"Perhaps they've never had the idea, or courage. Perhaps they want to work within the foreign devil system the Turf Club, Cricket Club, knighthoods, and all that English foolishness. Perhaps they are afraid to go against the tide or they haven't got the knowledge. We have the knowledge and expertise. Yes. And I've a friend in the Golden Mountain, a good friend, who was at school with me who co"

"What friend?"

"He's Shanghainese and a dragon in stocks, a broker in New York now. Together, with the cash support, we could do it. I know we could."

"Ayeeyah! With a northern barbarian?" Four Finger Wu scoffed. "How could you trust him?"

"I think you could trust him, Honored Father of course you'd set boundaries against weeds like a good market gardener does."

"But all business power in Hong Kong is in the hands of foreign devils. Civilized persons couldn't support an opposition exchange."

"You may be right, Honored Father," Paul Choy agreed cau- tiously, keeping his excitement off his face and out of his voice. "But all Chinese love to gamble. Yet at the moment there's not one civilized person stockbroker! Why do foreign devils keep us out? Because we'd outplay them. For us the stock market's the greatest profession in the world. Once our people in Hong Kong see our market is wide open to civilized persons and their companies, they'll flock to us. Foreign devils will be forced to open up their own exchange to us as well. We're better gamblers than they are. After all, Honorable Father" he waved his hand at the shore, at the tall high rises and the boats and junks and floating restaurants "this could be all yours! It's in stocks and shares and the stock market that the modern man owns the might of his world."

Four Fingers smoked leisurely. "How much would your stock market cost, Number Seven Son?"

"A year of time. An initial investment ofa I don't know exactly." The young man's heart was grinding. He could sense his father's avarice. The implications of forming a Chinese stock ex- change in this unregulated capitalistic society were so far-reaching to him that he felt faint. It would be so easy given time anda and how much? "I could give you an estimate within a week."

Four Fingers turned his shrewd old eyes on his son and he could read his son's excitement, and his greed. Is it for money, or for power? he asked himself.

It's for both, he decided. The young fool doesn't know that they're both the same. He thought about Phillip Chen's power and the power of the Noble House and the power of the half-coin that John Chen had stolen. Phillip Chen and his wife are fools too, he told himself They should remember that there are always ears on the other side of walls and once a jealous mother knows a secret it is a secret no longer. Nor can secrets be kept in hotels, among foreign devils, who always presume servants cannot speak the barbarian tongue, nor have long ears and sharp eyes.

Ah sons, he mused. Sons are certainly the wealth of a father but sometimes also cause the death of the father.

A man's a fool to trust a son. Completely. Heya'

"Very well, my son," he said easily. "Give me your plan, written down, and the amount. And I will decide."

Phillip Chen got out of the taxi at the grass triangle in Kowloon Tong, the attache case clutched to his chest. The driver turned the meter off and looked at him. The meter read 17.80 HK. If it had been left up to Phillip he would not have taken the same taxi all the way from Struan's Lookout, which meant using the taxi ferry, the meter running all the time. No. He would have crossed the harbor by the Golden Ferry for 15 cents, and got another taxi in Kowloon and saved at least 8 dollars. Terrible waste of money, he thought.

Carefully he counted out 18 dollars. As an afterthought he added a thirty-cent tip, feeling generous. The man drove off and left him standing near the grassy triangle.

Kowloon Tong was just another suburb of Kowloon, a multitudi- nous nest of buildings, slums, alleys, people and traffic. He found Essex Road, that skirted the garden, and walked around the road. The attache case seemed to be getting heavier and he felt sure everyone knew it contained 200,000 HK. His nervousness in- creased. In an area like this you could buy the death of a man for a few hundred if you knew whom to ask and for this amount, you could hire an army. His eyes were on the broken pavement. When he had gone almost all the way around the triangle he saw the arrow on the pavement pointing at the wall. His heart was weighty in his chest, hurting him. It was quite dark here, with few streetlights. The hole was formed by some bricks that had fallen away. He could see what looked like a crumpled-up newspaper within the hole. He hastily took it out, made sure there was nothing else left, then went over to a seat under a lamp and sat down. When his heart had slowed and his breathing become more calm he opened the newspaper. In it was an envelope. The envelope was flat and some of his anxiety left him. He had been petrified that he was going to get the other ear.

The note said: "Walk to Waterloo Road. Go north toward the army camp, staying on the west side of the road. Beware, we are watching you now."

A shiver went through him and he looked around. No one seemed to be watching him. Neither friend nor foe. But he could feel eyes. His attache case became even more leaden.

All gods protect me, he prayed fervently, trying to gather his courage to continue. Where the the devil are Four Finger Wu's men?

Waterloo Road was nearby, a busy main thoroughfare. He paid the crowds no attention, just plodded north feeling naked, seeing no one in particular. The shops were all open, restaurants bustling, the alleyways more crowded. In the nearby embankment a goods train whistled mournfully, going north, mixing with the blaring horns that all traffic used indiscriminately. The night was bleak, the sky overcast and very humid.

Wearily he walked half a mile, crossing side streets and alleys. In a knot of people he stopped to let a truck pass, then went across the mouth of another narrow alleyway, moving this way and that as oncomers jostled him. Suddenly two young men were in front of him, barring his path, and one hissed, "Tin koon chi Cook!"

"Eh?"

Both wore caps pulled down low, both wore dark glasses, their faces similar. "Tin koon chifook!" Smallpox Kin repeated malevo- lently. "Dew neh lob mob give me the bag!"

"Oh!" Blankly Phillip Chen handed it to him. Smallpox Kin grabbed it. "Don't look around, and keep on walking north!"

"All right, but please keep your prom " Phillip Chen stopped.

The two youths were gone. It seemed that they had only been in front of him a split second. Still in shock he forced his feet into motion, trying to etch the little he had seen of their faces on his memory. Then an oncoming woman shoved him rudely and he swore, their faces fading. Then someone grabbed him roughly.

"Where's the fornicating bag?"

"What?" he gasped, staring down at the evil-looking thug who was Goodweather Poon.

"Your bag where's it gone?"

"Two young mena" Helplessly he pointed backward. The man cursed and hurried past, weaving in and out of the crowd, put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly. Few people paid any attention to him. Other toughs began to converge, then Goodweather Poon caught sight of the two youths with the attache case as they turned off the well-lit main road into an alley. He broke into a run, others following him.

Smallpox Kin and his younger brother went into the crowds without hurrying, the alley unlit except for the bare bulbs of the dingy stalls and stores. They grinned, one to another. Completely confident now, they took off their glasses and caps and stuffed them into their pockets. Both were very similar almost twins and now they melted even more into the raucous shoppers.

"Dew neh lob mob that old bastard looked frightened to death!" Smallpox Kin chortled. "In one step we have reached heaven'"

"Yes. And next week when we snatch him he'll pay up as easily as an old dog tarts!"

They laughed and stopped a moment in the light of a stall and peeked into the bag. When they both saw the bundle of notes both sighed. "Ayeeyah, truly we've reached heaven with one step, Elder Brother. Pity the son is dead and buried."

Smallpox Kin shrugged as they went on, turning into a smaller alley, then another, surefooted in the darkening maze. "Honorable Father's right. We have turned ill luck into good. It wasn't your fault that bastard's head was soft! Not at all! When we dig him up and leave him on the Sha Tin Road with the note on his fornicating chesta" He stopped a moment and they stepped aside in the bustling, jostling crowds to allow a laden, broken-down truck to squeeze past. As they waited he happened to glance back. At the far end of this alley he saw three men change direction, seeing him, then begin to hurry toward him.

"Dew neh lob mob we're betrayed," he gasped then shoved his way forward and took to his heels, his brother close behind.

The two youths were very fast. Terror lent cunning to their feet as they rushed through the cursing crowd, maneuvering around the inevitable potholes and small stalls, the darkness helping them. Smallpox Kin led the charge. He ducked between some stalls and fled down the narrow unlit passageway, the attache case clutched tightly. "Go home a different way, Young Brother," he gasped.

At the next corner he rushed left and his brother went directly on. Their three pursuers split up as well, two following him. It was almost impossible to see now in the darkness and the alleys twisted and turned and never a dead end. His chest was heaving but he was well ahead of his pursuers. He fled into a shortcut and at once turned into a bedraggled store that, like all the rest, served as a dwelling. Careless of the family huddled around a screeching television he rushed through them and out the back door, then doubled back to the end of the alley. He peered around the corner with great caution. A few people watched him curiously but continued on their way without stopping, wanting no part of what clearly was trouble.

Then, hoping he was safe, he slid into the crowds and walked away quietly, his head down. His breath was still labored and his head was filled with obscenities and he swore vengeance on Phillip Chen for betraying them. All gods bear witness, he thought furiously, when we kidnap him next week, before we let him go I'll slice off his nose! How dare he betray us to the police! Hey, wait a moment, were those police?

He thought about that as he wandered along in the stream, cau- tiously doubling back from time to time, just in case. But now he was sure he was not followed. He let his mind consider the money and he beamed. Let's see, what will I do with my 50,000! I'll put 40 down on an apartment and rent it out at once. Ayeeyah, I'm a property owner! I'll buy a Rolex and a revolver and a new throwing knife. I'll give my wife a bracelet or two, and a couple to White Rose at the Thousand Pleasure Whorehouse. Tonight we'll have a feast.

Happily he continued on his way. At a street stall he bought a small cheap suitcase and, in an alley, secretly transferred the money into it. Farther down the street in another side alley he sold Phillip Chen's good leather attache case to a hawker for a handsome sum after haggling for five minutes. Now, very pleased with himself, he caught a bus for Kowloon City where his father had rented a small apartment in an assumed name as one of their havens, far away from their real home in Wanchai near Glessing's Point. He did not notice Goodweather Poon board the bus, nor the other two men, nor the taxi that followed the bus.

Kowloon City was a festering mess of slums and open drains and squalid dwellings. Smallpox Kin knew he was safe here. No police ever came, except in great strength. When China had leased the New Territories for ninety-nine years in 1898 it had maintained suzerainty over Kowloon City in perpetuity. In theory the ten square acres were Chinese territory. The British authorities left the area alone provided it remained quiet. It was a seething mass of opium dens, illegal gambling schools, triad headquarters, and a sanctuary for the criminal. From time to time the police would sweep through. The next day the Kowloon City would become as it had always been.

The stairs to the fifth-floor apartment in the tenement building were rickety and messy, the plaster cracked and mildewed. He was tired now. He knocked on the door, in their secret code. The door: opened.

"Hello, Father, hello, Dog-eared Chen," he said happily. "Here's the cash!" Then he saw his younger brother. "Oh good, you escaped too?"

"Of course! Dung-eating police in civilian clothes! We ought to kill one or two for their impertinence." Kin Pak waved a .38. "We ought to have vengeance!"

"Perhaps you're right, now that we've got the first money," Father Kin said.

"I don't think we should kill any police, that would send them mad," Dog-eared Chen said shakily.

"Dew neh lob mob on all police!" young Kin Pak said and poek- eted the gun.

Smallpox Kin shrugged. '~We've got the cash th"

At that moment the door burst open. Goodweather Poon and: three of his men were in the room, knives out. Everyone froze. Abruptly Father Kin slid a knife out of his sleeve and ducked left but before he could throw it Goodweather Poon's knife was flailing through the air and it thwanged into his throat. He clawed at it as he fell backward. Neither Dog-eared Chen nor the brothers had moved. They watched him die. The body twitched, the muscles spasmed for a moment, then was still.

"Where's Number One Son Chen?" Goodweather Poon said, a second knife in his hand.

"We don't know any Num"

Two of the men fell on Smallpox Kin, slammed his hands outstretched on the table and held them there. Goodweather Poon leaned forward and sliced off his index finger. Smallpox Kin went gray. The other two were paralyzed with fear.

"Where's Number One Son Chen?"

Smallpox Kin was staring blankly at his severed finger and the blood that was pulsing onto the table. He cried out as Goodweather Poon lunged again. "Don't don't," he begged, "he's deada dead and we've buried him I swear it!"

"Where?"

"Near the Shaa the Sha Tin Road. Listen," he screeched desperately, "we'll split the money with you. We'll " He froze as Goodweather Poon put the tip of his knife into his mouth.

"Just answer questions, you fornicating whore's turd, or I'll slit your tongue. Where's Number One Son's things? The things he had on him?"

"We, we sent everything to Noble House Chen, everything except the money he had. I swear it." He whimpered at the pain. Suddenly the two men put pressure on one of his elbows and he cried out, "All gods bear witness it's the truth!" He screamed as the joint went, and fainted. Across the room Dog-eared Chen groaned with fear. He started to cry out but one of the men smashed him in the face, his head crashed against the wall and he collapsed, unconscious.

Now all their eyes went to Kin Pak. "It's true," Kin Pak gasped in terror at the suddenness of everything. "Everything he told you. It's true!"

Goodweather Poon cursed him. Then he said, "Did you search Noble House Chen before you buried him?"

"Yes, Lord, at least I didn't, hea" Shakily he pointed at his father's body. "He did."

"You were there?"

The youth hesitated. Instantly Poon darted at him, moving with incredible speed for such an old man. His knife knicked Kin Pak's cheek a deliberate fraction below his eyes and stayed there. "Liar!"

"I was there," the youth choked out, "I was going to tell you, Lord, I was, there. I won't lie to you I swear it!"

"The next time you lie it will be your left eye. You were there, heya'"

"Yesa yes, Lord!"

"Was he there?" he said pointing at Smallpox Kin.

"No, Lord."

"Him?"

"Yes. Dog-eared was there!"

"Did you search the body?"

"Yes, Lord, yes I helped our father."

"All his pockets, everything?"

"Yes yes everything."

"Any papers? Notebook, diary? Jewelry?"

The youth hesitated, frantic, trying to think, the knife never moving away from his face. "Nothing, Lord, that I remember. We sent all his things to Noble House Chen, except, except the money. We kept the money. And his watch I'd forgotten his watch! It's, it's that one!" He pointed at the watch on his father's outstretched wrist.

Goodweather Poon swore again. Four Finger Wu had told him to recapture John Chen, to get any of his possessions the kidnappers still had, particularly any coins or parts of coins, and then, equally anonymously, to dispose of the kidnappers. I'd better phone him in a moment, he thought. I'd better get further instructions. I don't want to make a mistake.

"What did you do with the money?"

"We spent it, Lord. There were only a few hundred dollars and some change. It's gone."

One of the men said, "I think he's lying!"

"I'm not, Lord, I swear it!" Kin Pak almost burst into tears. "I'm not. Pl"

"Shut up! Shall I cut this one's throat!" the man said genially, motioning at Smallpox Kin who was still unconscious, sprawled across the table, the pool of blood thickening.

"No, no, not yet. Hold him there." Goodweather Poon scratched his piles while he thought a moment. "We'll go and dig up Number One Son Chen. Yes that's what we'll do. Now, Little Turd, who killed him?"

At once Kin Pakpointed at his father's body. "He did. It was terrible. He's our father and he hit him with a shovela he hit him with a shovel when he tried to escape the nighta the night we got him." The youth shuddered, his face chalky, his fear of the knife under his eye consuming him. "It, it wasn't my fault, Lord."

"What's your name?"

"Soo Tak-gai, Lord," he said instantly, using their prearranged emergency names.

"Him?" The finger pointed at his brother.

"Soo Tak-tong."

"Him?"

"Wu-tip Sup."

"And him?"

The youth looked at his father's body. "He was Goldtooth Soo, Lord. He was very bad but wea we, we had to obey. We had to obey him, he was our, our father."

"Where did you take Number One Son Chen before you killed him?"

"To Sha Tin, Lord, but I didn't kill him. We snatched him Hong Kong side then put him in the back of a car we stole and went to Sha Tin. There's an old shack our father rented, just outside the villagea he planned everything. We had to obey him."

Poon grunted and nodded at his men. "We'll search here first." At once they released Smallpox Kin, the unconscious youth who slumped to the floor, leaving a trail of blood. "You, bind up his finger!" Hastily Kin Pak grabbed an old dishcloth and, near vomiting, began to tie a rough tourniquet around the stump.

Poon sighed, not knowing what to do first. After a moment he opened the suitcase. All their eyes went to the mountain of notes. They all felt the greed. Poon shifted the knife into his other hand and closed the suitcase. He left it in the center of the table and started to search the dingy apartment. There was just a table, a few chairs and an old iron bedstead with a soiled mattress. Paper was peeling off the walls, the windows mostly boarded up and classless. He turned the mattress over, then searched it but it concealed nothing. He went into the filthy, almost empty kitchen and switched on the light. Then into the foul-smelling toilet. Smallpox Kin whimpered, coming around.

In a drawer Goodweather Poon found some papers, ink and wridng brushes. "What's this for?" he asked, holding up one of the papers. On it was written in bold characters: "This Number One Son Chen had the stupidity to try to escape us. No one can escape the Werewolves! Let all Hong Kong beware. Our eyes are everywhere!"

"What's this for, heya?"