Chapter 61: Arms Deal

By now, Chen Erpao oversaw several dozen establishments of varying sizes, chiefly nightclubs, bars, saunas, bathhouses, and brothels—everything one could imagine. The monthly take from these venues neared one million, and after necessary expenses, Chen Erpao, Wang Xing, and Liu Huagang each pocketed about a hundred thousand per month. This put Chen Erpao squarely in the ranks of the well-paid urban elite.

Though his crew had swelled to nearly a hundred and fifty men, the quality varied greatly; many were little more than teenagers, and their fighting prowess was no match for the full-fledged members of the established gangs. After much thought, Chen Erpao decided to reassign all the underage members to peripheral roles—errands and safer tasks. If they performed well, they could be promoted to full membership upon coming of age, with a handsome reward to boot.

The remaining members, besides their usual duties maintaining the venues, would be reorganized. Thirty of the more physically capable would form a Special Action Squad, tasked with handling emergencies—a rapid response force for trouble at any location, doubling as a shock troop unit for turf wars and street fights.

One day, as Chen Erpao was out having lunch, Huang Mao came running up, visibly anxious.

“Brother Pao, I just got word—Tong Lao’er on Hengshi Street bought a shipment of firearms from the mainland, and it seems the handover is happening tonight.”

Tong Lao’er was the most formidable figure in the nearby districts, controlling over ten venues, including two underground casinos that raked in enough to make all rival factions green with envy. He commanded fifty or sixty men, and rumor had it he’d once trained in black magic, earning him quite the reputation in Tuen Mun. Chen Erpao had already marked him as his next target—now, hearing he was seeking arms, the stakes rose sharply. If Tong Lao’er armed his men, the consequences could be dire.

“Huang Mao, find out exactly when and where the deal is happening. Use any means necessary, but get me those details and report back immediately,” Chen Erpao instructed, his tone grave.

Roughly two hours later, Huang Mao reappeared.

“Brother Pao, I’ve got it. The deal’s at seven tonight at Dalong Warehouse, and they’re bringing a lot of people. It’s only a few hours away now,” he said, clearly agitated.

Chen Erpao checked the time—two thirty. Over four hours remained—enough.

Without delay, he returned with Huang Mao to the Iron Guard training grounds, gathering Wang Xing, Liu Huagang, the ten Iron Guards, and thirty men from the assault squad. They piled into several vehicles and sped toward Dalong Warehouse.

Dalong Warehouse stood by the docks, abandoned and decrepit, overshadowed now by newer, larger, and better-equipped warehouses just down the road.

They parked the cars several miles away in a concealed spot and approached the warehouse on foot, moving stealthily.

“No one here,” Wang Xing reported, peering through a warehouse window before signaling to Chen Erpao below.

“Let’s go in,” Chen Erpao ordered quietly, leading the way inside. The warehouse was a ruin, cluttered with broken, rotting crates and discarded tools.

After he and Wang Xing conducted a careful survey of the layout, Chen Erpao stationed Liu Huagang with ten men at the front entrance, Wang Xing with ten at the back, and kept the remaining twenty or so with himself, concealed on either side of the central space. The plan: at his signal, Liu Huagang and Wang Xing would storm in from both ends, closing the trap—no one would escape.

Ten minutes later, calm returned to Dalong Warehouse, as though the earlier commotion had never occurred.

6:30 p.m.

Three men entered, dressed in the faded camouflage typical of mainland migrant workers, each carrying a large case and sporting black sunglasses. They chatted as they walked in.

“Old Yang, who’d have thought the homemade pistols we knocked together back home would fetch such a price in Hong Kong! Once we finish this deal, I’m heading home to build myself a three-story house and take a wife—finally someone to keep my bed warm,” said a middle-aged man with weathered, dark skin, grinning from ear to ear.

The older man beside him, more prudent, glanced around and muttered, “Let’s be careful. It’s our first deal in Hong Kong. Once we get paid, we’re heading straight back across the border. No sense tempting fate.”

The youngest of the three, not yet thirty, wore a nervous, conflicted expression. “In the Hong Kong movies, every deal ends in a massacre or a sudden raid, sirens blaring, cops everywhere. You think that’ll happen to us…?”

Before he could finish, Old Yang clapped him hard on the back of the head. “I told you to stop watching those Hong Kong movies. It’s all scare tactics for mainlanders like us. You never listen! When we get home, I’ll show you some real Japanese films, broaden your horizons so you don’t act like such a fool every time we go out.”

6:40 p.m.

A new idea struck Chen Erpao: knock out these mainlanders, disguise themselves in their place, and catch Tong Lao’er completely off guard.

“You three—go knock them out. Quick and clean,” he instructed the Iron Guards.

The three nodded and crept up on the mainlanders, who were still peering nervously at the entrance, none the wiser. With a single coordinated movement, the Iron Guards struck; the mainlanders felt a sudden, crushing blow to the back of their heads and collapsed into darkness.

Chen Erpao hurried over, picked two Iron Guards with suitably weathered complexions, and swapped their clothes for those of the unconscious men. Opening the case revealed five crude homemade pistols—rough but, as Chen Erpao’s seasoned eye confirmed, quite real.

He handed two pistols to the Iron Guards, and the trio took on the guise of the mainland buyers. For Chen Erpao, who hailed from the mainland himself, the disguise fit like a glove; the two Iron Guards eyed their new outfits with curiosity.

6:55 p.m.

Three black Toyota sedans rolled up and parked in formation. Over a dozen men stepped out, led by a tall, powerfully built man with a striking knife scar across his neck.

“They say Hong Kong people are punctual. You two didn’t believe it before—see for yourselves now!” Chen Erpao greeted them in his native mainland dialect, loud and hearty.

Tong Lao’er, a man of the world, had harbored suspicions about the three “mainlanders,” but hearing that thick, unvarnished dialect, all doubts faded.

“Thank you for coming all this way. After the deal’s done, let me show you a good time at one of my places,” Tong Lao’er said with a dazzling smile.

Chen Erpao responded eagerly, then, feigning confusion, asked, “Will we have to pay to visit your place? I hear everything’s expensive in Hong Kong, especially for mainlanders. Not like back home, where people are honest.”

Wang Xing and Liu Huagang, hidden nearby, nearly burst out laughing at this display of “honest simplicity.”

Tong Lao’er laughed too, as did his men, eyeing the three “country bumpkins” with amused, slightly scornful curiosity.

“No charge! My treat. I want you to enjoy yourselves—after all, Hong Kong and the mainland are one big family!” Tong Lao’er declared grandly.

“No charge?” Chen Erpao widened his eyes, striving for the most naïve expression possible. “Hong Kong folks are the best! When we get home, we’ll tell the whole village—bring everyone over next time, let them see Hong Kong and enjoy your hospitality for free!”

Now it was Tong Lao’er’s turn to gape, imagining an entire village—hundreds, perhaps thousands—old and young, men and women, all shouting “Hong Kong friends are the best!” and descending on his establishments. The scene played vividly in his mind.