Chapter 46: Life Thinner Than Paper

The fishing boat docked at the typhoon shelter pier. Chung Chi-fai, accompanied by two CID plainclothes officers, stepped forward and took Little Knife Tung away.

The CIB would take him to a safe house, take his photograph, and then release him back into the triad.

If Little Knife Tung dared to double-cross them, a few photos sent to the television station would ensure that the hitmen from the Ngai Chi Tuk faction got to him long before the cops did.

Dealing with street thugs, the police force had a mature, systematic approach—ranging from developing informants and keeping them under control, to providing protection. Every step was executed with strict protocol.

Lam Tin-shing said to Chi-fai, "Keep a close eye on him. Call me anytime if anything comes up."

"Don't worry, Boss. Surveillance is what the CIB does best," said Chung Chi-fai, who was dressed in a suit as he stood on the sandy beach with a smile. "Between taking the informant fee and getting a new passport, or being chopped into tiny pieces, Little Knife Tung knows how to choose. I've already cleared things with the Judiciary Police in Macau. The relevant individuals will be detained, and it will be announced externally as an arrest during a gambling crackdown. It won't make the news, so we can keep a lid on it for a while."

"Professional!" Lam Tin-shing gave a thumbs-up, which drew chuckles from Chung Chi-fai, Tang Gengyun, and the others. Chi-fai returned the thumbs-up and looked at his brother, "You guys are even more professional."

The Ngai Chi Tuk faction happened to be leaderless and had no idea that the police force was already targeting their arms-smuggling business. Their attention was entirely focused on fighting a lawsuit for their faction leader, which actually presented the Regional Crime Unit with a golden opportunity.

Back on Shanghai Street, Lam Tin-shing splashed some water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror—his gaze profound, his features sharp, and his expression resolute.

He understood deeply that cracking a case quickly didn't come down solely to hitting hard, having a ruthless heart, or a sharp mind. After all, when it came to solving cases, the Regional Crime Unit didn't have a single idle man, and Team E was arguably the weakest in terms of collective competence, incomparable even to the Headquarters Criminal Investigation Department.

The only reason they could outperform the Criminal Investigation Department was unity of purpose: their superior was incorruptible, and the entire remnants of the team were laser-focused on this case. They intended to use the case to implicate political rivals and display their might.

Otherwise, if Piu Chi-bong casually leaked some information, a million or so Hong Kong dollars would be in his pocket—why would the men underneath bother solving any cases? A Criminal Investigation Department that leaked like a sieve, no matter how competent its personnel might be, could never solve a case properly.

...

Chan On-kwok returned to his rented apartment and pushed open the window. A crisp chime of wind chimes rang out, revealing the silent, deserted Lockhart Road below.

When he was a detective sergeant in the Wan Chai district, he had lived in this very flat. Back then, however, it was a property registered in his name, which was later transferred to Reckless Fai's name under a signed contract with a monthly rent of five hundred dollars.

Ah Fai had never collected a single cent from him; he could no longer afford to be a legitimate property owner in broad daylight. Whenever he wrapped up a case, he always liked to sit by the window and have a couple of drinks.

On the windowsill sat an ashtray, a lighter, a pack of Marlboros, and a bottle of iced beer.

Chan On-kwok straddled the edge of the wall, picked up a sticky note in his hand, and enjoyed the tranquility. A moment later, a paper crane lay in his palm.

He casually hung the pink paper crane onto the wind chimes. In front of the windowsill, over a dozen strings of wind chimes hung with dozens of colorful paper cranes.

Beside them on the table lay a Black Star pistol and scattered bullets—the romance of a man.

A single piece of paper was a human life, and a human life was as thin as paper. Life was thinner than paper, and life was as light as paper.

Yet, his ambitions were higher than the heavens.

The folded crane yearned to fly.

...

Cheung Kam-wing sat in Tung Yee Fuk's underground money exchange, tossed his backpack into a cabinet, raised a cup of tea, and said boldly, "Clean it and wire it into a company account."

The money exchange boss, "Uncle Hung," gave his subordinate a glance, handed over a cigarette, and respectfully lit it for him. "Which company is it, Wing Gor?"

"Prosperity Real Estate. The license holder is Lai Chung-ying, and the account number is written on this paper." Cheung Kam-wing bit down on his cigarette, picked up a pen, and pushed the slip of paper in front of Uncle Hung.

Uncle Hung took the slip, his eyes flickering as he already guessed that the double-flower red pole standing before him was rising in power once again. Wearing a flattering expression, he said, "No problem. We're family—sixty-forty split, sound good?"

Though the police force had long since cut ties with the triads, and all the former "Yee" character factions had suffered massive blows—with Tung Yee Fuk, once the overlord of Yau Tsim Mong, retreating step by step into suburban areas like Kowloon City and Tsuen Wan—Cheung Kam-wing was one of their own, and moreover, Chan Tai's nephew. Both the Yee and Wo factions would show him respect.

Being able to maintain a mutually beneficial covert lifeline with the police force was something many people would kill for, even if it was a despised, sunset-era dirty-cop faction.

Cheung Kam-wing crossed his legs, looking relaxed and basking in the flattery of the triad elders. When you went out to risk your life, what you fought for was face and status.

Back when he was at his lowest, Uncle Hung would have his underlings entertain him; now that he had hung up his gun, Uncle Hung had to hand him a cigarette and light it.

In this life, what people fought for was just this breath of dignity.

...

Tang Gengyun returned to his newly rented apartment on Temple Street, opened the refrigerator, chugged a mouthful of cola, snuck two pieces of soy-sauce chicken, and with an air of absolute satisfaction, picked up a roll of strapping tape, wrapping it layer by layer around the webs of his hands.

This flat was less than five hundred square feet, located right next to the Tin Hau Temple. By day, it was choked with smoke and incense; by night, the streets were full of drunks. Though cramped and narrow, its greatest advantage was the cheap rent.

Once his hands were securely taped, he raised his arm and smashed it viciously into the punching bag. The bag surged upward, and the iron chains emitted a grinding screech.

Aside from eating, there was only boxing.

It wasn't that his mind was simple; rather, he understood one fundamental truth: the world must be conquered with fists, and a man must rely on the might of his punches!

His fists were his capital for walking the jianghu, the most valuable asset he possessed. Therefore, whether he was working as a detective sergeant, a traffic cop, or in the Regional Crime Unit, he would never, ever give it up.

Just as he thought, the opportunity had arrived.

...

Chung Chi-fai pushed open the door of the safe house. Little Knife Tung was wearing a prison uniform, holding up an identification board, having just taken his informant photograph. Two CIB officers opened their mouths to speak, only to see their boss toss down a box and say, "Newly requested equipment, the latest model of wiretap. A surgeon will be here shortly to perform the procedure."

"What the hell, Sir? You need surgery just to wear a wire?" Little Knife Tung felt a wave of panic. Chung Chi-fai frowned and said, "Haven't you ever heard of body implants? Otherwise, would you rather I hand you a headset to wear in plain sight!"

Little Knife Tung struggled with his arms, trying to shake off the officers' grip, but handcuffed as he was, he could muster no strength. He shouted loudly, "You're violating human rights! You're abusing an informant!"

Chung Chi-fai raised a finger and pointed at him. "Shut your trap. One more word out of you and I'll install one that explodes. Want to test that?"

The Intelligence Bureau certainly didn't have wiretaps that could explode, but seeing the implant device placed right before his eyes was enough to scare Little Knife Tung out of his wits, turning his limbs to jelly and making him tremble all over.

Truly vicious. These dirty cops had improved far too much compared to the old days—not only were they ruthless, but they had high-tech gear too. As times progressed and technological methods multiplied, the police force's control over the triads would only grow stronger step by step.

Two days later.

Ma Tak-lung walked into the office carrying a DNA test report, a look of delight on his face. He walked over to his boss's workstation and lowered his voice. "Sir Lam, Scotland Yard's test report has been mailed back. The bloodstain belonging to the second person in the Lobster Bay dismemberment case indeed belongs to Lui Kwok-wah, the second-husband of the victim."

Lam Tin-shing raised an eyebrow. It wasn't entirely unexpected. With a flick of his finger across the desk, he said, "Take Ah Chung and Tat Tsai, bring the suspect in for interrogation, clear everything up, write a report, and prepare to close the case."

With this merit, combined with the track record of the previous two cases, once the current arms-smuggling case was wrapped up, promoting one of his subordinates to sergeant would be a sure thing.

Ma Tak-lung stood at attention, saluted, and shouted, "Yes, Sir."