The Black Dragon Read Online Free

when, in response to his persistent questions, she promised to take him there one day, it always had the feeling of “one day” that would never come.
    â€œI wish I remembered more Cantonese. Mum used to speak a bit, but in the end we stuck to English.”
    â€œYour dad was always a terrible linguist,” Laura says. “One thing he couldn’t do! Maybe some of it will come back to you. Anyway, most people who deal with tourists still speak English. Not that long since we rented the place from the Chinese, after all!”
    â€œCan you tell me about the story you’re doing?”
    â€œOh, don’t worry about that, Danny boy,” Laura says brightly. Slightly too brightly. “Just have a good time with Zamora. Eat noodles. Leave the bad guys to me.”
    â€œIt feels like you’re not telling me things, Aunt Laura.”
    â€œHonestly not, Danny. Scout’s honor.”
    â€œI’m not a little kid anymore,” he says, cutting her short. “There’s something you’re not saying. About the trip.”
    It comes out sharper than he intends. But it’s frustrating the way silence descends whenever he asks the tricky questions. About his parents’ deaths, for example. People were kind and supportive, of course—Laura especially—and he appreciated that. It helped him cope with the shock, cope with how much he missed Dad’s deep voice describing the world and the wonders in it, missed Mum’s quick smile, steadfast optimism. Their love. He can just about cope with that. Most days.
    And he can generally push from his mind the wreck of their trailer, the deathly hush that hung over the Mysterium encampment, the white-sheeted stretchers. He can cope with all that.
    Just about.
    But he can’t cope with the fact that nobody, not even Laura, ever seems to want to answer the “difficult” questions directly.
    â€œI’m growing up, Aunt Laura. I can deal with stuff.”
    â€œI suppose you are, Danny. Fair point.” She glances around the cabin, then drops her voice. “Well, this lot are a really nasty triad gang.”
    â€œTriad?”
    â€œOrganized criminal gangs. Centuries old. Bit like the Mafia with a big code of honor and secrecy. This lot are called the Black Dragon. A bunch of upstarts forcing their way into the Chinese underworld. And they’re reaching out to gangs back home in Britain. I want to get up close and personal—and show how dangerous they are. Not glamorous. Just thugs.”
    â€œWhat do they do?”
    â€œMost of these gangs stick to drugs, human trafficking, stuff like that. But this lot have their fingers in a lot of pies. Getting into kidnapping. People are paying up because they realize the Dragon means business.”
    â€œHow?”
    Laura taps her fingers on the tray table. “They send the relatives locks of hair, with a warning to pay up fast. If they don’t, they get something else.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œA box of steamed dim sum, wrapped up like a gift . . . and in one of the dumplings there will be the victim’s little finger. Maybe two.”
    Laura laughs apologetically. “Like I say, Danny, ‘fingers in a lot of pies.’ Just experimenting with a tagline. They use bolt cutters, I believe.”
    â€œHow would you know whose finger it was?”
    Laura waggles her little finger in front of his face. “You’d recognize this little piggy, wouldn’t you?”
    Danny’s stomach tightens, a brief image in his head of Laura’s lively finger severed and bloody on a white plate. He pulls a face. “And how do you get close to them? The Black Dragon?”
    â€œCuriosity killed the cat. Don’t you know that?”
    â€œDoesn’t seem to stop you.”
    â€œThis cat’s got a lot of lives left, Danny boy.”
    â€œMum always used to say that . . . if something went wrong—”
    â€œAnd