Han made a mental note to have eight crates of baijiu flown out, one for each of his Silent Triad men. Unlike K Diamond, he liked to keep his men happy and satisfied, and it wasn’t their fault they’d been sent down here to cool their heels.
“Han Zhiwei? Is that you?” a voice asked in Cantonese.
The sound of his full name made Han turn out of his conversation with Chen. And he grinned when he found a former Red Diamond he and Victor had partied with a few times in Hong Kong before their original triad dissolved.
“Lam Yibo! What are you doing here?”
His friend from long-ago held up a joint. “Come smoke this with me, and I’ll tell you.”
The answer to Han’s question turned out to be more complicated than expected. After finding a relatively quiet corner in one of the unoccupied curtained-off champagne rooms, Lam reintroduced himself as a snakehead for the Golden Triangle. Han was familiar with the gang. Like the 24K, they’d decamped from China in the late 90s after the handover.
From what Han had gleaned, they operated out of Taiwan now and had also set up a couple of offshoots in San Francisco and LA. At the behest of the Golden Triangle Dragon, Lam had come to Hawaii a few days ago, hoping to score a steady stream of Hawaiian marijuana to sell to their more discriminating clientele and maybe start distributing it in their Asian markets.
Lam lit the joint and passed it to Han after taking a toke himself. Some might have thought it rude to partake before the person he invited to smoke out. But in their world, this simply proved that the weed he offered carried no danger.
Han took a pull but grimaced, nonetheless. No, the weed wasn’t poison, but it tasted dirty and full of seeds. It was no better than the low-quality pot that circulated through much of China.
“Finding quality weed is proving harder than predicted,” Lam explained with an apologetic look when Han quickly handed him back the joint and took the bottle of champagne straight to the head to wash the taste from his mouth.
“Yes, I know several people in Hawaii who can do much better than this,” Han assured him after setting the bottle back down. “Where did you get this stuff?”
A shadow crossed over Lam’s face. “From K Diamond.”
This time Han schooled his face to prevent himself from grimacing again. It was one thing to dislike Kuang Jr., it was another to disparage the son of a valued business partner in front of another snakehead.
Lam kept going, nonetheless, and he watched Han carefully as he told him, “He’s trying to get me to buy a half-ton of this shit. He probably didn’t expect me to test it out first since he was personally recommended to me by your brother.”
“Victor sent you to Kuang’s son?” Han asked, finding that hard to believe.
Pot wasn’t a product The Silent Triad bothered with since the profit margins tended to shrink with every state that legalized it. And even if it was, Han very much doubted Victor would have recommended Kuang Jr. to any of their contacts.
“Sorry, not Zhang Victor,” Lam said with a shake of his head. “I forgot you two call each other brother. Your other brother, Delun—your brother by birth—suggested K Diamond. He’s a snakehead for the Golden Triangle now, too, you know. Out of San Francisco. That’s why I thought maybe he’d have a good connection down here.”
Han’s blood froze, the bony fingers of memory creeping up his spine. He hadn’t thought of his half-brother in years. Had never bothered to wonder what had happened to his father’s older son—the legitimate one who had gotten all the privileges Han had been denied.
It struck Han as somewhat apropos that he now belonged to a gang called the Golden Triangle. Growing up, Han had thought of him as the Golden Son. However, he couldn’t say he appreciated the update from Lam.
But he was a Dragon, and Dragon’s rarely showed what they were truly thinking. He pasted on a smile for Lam and said, “I hope you find what you’re looking for here. If you’ll excuse me, I’m due to meet someone.”
He started to get up, but Lam placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t want to go back to Taiwan empty-handed. Maybe you could help me with K Diamond, make sure he sells me only quality stuff—or maybe point me in the direction of another connection?”
Before Han could answer, the room’s gauzy curtain opened with a loud scrape, revealing Kuang Jr. himself on the other side.
“Good, you two aren’t kissing in here. I was afraid of that.”
Han didn’t bother to give Kuang Jr. the satisfaction of seeing his irritation. Instead, he just asked, “How may I help you?” in a tone that was only technically polite.
