Second Chance

Chapter 12 - Fatal Premonition

Jake’s mansion was like a picturesque image of a postcard the next morning. The night-long snowfall had decorated the world like a big birthday cake, frosting far and wide, its crystalline beauty significantly enhanced by the bright wintry sun.

It was early – 7:15 A.M. to be exact – but Jake was already at the breakfast table. Despite the lack of sleep, he was fully alert and mentally well-prepared for the confrontation with the old monk today. Yet no matter how prepared he was, his experience had taught him to expect the unexpected. Perhaps this was the reason he had two loaded pistols tucked in the shoulder holster beneath his black jacket instead of the usual one.

“How are you today, Ah Ying?” Jake asked as she served him a bowl of wanton noodles. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, Master, thank you,” his housekeeper replied with a smile. “And I am so sorry for my poor conduct last night.”

“It’s perfectly all right, nothing to apologise for,” Jake reassured her, returning her smile. “And you look radiant this morning. That’s great.”

Ah Ying’s face turned pink – she still hadn’t gotten used to her boss paying her a compliment.

She was about to return to the kitchen when Jake asked, “Ah Ying, do you think you can recognise the old monk if you see him again?”

“I can never forget a face, Master,” Ah Ying replied with confidence.

“Your photographic memory is truly remarkable – I couldn’t have asked for anything better,” Jake praised her again. “Tell Mao-chan to get the car ready. We are going for a little trip.”

A few minutes later, the three of them were on their way to the monastery. Although the snow showers had ceased, the roads, slicked with snow and ice, were quite slippery, forcing the vehicle to move at a snail’s pace. However, Jake, in spite of his impatience, did not instruct Mao-chan to step on it so as to avoid an accident. At this painfully slow speed, they would reach their destination beyond the expected time for sure. But better late than never, Jake reasoned to himself.

Mao-chan was fairly cheerful despite having to drive in such bad road conditions. He could even afford to whistle a soft happy tune to himself. On the other hand, Ah Ying who was seated beside him was unusually quiet. And she couldn’t stop blinking away.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Mao-chan finally asked her.

“The twitching, it came back,” Ah Ying responded worriedly.

Mao-chan scowled at his wife. “Oh, there you go again – your non-stop twitching and your superstitions. Please stop it, will you? I am getting tired of this nonsense.”

“It’s all right, Ah Ying,” Jake, who was at the back, interposed. He had heard the couple’s conversation and knew she was nervous about identifying the old monk. “Everything is going to be fine, trust me. After I have introduced Master Muk Long to you, all you have to do is to give me a nod to confirm he was the man who collided with Madam then leave. I’ll take it from there. You go back straight to the car and wait for me. I won’t be long.”

Curious and excited at the same time, Mao-chan looked at Jake in the vanity mirror and asked, “May we know what you are going to do, Master?”

“I’ll tell you once it is done,” Jake replied, giving the chauffeur a wink. In truth, he didn’t know either. He supposed he just had to act according to the circumstances.

When they eventually arrived at the monastery, Jake saw some workers setting up a scaffold at the main gate. Damn, they have to pick today to begin the renovation, he cussed to himself. But no matter, they are not going to stop me from accomplishing my task.

After Mao-chan had parked the car a short distance away, he opened the door for Jake. Just then, another vehicle pulled up behind them. Jake at once recognised the occupants of the limousine; they were Wing-mun and his two bodyguards. Only then did Jake remember that he was supposed to phone him this morning but had totally forgotten about it.

“Morning, Jake,” Wing-mun greeted him as he emerged from his car. “Am surprised to see you people here. I was wondering why no one picked up the phone when I dialed your number this morning. Now I know. What’s the occasion?”

Jake shook the crime czar’s hand and greeted him back. “We are here to settle something with Master Muk Long,” he gave a frank and straightforward answer as he and Wing-mun headed towards the gate. Ah Ying and Mao-chan were at the back. The two bodyguards stayed in the car. “And it’s not going to be pleasant. That’s the reason I called you last night. I wanted to tell you what I’ve discovered about the old baldhead.”

Wing-mun raised an eyebrow. Before he could inquire further, they were met by Little Lung at the courtyard. They noticed the young monk was chewing on his nails and his face was gaunt.

“What’s the matter, Little Lung?” Jake asked. “And where is your master?”

“He is not here, Mr Lone,” Little Lung replied, following his customary bow to the visitors. “He left for the city yesterday and hasn’t returned since. This has never happened before. We are getting worried for him.”

Jake bit his lips in frustration.

But Wing-mun went ballistic. “What the bloody hell!” he barked. “After telling me today is the most auspicious date to offer prayers to the Buddha for His blessings to the commencement of the temple’s renovation, he’s gone missing? I even postpone my departure to Shanghai until the day after tomorrow because of this. Wait till he comes back, I’ll skin him alive!”

“Temper, temper, my dear friend,” Jake whispered to Wing-mun, nudging him in the ribs. “We are in the Buddha’s abode. He wouldn’t like to see you blow your top.”

Realising his imprudence, the crime czar quickly clasped his hands and bowed to the direction of the praying hall, repeating the words, “I am sorry”, a few times. There was something comical about his sudden change of temperament that made Jake chuckle softly to himself.

“Four of my colleagues had already gone out to look for Master,” Little Lung pointed out to Wing-mun, his head still bowed. “Perhaps you and your friends may like to wait at Master’s study. I am sure he will return soon.”

Wing-mun shrugged. “Might as well.”

The furnished study was the size of a small hall. On one end was a kang covered with mats, most probably used for sleeping. Under the window at the opposite end was a writing desk with books and stationery on top. A round table and a few stools were in the middle of the room. Scrolls and a framed photograph hung from the walls.

When the visitors were seated, Little Lung suggested that they have some tea, and left for the kitchen to brew it.

While waiting for the monk to return with the beverage, Ah Ying got up and walked around the hall. When she saw the photograph – it was a group photo of Master Muk Long and the other young monks at the courtyard of the monastery – her heart skipped a beat. She then looked at Jake and exclaimed, “That’s him! Master, that’s him!”

Jake, Wing-mun, and Mao-chan quickly gathered around Ah Ying and saw her pointing at the image of the old monk in the picture.

“That’s the man who knocked into Madam!” Ah Ying said, her voice trembling with excitement.

“Master Muk Long, it appears that your days are numbered, not mine,” Jake hissed, his fiery eyes on the photograph. After a pause, he turned his attention to his housekeeper. “Thank you very much, Ah Ying,” he said, trying his best to produce a smile during this infuriating moment. “You don’t know how much your verification means to me. You and Mao-chan can leave first. I will hitch a ride back home from Mun Gor.”

Ah Ying and Mao-chan acknowledged their boss with a bow then waddled out of the room.

“Will somebody here tell me what the hell is going on?” Wing-mun demanded, gawking at Jake. He was totally lost in bewilderment.

“Wait till after Little Lung has served us tea,” Jake answered, as he and Wing-mun returned to their seats. “Once we are alone, I’ll tell you everything.”

When Wing-mun finally got wind of the whole story – Jake told him exactly what he had told Ah Ying and Mao-chan – he was appalled.

“And that old monk had me believe he was a pious, self-righteous person all the while,” Wing-mun muttered with great disappointment. “What a bloody fool I am to fall for his fraud.”

“How much do you know about Master Muk?” Jake asked, drinking his tea in a big gulp. He was thirsty from over-talking.

“Not much, I am afraid,” Wing-mun replied, pouring Jake another cup. “You’re probably aware that it was General Tang who introduced him to me about a year ago. All I know is that he was in an anti-foreign movement called the Red Lotus before joining the Shaolin Temple and becoming a monk. He was assigned to take over this monastery when the former head monk passed away in 1910.”

Jake’s eyes lit up. “He was a member of the Red Lotus too? So was my ex-sifu. Now, this is a very vital piece of information indeed.” He snapped his fingers. “Splendid! I’d say this case can be wrapped up sooner than I think.”

Wing-mun sighed; he knew what his buddy was getting at. “Your issues with Lau Beng are well-known to me. But I suppose you’re being a little premature to conclude he was in cahoots with Master Muk Long and worse, pinpointing him to be the mastermind of your wife’s murder. I mean, you are looking at it only from your own angle. There could be something else that you might have missed. Let’s investigate further, shall we?”

The crime czar’s rebuff completely deflated Jake. At first he found the reasons difficult to accept, but eventually he nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly, when he realized Wing-mun might be correct. He had made the assumption based largely on his own emotions.

After that, they became quiet. Wing-mun, who had refrained from smoking at the study as a mark of respect to Master Muk Long, finally lit up a cigarette. After all, the old monk was not here. Furthermore Wing-mun had lost all respect for him. He inhaled and felt the rich tobacco smoke curl down his throat and lungs; he puffed it out in rings, watching the grey wisps hanging in the air for a moment before turning into nothingness – what a sweet, happy sensation, he thought.

When Jake noticed the dark circles under Wing-mun’s eyes, he decided to lighten up the otherwise tense atmosphere. “Spending too much time with the women lately?” he asked, breaking the silence. “You look tired.”

Wing-mun laughed. “I never get tired of women, Jake. In fact the more the merrier.”

“Then you should get married to one.”

“Ha!” the 888 Gang boss scoffed. “Marriage is for romantic fools! Err … present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” Jake said, a wry smile twisting his lips. The joy-stick still likes to poke fun at my former marital status, he thought.

Wing-mun then got up and walked towards the doorway. After making certain that there was no one around to hear them, he turned to Jake and said in a sombre voice, “Actually, I’ve been spending too many late nights assisting General Tang with putting his house in order. His troops have not been paid their wages for the past two months and they are getting restless, even rebellious.”

“I thought you said you are his financier.”

“I am, but that bloody i***t lost all my money on gambling, women, and wine,” the mobster replied, peeved. “If only he were more organised and politically savvy, he and I would make a great team. With his vast army and my millions, the other warlords haven’t got the ghost of a chance against us and I’ll be not only king of the underworld but above it as well. Get it? Underworld and above-world?” He snickered at his own not-so-funny joke.

“Am I hearing right?” You’re getting a little too ambitious there with your ‘king-of-both-worlds’ statement, aren’t you?”

“Listen to who’s talking!” Wing-mun shot back. “Remember your chronic desire to be the best hit-man in China and how you went all out to achieve it? You are just as ambitious as me. Only mine is a little higher.”

Jake smiled. “Was I really the best?”

“Yes, you were and still are, which brings me to ask you this: when are you going to dust yourself off?”

“Nah, I’ve given up that kind of life.”

Wing-mun shook his head in disappointment. “It’s a bloody shame to see how you worked so hard to be the number one gunslinger, only to let it all go to waste,” he opined. “Anyway you’ve made your decision; no one can take that away from you. However, should you change your mind later on, let me know. I could really use your talent in my organisation.”

After flicking away his half-smoked cigarette, Wing-mun came back to the table and leaned towards Jake. “My sources have informed me that the warlord from Manchuria, Marshal Zhang Zuo-lin, with the support of the Nanking government, is about to launch another assault on General Tang’s troops very soon,” he confided to the ex-gunman.

“What?” Jake took a moment to digest the news.

“This time I am backing the invading army,” Wing-mun added. “General Tang is finished.”

“The general will be very unhappy when he finds out you’re turning against him.”

The mobster’s expression soured. His eyes were cold. “That’s kind of unfortunate for the poor bastard. But he brought this all upon himself.”

Any further conversation between them was rudely interrupted when Fatty dashed into the study, breathing fast and hard. “Excuse me, sirs,” he said between his huffing, “I think you may want to see this. Follow me.” Thereafter, he dashed out again.

Piqued by curiosity, Jake and Wing-mun shadowed the midget and soon they came face to face with a two-seater mule-cart at the courtyard. All the monks including the four who had returned had gathered around it.

“What’s so interesting about the mule-cart?” Wing-mun asked Little Lung when he and Jake joined them.

“Master used this cart to go to the city yesterday,” Little Lung explained, a grim look on his face. “My colleagues found it abandoned at the roadside about three miles from here. There was no sign of Master, but there were some red stains on the right seat. They look like … blood.”

Jake went over to the seat and examined the stains. “It is blood, and it’s still fresh, probably less than half a day old. That means Master Muk Long was shot between last night and this morning, and at close range too.”

Little Lung went wide-eyed. “How did you know a gun was being used?” he asked.

“Gun powder residue at the side of the left seat,” replied Jake, pointing at the spot. “I reckon the killer was sitting next to your master when he opened fire.”

There was a look of horror on the monks’ faces when they learned of Jake’s findings. For several moments they were at a complete loss as to what to do next.

Finally, Little Lung – he was the most senior among the young monks – spoke: “Who would want Master dead? He has no enemies … except the witch.” He frowned. “Maybe it was the witch who did it!”

“Don’t be absurd – witches don’t need a gun if they want to do somebody in,” Jake countered.

“If not the witch, then who?”

“I don’t know,” the ex-gunman answered. Actually he had a pretty good idea who the person was but he was not telling. The old monk must have panicked over my knowledge of the truth about Mei-suet’s death and went to see the mastermind, he speculated. There, things must have gotten out of hand between them and the mastermind killed him to keep his identity a secret. He then reproached himself for his blunder – he should have gone all the way with his interrogating of Master Muk Long yesterday.

“The way I see it, we’re left with no other options but to report this matter to the police,” Lam-sing interposed, expressing his opinion. “Only they can help us now.”

But Wing-mun stepped in and vetoed the idea. “Don’t waste your time with them. The police force here is just as ineffectual and corrupted as the one in Shanghai, if not worse.”

Lam-sing wanted to protest, but one look from the mobster quieted him.

“I want you monks to split into two groups,” Wing-mun ordered. “One group to comb the area where the cart was found for your missing master, he might still be alive. The other to go to places in the city he frequented and ask whether he had dropped by during the past 24 hours and with whom. Report to me directly and speak nothing of this incident to no one. I shall decide on the next course of action then.” He paused and gestured towards the main gate. “One last thing. Tell the workers outside to go home. Today is definitely not a good day to start the renovation.”

“Yes, Mr Tong,” the monks answered and bowed in unison.

It was late afternoon when Wing-mun accompanied Jake back to the house. Not getting any further news of Master Muk Long had put the two friends in a glum mood, more so for Jake.

“Mun Gor, please do me a favour: call one of your boys in Shanghai to check on Lau Beng at his house, today if possible,” Jake urged, as the car turned into a slip road leading to his mansion. “I want to know if he is still there. No matter what you’d said to me earlier, I just cannot get rid of the feeling that he is somehow involved with the old monk’s disappearance.”

The mobster smiled. “Certainly, Jake. And it’s a good idea. I was about to suggest the same thing myself. Yes, knowing Lau Beng’s present whereabouts could help us unravel this mystery quicker.”

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“Well, you can settle the debt by getting your Cordon Bleu out,” Wing-mun responded cheerfully. “It has been a bloody long day and I need a bloody drink!”

“I’ll second that,” Jake grinned, feeling happy for the first time today.

However, it was a very, very fleeting feeling.

The bodyguard driver, whose name was Big Joe, suddenly jammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a complete stop. Then he cried, “Mr Lone, your car! It has crashed into a tree!”

Jake and Wing-mun looked out of the window to their right. About a hundred feet away, over the kerb, they saw the black limousine under the snow-covered big cypress tree, its front and rear windscreens smashed, with dark greyish smoke billowing up from the bonnet.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jake opened the door and ran towards the badly damaged vehicle.

“Ah Ying! Mao-chan!” he shouted at the top of his voice.

There was no response from either one of them.

When Jake finally caught sight of the couple, he felt his heart jump out of his chest. Both of them were slumped back in their seats, a gunshot wound to their foreheads; they were dead – Ah Ying’s eye twitch had proved to be fatally prophetic.

He kneeled, his face smeared with flowing tears, clasping the dead couple’s hands. A second later, Wing-mun arrived at the accident scene. He looked over his best friend’s shoulder then stood in silence when he saw what had happened.

There was something else that grabbed the attention of the crime czar. And he was not amused.

“Jake, I think you’d better take a look at this,” he said softly to the distraught man, gesturing to the rear bench seat.

Jake’s jaw dropped when he saw it. On the backrest was a pinned note with the following words written in red:

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE, MR CLEAN. IT’S PAYBACK TIME.