, and your sifu.”

Jake nodded, then said, “My ex-sifu, you mean. He was very upset when I informed him of my decision to retire after my marriage. Can’t really blame the old man – he dedicated himself to moulding me into the top gunman in Shanghai and I walked out on him in the end. We left each other on a rather acrimonious note.” There was a pause. He then raised his glass. “Mr Clean, the gunman, is history, Mun Gor. Now there is only Jake Lone, the businessman. Let’s drink to that.”

“Cheers, brother!” the mobster said happily, clinking their glasses.

Later on, even though Wing-mun was caught up in revelry, he didn’t forget his main objective of coming here: fixing Jake up with so-called new friends.

Thus entered Maggie and Charlotte; two attractive English women in their early thirties, or so they claimed. Jake could tell they were not hookers; they dressed rich and wore diamonds. Well, that was a consolation, he thought. They also came on like they were single. This he very much doubted; they might have removed their wedding rings but the faint trace on their fingers were still visible to his super-keen eyes.

“What’s your name, handsome?” Maggie asked Jake in a strong cockney accent. He looked at her … her chest to be more specific; her low-neck dress was showing a lot of cleavage.

Jake thought he would be a trifle mischievous. “Char Ngoh-leen,” he replied with an angelic smile; it meant ‘fondle my breasts’ in English, but Maggie didn’t know that.

Quick on the uptake, Wing-mun introduced himself as Char Ngoh-bor – the pronunciation was a little different but it carried the same definition – to the equally busty and always giggling Charlotte.

“Are you two brothers?” Charlotte asked. “I mean, both of you have the same surname. But you don’t look alike.”

“That’s because we are cousins,” Wing-mun replied, keeping a straight face.

Then, silence. Jake fingered his glass.

“Do you come here often?” the blonde-haired Maggie finally asked the ex-hit-man.

“Tonight’s the first time,” Jake answered.

“I see. Well, Charlotte and I come three times a week.”

“That still leaves four nights free. What do you do with those?”

“I sleep.”

“I join her too,” Charlotte the Giggler interposed; she was gap-toothed.

Wing-mun was looking at the ornaments on the ceiling. Jake fingered his glass again. Clearly this was a conversation best to be dropped; the two men were talking to a couple of dullards here.

Jake glanced about the place. Even at this unearthly hour, the ballroom was still packed and the music as loud as ever. Men were hanging around the bar in a drunken stupor. A few were lecherously eyeing Maggie and Charlotte. To think that he used to be like those silly buggers many moons ago – pathetic.

“Excuse me girls, I’m going out for a smoke,” he finally said, winking at Wing-mun.

The mobster winked back. He knew Jake who had never touched a cigarette in his life was up to his old tricks again.

“You can smoke here,” Maggie said. “We don’t mind.”

“I need some fresh air,” Jake replied, edging away.

Without the two women looking, Wing-mun took something out of his trousers pocket and placed it on the bar countertop. Then he said, “Maggie, please call my cousin back. He forgot his lighter.”

“Oh, the absent-minded man,” she chuckled, glancing at the gold-plated lighter. Following that she called out Jake’s false name. “Hey, Ngoh-leen!”

“Louder. He can’t hear you.”

“Ngoh-leen!” Maggie shouted on top of her voice. “Char Ngoh-leen!”

A blitzed middle-aged Chinese man who was standing beside her could not believe his luck and he did just that. Maggie was horrified; she gave him a tight slap. The man became furious; he slapped her in return. A chivalrous Caucasian rushed over to Maggie’s rescue; he punched the Chinese man in the face. Another Chinese drunkard did not fancy the sight of his fellow countryman being bullied; he kicked the Caucasian in the groin. And a fight commenced that swiftly spread among the patrons. Glasses were broken, whiskey bottles were turned into weapons, and teeth were flying. It was like a saloon brawl of the Old West.

Jake and Wing-mun were the only ones to emerge from the rumble unscathed. But of course, that was fully expected of them. Once upon a time in the gang-infested streets of Shanghai, they had faced tougher opponents and they fought with knives and machetes. Tonight they were fighting sissies.

“There’s got to be a better way to know girls,” Jake quipped, as they were chauffeured back to the hotel in a rented limousine; one of the mobster’s bodyguards was their driver tonight.

Wing-mun laughed. “We all make mistakes, Jake. And that ‘Char Ngoh-leen’ routine; it was hilarious! Bloody hell, you haven’t pulled that prank since … how long was it?”

“Christmas eve, 1919, at The Piccadilly Bar inside the International Settlement,” Jake refreshed the crime czar’s memory. “And the Johnson sisters were our sacrificial lambs.”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Wing-mun said, laughing again. A second later, he added, “You know something? I still have got that feeling.”

“What kind of feeling?”

“The ecstatic kind of feeling,” Wing-mun enthused. “I could sense my adrenaline rising when I walloped those losers at the ballroom. For a moment there I thought I was back in the good old days.”

“Me too, Mun Gor, me too,” Jake smiled and began to drift into fanciful musing. “Oh, why did we let go of those happy, carefree times?”

Wing-mun put his arm around his pal’s shoulder and sighed. “We grew up, Jake.”

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Author's Note: English translation

Sifu - Teacher / Mentor