The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1) (21 page)

“
Xiaoyu, go with Mr. Cheung
,” said Uncle Woo, “
He’s one of my best friends; we’ve known each other for a very long time.  He’s going to take you to be with other boys your age.  It’s them you’ll have to impress, because they’ll be the ones working with you once you get big.  Gain their respect now and you’ll never lose it.  From now on, don’t hold anything back
.”

Mr. Cheung stood up and looked at Xiaoyu.  He gave a slight smile.  He knew Uncle Woo to be a good judge of character.  It had been some time since he had seen Uncle Woo put so much faith in someone he didn’t know, especially a boy.  Mr. Cheung told himself he’d be attentive to the boy’s progression. He hoped he would have the opportunity to see Xiaoyu as a man.  Xiaoyu followed Mr. Cheung instinctively.  He had gained a large amount of respect for Uncle Woo, in a brief moment.  That had never happened before.  If Mr. Cheung was good friends with Uncle Woo, Xiaoyu wouldn’t hesitate to follow him.  Xiaoyu felt a wrinkle in his gut.  It was the contradictory feeling of trusting a stranger that bothered him.  But he admitted to himself, following Mr. Cheung came more naturally than following Li Xing—his own uncle.  He didn’t look back at his uncle as he left.  

A black
Mercedes Benz
was waiting in front of
The Wesley
.  Mr. Cheung gave a few bills to the white-cloaked valet.  Mr. Cheung sat in the driver’s seat and told Xiaoyu to sit in the back.  The valet held the front passenger’s door open for Xiaoyu so he opened the back door himself and climbed in.  The car smelled of cigarette smoke.  Whatever new rules Xiaoyu would have to learn, he knew not smoking in the car wasn’t one.  Mr. Cheung accelerated gingerly.  He was a good driver.  He stopped at every stop light, stop sign and crosswalk.  He didn’t speed, in fact, Xiaoyu noticed many cars passing them on the roads.  He began to realize he was around a different kind of people.  They weren’t like Baba or even Li Xing.  They were meticulous, smart, not taking anything for granted.  They were in a
Mercedes
obeying all traffic rules, while more modest cars sped through red lights and didn’t mind pedestrian crossing.  Xiaoyu felt more at home than he ever had, but he didn’t know why.  His face lit up as they crossed the Western Harbour Bridge toward Hong Kong Island, into the Moons’ own territory.  They headed east along the harbor toward Sheung Wan District.  The speed of the Mercedes slowed before a pale green building with a sign—
Central Island Self-Storage
.    The black
Mercedes
pulled into the parking lot.  Mr. Cheung told Xiaoyu it was best for him to get out while he parked the car.  Mr. Cheung fit the
Mercedes
between a medium-sized cargo truck and a concrete wall.  The parked
Mercedes
could not be seen from the street.  Mr. Cheung appeared from around the cargo truck wearing dark sunglasses, the kind Li Xing wore.  He walked passed Xiaoyu without saying anything.  Xiaoyu understood he was meant to follow.  Mr. Cheung used an anonymous key to open the glass front door.  Inside the storage facility was noticeably cooler than outside.  Hanging florescent lights gave the facility a manufactured feel.  The florescence assaulted the eyes from all sides, as it shot up from the finished concrete floor and out from polished metal walls.  The walls were steel sheets stacked to become hallways, five altogether.  Each hallway had different colored steel doors which were individually padlocked. 

The first hall had red doors that Xiaoyu could see.  The second hall had orange doors as they walked toward the end of the facility.  After orange was yellow, then green and blue.  As they came upon blue, Xiaoyu heard whispers.  Xiaoyu and Mr. Cheung stood in the four-meter wide hall, the whispers were no longer heard, but seen.  There were a dozen boys living in the storage spaces of the blue hall.  Some were playing cards; others were huddle in a storage space talking.  A few were looking through overused magazines, pages falling out.  When Mr. Cheung stood in the hallway the boys stopped talking, stopped moving, stopped thinking.  Mr. Cheung shouted one word, sounding like
Hup
.  The boys thoughtlessly formed two single-file lines.  Their places in line were predetermined—it was obvious.  Some boys waited for others to surpass them before taking their spot in line.  Xiaoyu didn’t understand why the boys—obvious strays—had been given ranks.  Xiaoyu had just remembered he heard the boys speaking Mandarin.  A fact that Mr. Cheung reassured him of; he would have no problems communicating.  Mr. Cheung ordered the boy at the front of the line on the right to step forward. Mr. Cheung shouted something else, which Xiaoyu thought sounded like Japanese.  The other boys went to work.  The boys cleared all objects from the hallway and shuttered them into their storage units.  After the hallway was clear, the boys closed all storage unit doors and stood against opposite walls.  Both lines of boys stood against its respective wall.  Mr. Cheung pointed at the one boy he had selected and the boy moved in between both rows of boys.  The boy was very athletic.  He stood at attention in the space between the other boys.  Mr. Cheung looked at Xiaoyu and asked if he remembered what Uncle Woo had said.  Xiaoyu nodded. 
Then beat him, he’s the strongest.

Xiaoyu walked toward the boy at a measured pace.  He had never tried to fight another boy one-on-one.  It wasn’t because he was afraid to, it was because he couldn’t.  He was the Black Devil. 
Heigui
.  He couldn’t square off against anyone because there would always be others.  In Kuandian, no one would have to fight alone if they were fighting
Heigui
.  Anyone else would jump in.  Everyone else wanted to get a lick in.  It wouldn’t matter if he was winning or losing.  Kuandian wouldn’t let him win.  In Kuandian, he was different—public enemy.  But the boy waiting was like him:  unlucky; unwanted; another stray.  Xiaoyu took his time observing the other boys, forming the gauntlet.  They stood motionless, an impossibility for young boys.  Xiaoyu had a strange feeling; his heart skipped a beat.  It was something he had never felt before.  This fight was going to be fair.  An uncertain euphoria came over him.  His head pivoted to the right and he stared at the other boy.  The boy was taller than him and more muscular.  He thought about charging in at the boy, but his mind stopped him.  It reminded him that he had never done that, in fact, his life was built on not doing that.  He had always taken his time and found a weak spot.  He told himself his opportunity would come if he took his time. He stepped into the gauntlet.  The area was completely silent.  The silence confused Xiaoyu.  He didn’t know if he would be attacked or if he could attack.  He misunderstood what was supposed to happen.  Out of Xiaoyu’s view, Mr. Cheung lit a cigarillo.  The sound of scratching flint roamed free without any predators to gobble it up.  The sound echoed and echoed, until it came—
Hup
.

The other boy spun round thrusting his right leg out toward Xiaoyu’s gut.   Xiaoyu’s eye picked up on the boy’s motion and narrowed its gaze.  As soon as the boy put substantial weight on his left leg, Xiaoyu figured he had plans for his right leg.  As the boy’s right leg came round, Xiaoyu sidestepped and the boy’s foot narrowly missed him.  But the boy was fast.  Before the boy had completely regained his balance, he threw a punch with his left.  The punch misfired and hit a still moving Xiaoyu in the front right shoulder.  The punch deadened the sensation in Xiaoyu’s right chest, while increasing the sensation in his shoulder.  Xiaoyu’s arm was still stinging, when the boy landed a hard kick in the side of his left thigh.  Xiaoyu was able to tolerate the kick, but realized he couldn’t sustain many more.  Xiaoyu fought the urge to charge the boy.  He didn’t know what he should do, but he knew rushing in wasn’t it.  The boy inched closer to Xiaoyu, who reacted by faking a kick with his left leg.  The boy seemed to know it was a fake, because his pride got the better of him.  The boy jumped in the air and spun 360 degrees waving his right leg in the air.  The same leg came round to where Xiaoyu would have been, had he stood still.  But Xiaoyu let the boy manage the fighting, as he managed the time.  While the boy was in the air, Xiaoyu had taken two baby steps to the right and set his feet.  When the boy landed, he gave Xiaoyu a target—his rear end.  Xiaoyu kicked the boy as hard as he could.  The boys in the gauntlet coughed, bottling laughter.  The boy’s skillful acrobatics had ended in embarrassment, which was hard to swallow with onlookers.  The boy stopped wanting to put on a show and started wanting to end the fight quickly.  While the other boy was dealing with his emotions, Xiaoyu was dealing with them as well.  Xiaoyu looked intensely at the boy and remembered he was talking to another boy, when Xiaoyu first saw him.  Others were playing cards and competing with each other, a few were flipping through magazine pictures.  But this boy—the strongest one—was talking to another boy.  He didn’t just want to be the strongest of the group; he wanted to be part of the group.  Xiaoyu had known this feeling once, but only once.  He had shared a room with his sister as far back as he could remember.  And he had always felt secure in the idea that they were a group.  When she left, he was hit by paralysis—both physical and mental.  He had run further and faster than he had ever done.  He had pushed his own limit until he fell and couldn’t move.  But as he lied on the ground he was emotionally paralyzed as well.  He didn’t know whether to stay there until his legs regained their strength and keep running or to lie there until he was run over.  In the end, he did neither; he got up and turned around, not running, walking. 

Kicking and punching were easy decisions to make, this Xiaoyu knew.  The other boy’s speed wasn’t based on muscle, it was based on experience.  The boy had fought many times before—it was routine.  It made his decisions easy.  Xiaoyu knew the boy was good at fighting.  But Xiaoyu could tell he wasn’t good at what Xiaoyu was good at.  Xiaoyu had been bullied as far back as he could remember, which didn’t give him experience fighting because he was always outnumbered.  But Xiaoyu had much experience at healing—emotionally.  Being quick to heal made it easy for Xiaoyu to stand alone—without any friends.  But this boy was talking to another boy when Xiaoyu first saw him.  This boy sought out friendship.  This boy was a fighter, no doubt most often a winner, which meant he wasn’t much of a healer.  This boy needed time to recover. 

Xiaoyu began to circle the boy as he wildly lunged at Xiaoyu.  Xiaoyu continued to kick at the boy with his right leg to keep him away, but it wasn’t the boy Xiaoyu was concerned with.  It was his friend.  Xiaoyu realized he had to keep the boy far enough away from himself, to get a good look at the other boys.  They all stood still like a lineup, but Xiaoyu had trouble recognizing the boy’s friend.  Xiaoyu noticed one boy seemed to have a harder time standing still than the others.  He rolled his lips together and held them tight.  It wasn’t because he was weak; none of the boys were weak.  But still he was weakened.  Xiaoyu noticed the boy wearing dirty blue jeans like the others, but with sunglasses stuffed in the front right pocket.  Although he had seen the back of the friend’s head, he remembered sunglasses were resting atop his head.  Xiaoyu understood he would get no more assurances, so he made up his mind.  Xiaoyu circled the other boy once more, using his leg to keep some distance.  As he rotated, he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw the boy with sunglasses in his pocket.  Assured that he was fighting this boy’s friend, he punished him.  Xiaoyu balled his right fist tighter than he ever had and swung it at the friend’s left cheek.  The boy had been standing in line as part of the gauntlet, not part of the fight.  The impact to his face confused him as much as it hurt him.  He had done nothing wrong.  He knew the rules and the rules said he had to stand and not interfere with the fight, no matter who was in the fight.  But he had interfered with the fight; he had let the fight get to him.  His friend was in the fight and he couldn’t keep it a secret, so they both paid the price.

The impact of Xiaoyu’s fist sent the boy’s head into the steel wall behind him and he collapsed against it, landing on his knees.  The boy fighting Xiaoyu saw his friend hit the ground and forgot he was in a fight.  Although Xiaoyu’s fist was throbbing with pain, it was gleaming with success.  He used the same fist to wake the other boy.  The other boy stood in shock watching his friend fall to the ground.  The same throbbing fist and the same gravity came down hard on the bridge of his nose, sending his chin into his chest and causing him to bite the tip of his tongue—almost off.  The fight, not the fighting, was over.  As the other boy hit the floor, Xiaoyu’s lack of opportunity dissolved.  Xiaoyu, who had spent his life holding back his frustration, could not do it forever.  Nor would opportunity last forever.  The boy concerned about his friend, was doing much worse.  Xiaoyu set upon him making no sound, only movement. Xiaoyu found a quick rhythm and landed one punch after another on the boy’s face and neck.  The boys in the gauntlet were trained well.  Through absolute fear of Mr. Cheung, the boys held their positions against the wall.  Not one broke rank to help a fallen friend.  Not one said a word to combat the sound of Xiaoyu’s fist hitting its target—over and over.  Xiaoyu hit the boy for what seemed like eternity—eight years of frustration tunneled their way out through small fists. 

Mr. Cheung, like his boss, was prudent.  He was willing to let Xiaoyu’s violence continue long enough to serve its purpose, but not long enough to undo his own.  By the time he realized Xiaoyu was beyond controlling himself, he had begun to walk at a tapered pace toward Xiaoyu and the other boy, now a target.  So wide open were the vents that outpoured Xiaoyu’s emotion that he didn’t notice the large shadow cast over him.  He didn’t even hear it approach.  Mr. Cheung buried his lit cigarillo in the back of Xiaoyu’s neck.  Xiaoyu felt the cold before the heat but the heat came, turning the hot-blooded soldier into a defector.  His fists opened and he reached for the back of his neck, using his right hand as first responder.  The same combination of cold and hot stung the back of his hand, causing him to keel over like a drunk.  Xiaoyu fell off the other boy and rolled over on the floor.  Xiaoyu looked back at Mr. Cheung holding his cigarillo out as a cattle prod.  Mr. Cheung knocked flakes of ash from the cigarillo before docking it in his mouth.  Mr. Cheung was not about being cruel.  The Moons weren’t cruel, not like the Dirty Ones.  The Moons tolerated their share of violence, but being a Triad wasn’t about being violent.  It was about operating within limits.  Much of Triad business was outside the law, underscoring the need for limits.