Xiao’s golden opportunity had presented itself in the most ironic of ways. His older brother, a small-time drug dealer, had been stupid enough to try spreading his wings by interfering with Liu’s alien smuggling operation. He’d stolen one of his boats, with a cargo of over two hundred women, paid off the captain, and killed two of the crew members. Worse, one of those crew members turned out to be a cousin of Johnny Liu’s.
Xiao had acted instantly, sans guilt or remorse. Killing came easy to him. It always had. Nothing gave him a greater sense of power than that of ending a life. And blood ties? They meant nothing. His family was the Liu Jian Triad.
With a surge of adrenaline fueled by that sense of power, Xiao butchered his brother and took photographs of the results. He then sliced off one of his brother’s fingers—the one bearing the jade ring with their family insignia on it—and placed the cleanly severed finger and a photo of his brother’s mutilated remains in a beautifully carved, ornately painted wooden box. He presented the box to Johnny Liu as a gift, as proof of the victim’s identity, and as a token of his own loyalty.
Liu had been impressed. The gesture was unprecedented. Xiao had chosen his new family over his flesh and blood. His actions spoke volumes about who and what he was. Armed with guts, smarts, and unshakable drive, and unhindered by human emotion, he had his eye on a powerful future with the triad.
His reward from Liu had been fitting. The Dragon Head had significantly elevated his position and status. And the seeds of personal trust were planted.
Their relationship grew over the next four or five years, and by the time Xiao was in his midtwenties, he and Liu had forged a special bond. Xiao called him A Sook, or “Uncle,” and Liu afforded him a special place by his side, together with a level of trust that surpassed anything he offered to any other triad member.
The clincher came when Xiao Long presented him with the beautiful painting that Liu coveted—Rothberg’s Dead or Alive—along with the $375,000 American dollars that Liu had funded that crooked art dealer, Cai Wen, to pay for it, plus the $25,000 Xiao had brought with him, courtesy of Liu, as Cai Wen’s commission for completing the transaction. The stupid dealer had tried to swindle the wrong man when he told Xiao that he was upping his commission on the valuable painting to $100,000. Xiao Long had killed him on the spot, taken back the entire $400,000 and the painting, and left without a backward glance.
He’d gone straight to the Dragon Head and gifted him with both the painting and the money. It was a meaningful gesture—the painting Johnny Liu had desired, and a large sum of cash that could have elevated Xiao Long’s lifestyle tremendously had he kept it. But he hadn’t.
Years of sacrifice, culminating with this latest demonstration of consummate loyalty, was more than enough. Xiao Long’s future was sealed.
A month later, the opportunity had arisen for the Hong Kong–based triad to gain a foothold in the United States. Johnny Liu offered Xiao the chance of a lifetime: to go to New York, spearhead the operation, and begin expanding the triad’s wealth in America.
It was the beginning of Xiao’s rise to power. He’d bowed at the Dragon Head’s feet, accepting instantly and vowing to make Liu proud.
With the triad’s backing, Xiao had easily started his gang in New York City’s Chinatown. The Red Dragons, he’d called it, in honor of his Dragon Head. Becoming its respected Dai Lo, or “Elder Brother,” was just as easy. There were street kids everywhere who were hungry for cash and even hungrier for the “family” a gang afforded. Xiao Long had capitalized on that, and the Red Dragons had flourished, surviving gang wars, police raids, and the occasional defector or informant. Over the past thirteen years, Xiao’s gambling, drug, and prostitution businesses had produced a cash flow that more than met the Dragon Head’s expectations.
This year they’d expanded into home burglaries, scoping out affluent Manhattan apartments through data provided by Xiao’s nephew, Eric Hu, and his computer services company. From that point, the Red Dragon kids took over, bypassing u
niformed doormen and deactivating burglar alarms by inputting security codes stolen through the use of Hu’s hidden video cameras. The break-ins occurred at the times Hu suggested, and the kids went straight to the valuable items whose locations Hu had provided. All the stolen items were fenced, except for the valuable paintings and art pieces that Xiao shipped off to Hong Kong via the Philippine province of Cebu.
Xiao knew that Johnny Liu had a broader plan in mind. He knew Liu meant for him to play an integral part in what came next.
It was the accelerating timetable that concerned him. He had an ominous feeling as to its cause.
A limousine was waiting for him when he arrived at Hong Kong International Airport. From there, he was driven to Johnny Liu’s hilltop estate on the affluent Victoria Peak. He was greeted by a servant and escorted into the main garden, which was a veritable paradise filled with exquisite arrays of flowers and cascading fountains. At the garden’s center, where Liu was now seated, was a magnificent jade and marble shrine, built in honor of Liu’s daughter, Meili, who’d died almost three years ago, tragically at the young age of twenty-three.
Xiao Long knew better than most how her death had eaten away at Johnny Liu.
Slowly and respectfully, Xiao approached the shrine, stopping several yards away and waiting.
The Dragon Head beckoned him forward, gesturing for Xiao to join him. Xiao complied, ascending the steps to stand before his leader. He bowed deeply from the waist. “A Sook,” he murmured.
He then took a seat across from the Dragon Head. “Thank you for sending for me.” He automatically switched to Liu’s native Loong Doo dialect.
“You look well,” Liu responded in the same tongue. “Your trip was pleasant and without incident, I trust?”
Xiao Long nodded. Perhaps he looked well, but his Dragon Head didn’t. He looked gaunt, sickly. His complexion was sallow, and his cheeks were sunken. He’d aged a decade since Xiao had last seen him, just months ago.
Liu studied Xiao for a moment, as if reading his thoughts. “You’re concerned about me. We’ll address that later. I’m proud of you. Your success in New York is exceptional. The time has come to expand your efforts. Providing you with the details is one of the reasons I summoned you here. But first, I want to hear about Johnson. Where do things stand?”
The question came as no surprise. Xiao knew of his leader’s obsessive hatred for Wallace Johnson, and his only slightly less intense hatred for Johnson’s partners. What he didn’t know was when that hatred had begun or what had caused it.
Without pause, he provided the requisite answer. “Johnson continues to suffer—in all ways. As I reported, he was threatened before he spoke to the FBI, and beaten afterward. He still hasn’t recovered from the bodily pain. Financially, you have things in hand. Spiritually, he deteriorates daily. Our actions cause him profound agony. He sits alone in a dungeon of his own creation. His paintings are his only companions. His anguish is acute.”
“What about his partners? Is Burbank’s wife dead?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Xiao replied frankly. “I just received a call from Jin Huang. He followed orders. He murdered Rosalyn Burbank’s bodyguard and disposed of his body. Then, he seized Burbank’s wife. She would be dead, but an unfortunate traffic incident prevented it. She escaped.”
Liu’s jaw tightened. “Rectify that. Personally.”
“You have my word.” Xiao was loath to disappoint his Dragon Head. Still, he couldn’t regret Rosalyn Burbank’s escape. The thought of personally killing her triggered a rush of anticipation.