"The Harry Hung Murder Case"
"The Harry Hung Murder Case"
10/3/2012
I.
When he heard the slamming of the building's front door two floors below his office, Sheng sat up straighter at his desk. It was eight minutes after two in the morning. Since his Fist For Hire detective agency kept the unorthodox hours of midnight to nine A.M., it was not at all unusual to find unannounced clients turning up at such an hour. But that slamming noise and the rapid clapping of shoes on the staircase alarmed him. At a smaller desk across the single open room, Uncle Pao put down his Sudoku puzzle and raised a quizzical eyebrow. The old man pointed at the office door, which had been left ajar.
Getting to his feet and striding over to that door, Sheng Mo-Yuan was not an intimidating figure at first glance. Five inches over five feet tall but sturdily built, he was wearing his favorite business suit, a dark brown number with a yellow shirt and tan tie. He seemed to be Northern Chinese, but something about his beaked nose and sharp cheekbones brought that into question. Known in the Midnight War as Argent, Sheng's origins in the realm of Chujir were even more exotic than the most remote areas of China could match. He was not armed, relying on his gralic ability to reinforce his body's strength or speed as needed. His decade of Kumundu training under Teacher Chael gave him even more confidence in his capabilities.
Even before he crossed the office, the door crashed inward and a young woman dove through so quickly that she almost fell on her face. In that instant she first appeared, Sheng took in his impressions. Twenty or twenty-one, an inch or two over five feet tall and a bit chunky, with the glossy thick black hair and skin tones of an East Asian. She was dressed casually, white sneakers and tight jeans and a loose maroon sweatshirt under a black windbreaker. As soon as she barged into the office, the woman whirled and swung the door closed to lean back against it.
>"Quite the melodramatic entrance,"< remarked Uncle Pao in Cantonese. The old man had a smirk across his bony face with its thick-lensed glasses and shock of white hair sticking out uncombed. >"Next, she will tell you she is in great danger and only you can help her."<
"Sheng Mo-Yuan?" gasped their visitor. "Please! I'm in real trouble and I feel you're the only one I can turn to!" Seen close-up, she was cute rather than gorgeous, with a round gamin face and snub nose. The eyelid fold was not particularly noticeable and her large clear eyes were a striking hazel.
>"I am always correct,"< said Pao with unbearable smugness as he pretended to return to his puzzle.
"Yes, thank you, Uncle," Sheng replied, keeping to English. "You're safe here, miss. Please, have a seat and tell me what brings you here." The PI gestured toward one of the two plain wooden chairs which faced his desk. With obvious reluctance, the young woman stepped away from the door and gave it an anxious stare until Sheng reached over to snap its lock shut. "Now, come and sit and explain," he urged.
As she took her seat, gazing around the office quickly and meeting Uncle Pao's dubious smile, she said, "Ah, let me start by saying my name is Toy Hung, I'm a student at NYU. You may have heard of my father, he is in the same business as you."
"Hung?" repeated Sheng. "Not Harry Hung? THE Harry Hung?"
"The same. He has worked hard for many years to earn his reputation, I am proud to say." Toy Hung watched Sheng cross around his desk to drop into his own chair facing her. "I didn't think I'd ever see my father in a situation he couldn't handle. Until now."
>"Here it comes,"< scoffed Uncle Pao. >"Nephew, she has opened the trap and is waving the bait under your nose."<
Toy swung around to fix a venomous eye on the old man. "Please don't do that," she said. " I was born in Arizona, I don't speak any Chinese beyond what to order from a menu."
>"Only Americans think they need learn but one language,"< Pao chuckled, but he continued in English, "Excuse me, miss. I am used to speaking real words with my nephew when no one is here. I assure you that we will help you if we can."
"Thank you." She turned her pleading face back toward Sheng. "I know I was followed here. Two big white men. They can't be far behind me. I didn't know where else to turn."
"Really," said Sheng. He rose to his feet, unbuttoned his suit jacket and headed right for the door. "I don't want any confrontations with goons in here if I can avoid it. Clean-ups are too expensive." As he turned the lock and swung the door inward, he glimpsed movement in the hall outside. To his right was a row of three similar frost-glass paned doors belonging to an insurance agency, a computer repair shop and a vacancy. To his left was the wide opening of a wooden staircase with heavy old-fashioned bannisters. Thumping up the stairs, coming into view, were indeed two big white men. Each looked physically qualified to play pro football but the brutal dead-eyed faces revealed their actual trade.
"Told ya she came here," said the first one as he advanced toward the much smaller man who stood quietly in their way. "What other private eye is open this timea night?"
"Awright, kid," the second thug called over to Sheng. "Bring out the chick and we'll be on our way."
Moving toward the two who towered over him, Argent sighed. "No way out of this, I guess. I always have to beat fools like you half dead just to get some information." In the next instant, he drew on the transcendental gralic force to reinforce his body. His bones and muscles and skin became as near to invulnerable as flesh and blood could achieve. Lunging in like a fencer, he blasted a right backhand blow with a fist literally as hard as a block of stone. The goon's jaw slewed around until it was almost dislocated and he dropped to his hands and knees at the agonizing impact. Even as his first opponent fell, Sheng wheeled and was diving at the other one. But he received a rude surprise.
Full into his face came a stinging spray of the most caustic fumes he had ever taken. The stench alone was unbearable, but his vision was lost in a flood of tears and he wheezed desperately for breath. Sheng dropped back, circling his fists in a blind attempt to ward off any attack. He could hear the two men coughing as well.
"The boss said he could turn hard as a marble statue," one of the thugs managed to gasp. "But bear spray don't care if your skin is bulletproof. Come on, Damon."
For the next few seconds, Sheng wiped at his face with no results. His resilience was no protection against that punishing dose he had taken full on. He could hear Toy Hung scream and then Uncle Pao cry out, but by the time he made it to his office by memory of where he had been standing, the two henchmen stomped past him. There were muffled sounds of someone trying to yell with her mouth covered by a meaty paw, and Argent moved toward the noise but was shoved strongly back and lost his balance.
When he got back up, still unable to see and still fighting for breath, Sheng fell two hands pulling on him. >"Come with me, nephew,"< urged Uncle Pao. >"Don't resist me, you fool, come with me."<
Sheng let himself be drawn into his office bathroom, where Uncle Pao held his head under icy water turned up full blast. It helped a little but it was mostly Sheng's enhanced healing from a decade of the Tagra tea that allowed him to recover from the bear repellent. Many people would have died from taking that potent chemical right in the face. As minutes went by, his eyesight turned into a blur and then cleared. He coughed up some phlegm and took a deep steady breath. >"Okay, okay, let me up,<" he asked finally. >"Don't drown me."<
>"Your gratitude is oddly expressed,"< the old man snapped, releasing him.
>"Thank you, Uncle,"< Sheng said. He shook his sopping wet head, water running down his jacket, and straightened up. >"Those men took our client with them?"<
>"Our client? Really? Did I hear a fee being mentioned? Did I hear you agree to take her doubtful case? But be that way, if you will. Yes. They picked her up and carried away wiggling like a fresh-caught fish."<
II.
Toweling his head dry, Sheng went over to his desk and unlocked the deep left-side drawer to take out a long metal case. Its combination lock was a decoy, since the case actually opened when concealed catches were slid away from each other. Here were kept KDF gadgets and weapons which he normally did not carry on him. One of the anesthetic dart pistols sat in its padded interior. Sheng rarely felt the need to bring one of these with him, but now he checked the compression on the gas-powered mechanism and slid a clip of the darts into the gun's butt with a click. He secured the dart gun in a detachable holster which he attached to the rear of his belt where his suit jacket would hide it.
Uncle Pao watched this procedure with his usual disdain. >"You are not bringing the howitzer this time?"<
"Let's stick to English as much as possible," Sheng said. "The practice won't hurt you. Here."
The old man examined what his 'nephew' had handed him, a clear film rectangle that would cover the nose and mouth like a surgeon's mask when the side tabs were pulled over the wearer's ears. "So. One of your so-called oxygen membranes if these weak old eyes are not wrong?"
"Yeah." Sheng tucked two of the devices into the inner breast pocket of his jacket. "They filter out nearly every type of offensive gas, as well as smoke. You can even breathe underwater with one on, although to be honest they never seem to offer a full breath. Still better than drowning if things come to that." Replacing the metal case, he locked the desk drawer and came around to stand next to his partner. "We better get moving, Uncle, we've lost enough time as it is."
Making sure the office was locked and the Trom alarms also installed by Megan Salenger had armed themselves, Sheng led the way across the hall and down the wide staircase to the front foyer. They stepped out onto a quiet lower Canal Street at three in the morning of a worknight. "I managed to snatch a decent parking spot right across the street," he said. "Listen, Uncle Pao, I want you to look up Harry Hung's address while we get in the car."
"What? Am I an oracle? How do you expect me to do that?"
"Seriously. I know you have an Iphone and that you are perfectly able to go on Google with it. For some reason, your monthly bill comes to my office and I've been paying it without saying anything."
Sheng's beloved bright-red Ferrari 458 Italia sat where he had left it two hours earlier. On the driver's sunvisor, small blue and green lights blinked steadily. More Trom-level security alarms. If anyone had done more than lightly brush up against the car, those lights would have turned red and a signal would have been sent to Sheng's Link. Megan had also rigged it so that anyone touching the vehicle longer than ten secondswould receive an electric shock which could be adjusted from a mild static jolt to a blast that would send the person convulsing to the ground; Sheng had considered the legal liabilities of leaving this feature active and normally left it turned off. He spent enough time in court as it was.
As he beeped the doors open, Sheng heard Uncle Pao shout, "I have it! Harry Hung's address. He lives not far from here, nephew. Have you heard of Billings Lane?"
"Yeah, it's down by the Battery. Let's go. Uncle, that pinging noise will not stop unless you put your seat belt on."
"Oh, very well, if I must...." On the way out of the office, the old man had snatched up an oversized red cardigan and he started to wiggle into it after he had already pulled the restraint straps across his sunken chest. His struggles involved unhooking the straps, wrestling the sweater with his arms going in all directions and then getting buckled in again. Quite a bit of questionable language accompanied this. By this time, Sheng had driven ten blocks south and was rolling through a deserted warehouse district. He was used to Uncle Pao managing to wring drama out of simply getting into a car.
As they approached the modest fifteen story apartment building where the renowned Chinese detective was staying, Sheng slowed his car to a crawl and pulled over onto a side street. He had not been expecting this. Three NYPD patrol cars were blocking the entrance to the building. As Argent hopped out from behind the wheel and his Uncle Pao followed, dazzled by the mad flashing of the red and blue lightbars on the cars. Several uniformed officers were escorting a stout man in pajamas and bathrobe, holding his arms behind him. Evidently, handcuffs had not yet been applied.
Under the mad strobing lights, Sheng still recognized the face he had seen in the newspapers more than once. The bland round face under slicked back black hair, the pronounced single eyelid fold, the short two-piece mustache and the tuft of hair under the lower lip... all were exactly as he remembered seeing them in articles about the solving of some grotesque homicide. As Harry Hung peered around unhappily, he spotted Sheng and Pao and suddenly brightened.
>"Pao! Pao, old friend!"< he shouted in Cantonese. >"Look for my daughter Toy. Protect her. She has been pulling feathers from the tail of the vulture!"<
>"What is going on here?"< Uncle Pao yelled back. >"Have the Gwei-lo lost what little sanity they normally possess?"<
Before Hung could answer, his head was pushed down by a cop and he was shoved into the back seat of a patrol car. The doors slammed quickly and the officer gave the two newcomers an openly hostile glare before getting in the front passenger seat. Two of the vehicles pulled away but the third one paused. Stalking toward Sheng and Pao was the obese hulk of Lt Joseph Montez.
"Hey, hey, Montez!" called Sheng as he hurried to meet the man. Over the years, Montez had become an unofficial liaison between the police and the Tel Shai knights. Tonight he seemed angry about something. "Hold it, Argent. Not a word outta you. This isn't Midnight War, it isn't the weirdness you guys handle. Go home. What are you doing out at three in the morning anyway?"
"Aw come on, Lieutenant, give me some slack," Sheng begged. "I know who that was. Why are you arresting him?"
Montez swung around and headed back to the waiting car which had a door open for him. "I've been bending the rules too far and too long for you boys. No more free information you don't need to know." He hesitated as he stuffed himself into the front seat. "Not even on a Murder One rap."
III.
"You know Harry Hung?" asked Sheng at last. "And you never mentioned it?"
"Heh, when he and I were young and handsome, we left a trail of broken hearts all over San Francisco," Uncle Pao said. "Those were golden days...."
Seeing one of the uniformed officers had remained sitting in the remaining cruiser, slowly filling out a report held on a clipboard, Argent strolled nonchalantly closer. The single curious civilian spectator had drifted away by now. Stopping next to the open window of the car, Sheng asked quietly, "What's up with Montez, Dave? He gave me the old brush-off."
"I'm not supposed to be talking to you, Sheng," replied the cop Dave without looking up. "So I can't tell you that Harry Hung has been arrested for killing his current client, guy named Adam Wilcox. The murder weapon is going to forensics now. And I can't tell you that Hung's daughter has been associated with that freak Szymanski. Wish I could help. But I can't even mention that Montez suspects it was Hung's daughter Toy who really killed Wilcox or that Szymanski's playing a long game using Hung as bait."
Seeing his partner approaching along the sidewalk, Dave raised his voice. "Look, I told you to get lost. You heard the lieutenant. Go back to following unfaithful wives into sleazy motels and leave real crimefighting to professionals. Hi, Louie, you ready to roll?"
"Yeah." The other officer opened the passenger door and gave Sheng an unfriendly stare before getting in the car. "Sheng Mo-Yuan, huh? The new DA gave us a sermon about you and that Dire Wolf guy, you know!"
As the cruiser started up and rolled away into the night, Uncle Pao chortled. "You are getting better at passing bribes, nephew. I did not even see you put the money in his hand!"
"I didn't bribe him, Uncle," Sheng replied as if distracted. "Dave is mostly honest. We've helped each other back and forth."
"Ahhhh, when will you learn? Gold is the grease that loosens stiff tongues. Where are we going now?"
"I didn't get a chance to tell them about Toy Hung being abducted," Argent said. "It's on their heads, I was trying to inform them. Now I guess there's no choice but to go ask Szymanski some questions." Back at his Ferrari, the Chujiran beeped open the doors and disarmed security with a signal from his key fob. "I'd also like to run into that guy who dosed me with the damn bear spray...."
"You are not reminiscent of the rose with morning dew on it," agreed Pao as he began his epic struggle with the seat belt. "If this mad chase was not so urgent, a change of clothing might be a good idea."
"No argument on that from me." Sheng backed up a few inches and eased out onto Canal Street after waiting for the first car they had seen roll past. "Finding Szymanski might not be that easy, I only have one or maybe two possible Leakers who would have a clue."
"I don't suppose you stuck one of those little tracing coins on the Hung girl when you had a chance?"
"Afraid not," Sheng admitted. He turned right at the next two corners and starting heading north.
"No, no, that would make things too easy." Uncle Pao made a noise as if about to spit.
"Uh-uh," Argent warned. "You know the rules. No eating in my Ferrari, no drinks and especially no spitting on my leather interior. You can always stay in the office if you'd prefer."
The old man muttered something in Cantonese that was not intelligible. Then, he went on in English, "I knew Harry before you were pulled whimpering from your mother's womb," he said. "In Hawaii, when he was making a name for himself as a detective. Great depth to that man. He did not rely on DNA tests or microscopes or black light. No. Harry knew the human mind, he understood greed and lust and fear, and how most murders are driven by those flaws. I saw him pull confessions from killers who thought they were too clever ever to be found out!"
"Oh,definitely. I've read so much about him." Sheng slowed for a red light, saw no police cars lurking nearby and continued. "When I was living at KDF headquarters. Kenneth Dred had a dozen books mentioning Harry Hung and I devoured them. Did you know someone also wrote a series of mysteries about a fictional version of Hung, including some incidents taken from real murders?"
"Feh! Harry laughed at those books and used to read them out loud to his friends. I thought the writing was clumsy, but then English is a crude language at best."
At 20th Street, Sheng swung over toward Ninth Avenue and found a passable spot a little too close to a NO STANDING sign for comfort. "I might have to ask you to remain here and move my car if a cop goes by," he said, "But please be careful! Fixing a scratch on this beauty costs as much as buying a regular used car."
"Your beloved chariot is in good hands," Uncle Pao chortled. "No police car will ever catch me in a chase."
"That's not what I meant at all." Getting out of the Ferrari, Sheng took a minute to trot up the block and check for any signs of watchers at windows or in cars. He couldn 't spot any. Unclipping his Link from his belt, he called a local number, let it ring three times and hung up, then repeated the process. This was a signal he had long arranged with Fast Willie. He knew that the ratty little messenger always slept with his phone in his T-shirt pocket and woke up at every call. The door to the apartments would be buzzed open by now.
But it was strange that Willie hadn't immediately sent back a few rings before breaking off the call himself. That had always been the procedure between them. Sheng felt alerted by this, so much else was going unexplained this night. He stared up and down the street again, entered the tiny foyer with its rickety stairs and panel of mailboxes on one wall. A single bare lightbulb hung from a cord. The Chujiran placed one foot on the bottom step but had not put his weight down before he abruptly swung around the staircase and seized the man who had been crouched behind it. With one hand clenching the man's shirt, Sheng put his gralic focus into strength and hoisted the man up entirely off the floor before shaking him violently. To his great interest, the process dislodged a gun from somewhere on the man's person and an old-fashion .38 revolver clunked to the floor.
Sheng kicked the gun to one side and slammed his captive up against the mailboxes with enough impact to drive the breath out of him but not breaking any bones. In this enhanced state, Argent was stronger than someone twice his size would be. He got a good look under the naked lightbulb and was disappointed. This was a slightly built thug in his late forties or early fifties, sporting a brush mustache to compensate for a receding hairline.
"Aw, I was hoping you'd be the one with the bear spray," he muttered. "Drat."
"Ease up, ease up, buddy," the man managed to get out. "I can't breathe."
"You're lucky I'm not cracking your rib cage open like candy canes," Sheng answered. Still forcing his prisoner up against the wall with one hand, he patted him down and found no other guns but there was a nasty thin stiletto strapped to the right shin. This was also tossed far out of reach for the moment. "Let's get some answers before I use more pressure," said the Chujiran. "Is Fast Willie still alive?"
"No idea... Jeez, mister, let me take a breath."
"You were going to follow me upstairs in a minute, right? And while I was preoccupied with what I found up there, you'd knife me from behind or dent my cranium with your revolver. I think I might hold a grudge against you for that."
"All right, all right," wheezed the crook. "Lissen, ease up just a bit and I'll sing you a song. Ack. Okay, that's better. Yeah, you've got Szymanski mad at you, Argent. You and that Chinaman Hung. You're not gonna make it till dawn."
"I've heard that song before. Tell you what, give me a location where I can debate Szymanski and show him where he's wrong. That's all I ask."
"Sure. Why not? He'll find you first anyway. He's operating out of a moving van marked PURITAN SERVICES. White job with brown letters. He usually keeps it in some shipping yard down by the Hudson side docks. Now, you might as well let me go, I can't fight you, everyone knows you got some sort of superman powers in your game..."
"Fair enough," Sheng agreed. With his free hand, he dug into his left suit jacket pocket. Although he usually did not carry a KDF dart gun, he found the anesthetic darts themselves often useful. Carefully, he snapped open the flat metal case and tugged a dart loose without getting stuck himself by a extended needle-thin point. Before Szymanski's thug knew what was going to happen, Sheng jabbed him in the side of the neck with that dart. The man felt the puncture and a burning sensation, but only for two seconds before the potent Trom-formulated chemical dazed him beyond awareness. Sheng left the limp form sag to the grimy floor. This guy would be unconscious for a little over an hour and probably not feeling up to any strenuous activity for some time after that.
Well. Despite misgivings, Sheng decided he had to check on Fast Willie. Not that the little weasel was a friend of his. Willie sold information to anyone with cash and he had no loyalty to anything beyond his own skin. Sheng had found the informer useful, but he knew that Willie had also ratted him out a few times. You knew who you were dealing with when you negotiated with Leakers. Leaving the snoring gangster on the floor for the moment, Argent trotted lightly up the creaking stairs which made noise no matter how he placed his weight. Light spilled out from an open to his left as he reached the landing.
Sticking only his head in and immediately jerking it back out of the way got no response. Not even an intake of breath or the rustle of clothing as someone reacted. Sheng peeked into the incredibly cluttered apartment which smelled of stale smoke and unwashed clothes. There was an upraised hand protruding from behind a couch. The Chujiran took one cautious step through the door and saw the rictus of fear on that stiff face with its unseeing eyes rolled up in the bony face. Sheng backed out of the apartment and fought down an unreasonable anger that was stirring in him. Willie had played the game of deceit and misdirection for years with murderous mobsters and with independent maniacs like Szymanski or the Wither Man. The chance of being killed was always present. It simply annoyed Sheng for some reason that it seemed this informer had died as a means to get at him.
Szymanski must have known that Sheng sometimes bought information from Fast Willie, and he had been counting on Sheng coming here tonight. That showed a certainly level of planning. The drugged goon in the foyer must have arrived here to murder Willie and then hide behind the stairs in case Sheng came hoping for answers. It was a precaution that might or might not have paid off but Szymanski had thought the possible benefit was worth a man's life. The Chujiran shook his head at human nature. Bane had warned him that going into investigation work might leave him soured and disgusted with life but it was a chance to help people in desperate need as well.
Before leaving the scene, he went back and dragged the groggy mobster back under the stairwell where at least he was less likely to cause a stir. Sheng studied the wide face with its flattened nose and neck tattoo. Even deeply asleep, the man looked brutal. Going through the goon's pockets, Sheng confiscated the wallet, the phone and the keys, then retrieved the gun and the knife from where he had tossed them. He wasn't sure if either had been used in Fast Willie's murder, so he unloaded the revolver and left it along with the knife near the snoring thug. Might as well provide some evidence against the beast. As a final puckish gesture, he unlaced the man's heavy shoes and took them with him.
Back out on the street, Sheng disposed off the wallet and the keys in a garbabe barrel leaning in an alley mouth three buildings down. The phone got dropped carefully down a sewer grating, and the shoes and socks were discarded in a wet gutter. There. At least this crook would have a hard time contacting his boss or making his way back to report. Sheng's sense of humor manifested itself at the strangest time.
Argent sprinted back the two blocks and was relieved to find his car still sitting where he had left it, with Uncle Pao peacefully sitting in the passenger seat. More than once, he had come back from a few minutes investigation to find the old man either abducted by the enemy or having wandered off on some unlikely purpose.
"Hah! Your face is like a poster, so easy to read," remarked Pao. "You saw something you did not expect or like. Let me guess. Your squealing rat is no longer among the living?"
"You're right," Sheng admitted, his voice suddenly tinged by heaviness. He had strongly disliked Fast Willie and wouldn't have trusted the man to count out change from a dollar. But death was death. It never lost its fundamental impact. "At least I have an idea where to find our mastermind and hopefully Toy Hung." He started up the smooth, scarcely audible engine and pulled out again into the night streets with at least three different conflicting theories about what was going on tonight.
IV.
It was near to three-thirty before they spotted a van that matched the description given Sheng by the late Fast Willie. Next to the loading dock of a brick warehouse that had USED FURNITURE stenciled in block letters across one wall was a white van with PURITAN MOVING painted on its sides with a phone number. Near the van was a pair of identical black SUVs with tinted windows. Going to the end of the block, getting out of line of sight, the Chujiran put his car into park and took a deep breath.
"Uncle Pao," he said at last, "You know I honor and respect you."
"As is only right," answered the old man.
"Yes. Well, here's my plan. I intend to duck between those two buildings on our right and come out into that parking lot on the far side. There's no cover and it's moderately well lit. So I have to ask you for a distraction."
"Certainly," Pao said. "I will knock on the van and ask if they have a bathroom I might use."
"What? No, no, no. Not at all. Seriously, please drive around the block and pull into the lot with your headlights right on the van. Stay there until someone comes out to investigate, then swing around and wait for me back here. And PLEASE do not scratch the finish or create an interesting little ding in a fender."
"Feh. That would give this wagon some badly-needed character." With a grunt of discomfort, Pao edged out of the low seat and came around to the driver side.
Stepping back from the car door, Sheng said, "You know, the other day, a cute little coed from Columbia asked if I needed a secretary. She'd work cheap to get a good reference. I said I would think about it."
"Bah, you would solve even fewer cases without my help," Pao said as he adjusted the driver seat and pulled away. Argent felt his heart sink. He didn't know what was more distressing, the Harry Hung murder case or to see Uncle Pao driving his beloved car. Turning back to the matter at hand, he sprinted up the sidewalk and raced down a narrow alley between two windowless walls. As he emerged at the far end of the parking lot, he stuck his head out in time to see his Ferrari screech into the entrance much faster than was necessary. Next time, he thought, I have to come up with a better plan than letting him drive.
The headlights brightened and a few minutes later, the side panel of the van slid open. A huge bruiser of a man hopped out and started marching stiffly toward the car. He was wearing rough work clothes and the way he keep his right hand in his pants pocket was suggestive. Before the thug could make it to the Ferrari, Pao swung around in a tight loop and roared out of the parking lot with a jaunty toot of the horn. During this time, Sheng had hurtled over to crouch behind the van where he could not be seen.
The thug stood for a few moments, waiting to see if the car would come back. He held up his phone and said, "Probably some drunk, boss. "
"Come back in then," was the answer. Even from where he squatted, Sheng could hear that the voice held a harsh croaking tone. "We haven't heard from Carlton yet. I want you to go check on him."
"Yes, sir." The big man lumbered wearily back to the van as if tired, but then it was getting near four in the morning. He lifted one hand to grab the side of the open door and a fist harder than stone cracked against the back of his head. Sheng seized the dazed man by the back of the belt and by the shirt collar, lifted him bodily up to chest level and threw him hard into the interior. A crash of wood breaking and startled yelling followed as the Chujiran leaped up through the opening.
Here was where ten years of Kumundu training took over. Without conscious thought, he slammed into another thug and instantly drove an elbow against the man's chest with brutal impact, cracking a rib and forcing all the air out of his lungs. Sheng wheeled around, seized the wrist of a third goon to yank that arm out straight and wrench the small 9mm automatic out of the man's grip. Sheng grabbed the gun and whipped it out in a backswing that thumped against the henchman's cheek like a hammer. In less than a second, three hulking professionals were dazed and unable to function. The Chujiran flung the stunned man over to land in a tangle with the other two.
Now he had an instant to take in the interior of the van. He was surprised to see how well it was furnished, with a comfortable bench along one side piled with pillows and folded blankets, a waist high refrigerator and a propane tank-fueled stove, as well an overstuffed easy chair. There was even a three shelf bookcase with a flat screen TV bolted down on it. The three men were stirring in the broken remnants of a folding card table, and he had a few seconds before they could recover. Sitting in a plain wooden chair but getting up now was Toy Hung. She did not seem to have been hurt.
Leaning back in the easy chair was the grotesque form of Emil Szymanski.
The infamous blackmailer had to have passed seventy a year or so earlier. He was thin and bent, visibily hunched over even seated. The bald head was lifted up from where the bent back would have had him staring down at the floor. Szymanski's sharp protruding nose over a receding chin, the shaggy white eyebrows over mean-spirited blue eyes and the bony hands which clenched and unclenched... the origin of Szymanski's common nickname in the underworld of 'Mr Vulture' was obvious.
Stepping over to where he could watch both Szymanski and the reviving thugs, Sheng raised the automatic he had confiscated. Without looking over at her, he asked Toy, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she blurted as she took a step to stand behind his right shoulder. "How did you even find me?"
"Well, you know, private eye..." He was watching the henchmen as they sat up and rubbed their sore heads or chests before getting their wits back. "Watch out, I might have to play tag with these jokers."
Szymanski spoke for the first time in that low rasp. "Sheng Mo-Yuan, known sometimes as Argent. This is a relief. I was worried I might have to deal with Jeremy Bane on this job. He's a real threat."
"Ouch, that hurt." Sheng reached behind him to take Toy Hung by the arm. "Stay put, Szymanski. I'm getting the young lady to safety and we can talk later."
Szymanski chuckled deep in his bony chest. He lifted a clawlike finger reprovingly. "So young. So naive. You have many illusions to lose, my boy."
The unexpected explosion of pain in his head was accompanied by a white flash. Sheng found himself sitting in a wooden chair with his hands in front of him, many loops of fishing line around his wrists. There had been no interval of darkness, so he doubted he had been stunned for more than a few seconds. The enhanced healing he enjoyed from ten years on a Tagra tea diet enabled him to bounce back instantly from trauma that would send a normal person into the ICU if not the morgue. The back of his skull throbbed abominably but he could see clearly and think as well as usual.
Seeing Toy Hung staring at him, with the Glock 19 still held in her hand by the barrel, Sheng felt not outrage or dismay but an inexplicable urge to lecture her. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded. "Giving someone a concussion is no joke. It's serious assault. You don't just shake your head and get going like nothing happened. Getting knocked out -- and by a gun butt, no less! That leads to brain damage, coma or death. Look what happens to professional boxers."
"You seem fine," Toy retorted. "Maybe you need another smack or two."
Getting to his feet, Szymanski surveyed his three henchmen critically. "Big muscular brutes like you around, and I have to be protected by a teenage girl. Fine thing. Be that as it may, I suggest you do not try to get free, Mr Sheng. It's known in the badlands that you can become much stronger than normal, but if you try to break that line, you'll cut your wrists to the bone. Stay seated and listen."
"Under the circumstances, sure." Sheng studied his bonds. He could also shift his gralic focus to near invulnerability, but then he wouldn't have the muscle to snap the lines. He was so annoyed at the situation he took it out on the young woman next to him. "Oh, Toy Hung. I'm disappointed in you. Selling out your own father like this!"
"Shut up! You have no idea what you're talking about!"
"But of course, Szymanski has made a career of blackmail and extortion," Sheng continued. "Whatever you did that he's holding over your head, I can't see how it could be that bad that you'd see your father arrested for murder and not speak up."
"You need to be concerned about your own immediate safety," croaked Szymanski. The skeletal face split in a gleeful smile. "I can get a good price for your head. You have some bitter enemies, son."
"Oh, I'm the one who has enemies? That's rich." Sheng grinned back at the mastermind. "No criminal is more despised than a blackmailer. It's a common rule even among law enforcement that victims who murder a blackmailer might find the investigation quietly dropped. You wouldn't be missed if you died unexpectedly, Mr Vulture."
"Don't call me that. I dislike that name. Morgan, take the Hung girl out to one of the cars. She doesn't need to witness what happens next."
The one called Morgan had cocked his bruised head to one side. "Hey, any of you mugs hear something outside?"
As all heads turned, the side door swung outward and slammed shut again, but in that instant a round metal object the size of an orange was thrown inside. Immediately, a dense black cloud exploded to fill the interior of the van. Everyone began gagging and coughing uncontrollably, their eyes pouring tears. "Boss! Boss!" yelled one of them, "It's gas."
Sheng had shot to his feet and swung toward where he knew the door was. A familiar voice yelled in Cantonese, >"This way, you lost little sheep. Hurry."< The Chujiran followed the voice, felt two hands helping him out and dropped heavily to the asphalt as he tumbled outside. His eyesight was returning and his lungs didn't burn as badly as his healing factor kicked in.
>"Here is car door, get in quickly."< Sheng tumbled into the passenger seat with his hands still tied in front of him. To add to his confusion, he heard someone scramble into the back seat behind him, then felt Uncle Pao settle into the driver's side. As his vision came back to normal, he saw they were speeding down fortunately empty streets at a reckless clip. The car swerved around a corner with its rear fishtailing and they whipped through a red light with Pao's blithe assumption that traffic signals were for the timid. The old man did indeed have one of the clear oxygen membranes taut over his nose and mouth, but his eyes were still watering heavily.
Turning in his seat, Sheng found Toy Hung wheezing in the back seat, wiping her eyes with a tissue she had gotten out of a pocket. "Glad to see you came along," he said. "We can go straight to the police to turn you in."
"She was standing next to the van door," explained Uncle Pao. "I thought it best to bring the girl you were supposed to be rescuing, so I took her by the hand."
"That wasn't my hand you grabbed..." she grumbled.
"Sorry, sorry. Hard to see when smoke bomb goes off." Pao didn't sound sorry. "Nephew, I have seen many times where you hide your KDF equipment. The smoke and tear gas bombs, the flash grenades, the silk cord for climbing. I thought it sensible to get you out of that den of low-lifes before you corrupted their morals."
"Thanks again, uncle." Sheng had managed to get a small multi-tool from inside his suit jacket and was tryin to snip through the fishing line around his wrists with his hands still bound. "Head for the 20th Street station. I want Lt Montez to hear this kid's confession."
"You idiots," snapped Toy Hung behind them. "You've ruined everything. I was the last hope my father had of being cleared."
V.
By the time they reached the vicinity of the 20th Street police station, Sheng had freed his hands and instructed Uncle Pao to pull into a side street. Once they were parked, he turned his head around to face the girl in the back seat. "You know what, Miss Hung, first let's see some ID from you."
"My nephew has been fooled more than once by a so-called client who turned out to be one of the gang we were chasing," the old man volunteered.
"Thank you, uncle." Sheng studied the thin wallet with its driver's license, two credit cards and student photo ID. There was also a receipt from a Starbucks from earlier that day, three singles and a TAKE FIVE scratch off ticket. The Starbucks location was close to the college. As he handed the wallet back, the Chujiran said, "If this is a set-up, it's well done. I think you should start explaining the situation."
"I intended to," she said. "Only who has had a chance? Listen, I have six older brothers. All of them are in the medical field, everything from trauma surgeon to X-ray technician. My parents wanted me to be the same and have been shoving me toward a career as an anesthesiologist. But I hate that idea! I want to be a detective like my Pop. I have a knack for it, only he and Mom resist the idea."
"You should honor your parents' wishes," Pao interrupted. "The private investigation trade is uncertain and dangerous. My nephew barely breaks even. Better something secure that will provide you with a healthy bank account and steady employment."
"Ooooh, you sound just like Pop! Forget it. I know what I want in life. So, for the past three months I've been gambling all over Chinatown, not running up a big debt but making my presence known. Naturally I got a few offers to make money in a massage parlor or as drug delivery, and I always said I would think about it. I was waiting to be approached by Szymanski."
>"It is a foolish mouse who builds his nest in a cat's ear,"< offered Uncle Pao, still sitting behind the wheel.
"I'm going to start speaking French if you don't knock it off with the Chinese," Toy Hung said in a tone just below a scream. "Stop it! Anyway, as I was saying to Mr Sheng, I hoped that Szymanski would notice me and sure enough a few of his men took me to meet the old buzzard. He's called Mr Vulture for a good reason."
"You were hoping to stay on the outskirts of Szymanski's activities and gather intelligence on him?" asked Sheng. "Really? Experienced undercover cops get discovered and killed trying that, you know."
"Worth the risk to prove myself. I figure there'd be a new father-daughter agency, Harry and Toy Hung. Anyway. It turned out that Szymanski wanted something specific from me. He knew that Pop had been gathering information on his rackets for quite a while, waiting to build a case that would be sure to make it to court." A sigh escaped her. "Mr Vulture tiptoed around the idea of me stealing the file on him from my father and handing it over to him. In exchange, my gambling debt would be erased and I'd have a snug job as his messenger."
She dug around in a pocket and came up with a pair of oversized round-rimmed glasses, taking so much time doing this that Sheng said, "Well, what happened? Did you give him the notebook or whatever?"
"Please. It was on a flash drive. Pop is old-fashioned but not that much. I did hand it over to Szymanski's men after making a back-up which I hid in my dorm room. That thing is, the file was encrypted. I doubt if Mr Vulture has anyone working for him who could unlock it. And that's why those gorillas abducted me tonight...."
>"Have you forgotten the murder? You remember that Harry has been arrested, don't you?"< interrupted Uncle Pao.
"I told you to stop with the Chinese! That's it, I'm walking. I'll deal with this myself." She started to open her door, but Sheng reached back and placed a hand on her shoulder. For a second, his hand touched under her jacket collar but she didn't notice in the dark.
"No, please stay," he said. "Never mind Uncle Pao. I want to help you. What did you mean, you're the last chance to clear your father?"
"I mean," she said with exaggerated deliberation, "That of COURSE Szymanski framed Pop. If I show him how to open that flash drive, I'll demand he reveal how that man was actually killed and my father will be freed."
The Chujiran shook his head. "I don't think so. Szymanski isn't going to incriminate himself. Even if your father isn't brought to trial, he'll be occupied for a long time with the charges. That will keep him out of the way. And Szymanski does have the file on himself, so he will figure he can find some tech somewhere to unlock it for him."
"Well... I guess..."
"Think about it. Our best approach is for you to visit your father where he's being held and talk to the police. They won't tell you much, but you can read between the lines. Meanwhile, I will stir things up with Szymanski. He's already furious after the way I got you away and left him choking on tear gas, so it won't take much to make him flip out. When masterminds lose their cool, they tend to spill everything about their master plan. It's a well known fact in the crime fighting community."
Toy Hung peered at him through lenses thick enough to start fires if held up to sunlight. "You sound sure of yourself, Mr Sheng. It does seem like a better plan than mine. All right. What's the next step?"
"The precinct where Lt Montez works is around the corner. I was going to turn you in as a person of interest, but now I want you to march in there and demand to know what is going on. Call me when you're done. Uncle Pao and I will be a few blocks further away so we're not seen in the area."
"This car is as inconspicuous as a lightning bolt," Uncle Pao said. "You will notice I spoke in English."
"Yes. Thank you." She opened her door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. "I know your number from when I looked up your FIST FOR HIRE agency. I'll ring you as soon I'm back out."
"We will be a few blocks that way," Sheng said. "Uncle?"
As Pao started the Ferrari up and swung out from the curb without even pretending to check his mirrors, he muttered darkly to himself. Glancing back, Sheng saw Toy Hung remaining where she was, watching. He let the old man drive a bit, then told him to make two rights and circle back to 20th Street.
>"Heh, heh. You are starting to catch on, nephew,"
"Harry used to say that, when on a case, you may expect even the bird in the tree to lie to you."<
"Let's follow them," Sheng said. "She's going to lead us to Szymanski's back-up headquarters."
VI.
After a few blocks, Uncle Pao was forced to relinquish the steering wheel. Sheng insisted on pulling over and trading places.
"I should mention that I have never had an accident," the old man fumed. "Not in this car anyway."
"The way you drive, you're only going to have one accident." Sheng handed over his Link and pointed to the grid map of the city on its screen. Above the center, a green blip blinked rapidly.
"I have used this toy before," Pao said. "So you managed to plant one of your tracers on the girl?"
"Yes. I slipped it under the collar of her jacket in back. How's the signal?"
"Fine. We are crawling in the correct direction. Nephew, how well do you handle disappointment?"
"What, you mean if Harry Hung really is guilty of homicide? I don't like the idea but what can I do other than accept it?"
"No. I ask if you can deal with being wrong. Again."
"Now you're being cryptic for its own sake." He leaned forward as they went through an intersection. "That's funny. We're back in the neighborhood where the murder took place. And there's the apartment building. What is going on?"
Sheng had seldom been more flabbergasted. He pulled over, turned off the engine and got out of his car. A second later, Uncle Pao circled around and gently pressed a finger up under Sheng's jaw to close his mouth.
"There is a danger you may choke on a fly if you stay like that," the old man laughed.
In front of the apartment building was a patrol car and an unmarked Crown Victoria that Lt Montez was leaning back upon as he studied a written statement. Three uniformed officers stood by, one of them holding the Vulture's handcuffed arms in a tight grip. In the flashing of the lightbars on the cruisers, the mastermind seemed suddenly shrunken to be a harmless old man. Down the block, an ambulance pulled away from the curb and drove off with neither its lights not its siren active.
But what stunned Sheng Mo-Yuan into a daze was that Harry Hung stood next to Montez, arms folded, casually reading the documents over the lieutenant's shoulder. Nearby, Toy Hung watched with an unbearably smug grin. None of this was at all what Sheng had expected. His working theory was that he would find Toy conferring with Szymanski and betraying her father.
When he saw the newcomers hesitantly step away from the Ferrari, Hung beamed and clapped his broad palms together. "Ah! So very happy to see you have made it. Please, come over."
Montez glanced up and frowned. "Oh, very well. You can talk to those two troublemakers for a few minutes. I want to circle a few corrections on this before the suspect signs it. Don't wander off."
Shaking hands as if they would never let go, Hung and Pao finally gave in and embraced each other with much clapping on the back.
Toy Hung glanced over at the confused Sheng and said, "Don't expect ME to hug you, buddy."
"Sheng Mo-Yuan. Argent, you are called in the Midnight War, I believe?" asked Harry Hung, stepping over to offer a handshake. "You have my gratitude for risking your life on behalf of my number one daughter. As it happens, she was in no immediate danger but your heart in right place and I thank you."
"Mr Hung, I have to admit I am a little bit lost," Sheng said. "The police are arresting Mr Vulture? The last I knew, they were taking you in on suspicion of murder."
>"Explain in small words, old friend,"< interrupted Uncle Pao. >"My nephew is brave and noble but he is not very intelligent.<"
"Allow this humble one to attempt to bring light into darkness," said Hung in English. "Will leave out details for moment. Man named Adam Wilcox hire me to find who attempted to hit him with car. All a trick. He was shot to death in my apartment while I went out to get documents from car, and police arrive in seconds to find gun clumsily hidden under rug. Much arguing follows. The honorable lieutenant finally agreed to keep me as person of interest so I might work with him rather than sit in cell."
"Pop, will you please speak in complete sentences!" yelled Toy Hung. "You drive me nuts with that broken English."
"So very sorry," Hung said. "English is fourth language. This poor one learned Cantonese, Mandarin, French, then English. How many languages does beloved daughter speak, again?"
"Oh, all right. Never mind." She huffed and tilted her head back to express complete exasperation.
"So then. Evidence found which indicate that Mr Wilcox was not murdered by myself but by a man employed by Symanski... and in fact, Mr Wilcox was also working for said Symanski. Wilcox did not know he was going to be killed in clumsy attempt to frame me. All is made clear when we confronted his so-called Vulture. Gunman confess, his boss have no defense."
"But.. then..." Sheng shook his head and abruptly laughed. "What a relief. Mr Hung, I am so glad you live up to your reputation. But tell me, what was your daughter doing around Mr Vulture then? What was all that about a stolen dossier on a flash drive?"
"Oh my God. You still don't get it," Toy said. "I infiltrated Symanski's gang so I could find out exactly what the scheme was. We knew he was going to either pull a hit on my father or ruin him some other way. When I overheard the assassin get his orders, I managed to plant something on him that would prove he was at my father's apartment tonight."
"Really? Like what?"
"Something on the bottom of his shoes that he tracked into the apartment. I can't tell you more until the trial, you understand. Crucial evidence. By the way, that was the killer leaving in the ambulance. He tried to make a run for it and a cop tackled him with enthusiasm. Broken collarbone."
Sheng chuckled again, mostly because everything seemed to have unexpectedly worked out. He didn't even mind that he had been thinking in the wrong direction the entire case. "I'm so glad. If I had found that my hero Harry Hung had commited murder and might go to prison, I'd lose one of the few illusions I still have left. And I was also getting suspicious of Toy, to be honest."
The famous Chinese detective put an arm across Toy's shoulders and squeezed her affectionately. "She has helped me in small ways before. Most pleased that I decide to allow her to carry out dangerous mission. Excellent work. She is number one daughter."
"Popppp, please!" she complained. "I'm your ONLY daughter."
11/12/2018
10/3/2012
I.
When he heard the slamming of the building's front door two floors below his office, Sheng sat up straighter at his desk. It was eight minutes after two in the morning. Since his Fist For Hire detective agency kept the unorthodox hours of midnight to nine A.M., it was not at all unusual to find unannounced clients turning up at such an hour. But that slamming noise and the rapid clapping of shoes on the staircase alarmed him. At a smaller desk across the single open room, Uncle Pao put down his Sudoku puzzle and raised a quizzical eyebrow. The old man pointed at the office door, which had been left ajar.
Getting to his feet and striding over to that door, Sheng Mo-Yuan was not an intimidating figure at first glance. Five inches over five feet tall but sturdily built, he was wearing his favorite business suit, a dark brown number with a yellow shirt and tan tie. He seemed to be Northern Chinese, but something about his beaked nose and sharp cheekbones brought that into question. Known in the Midnight War as Argent, Sheng's origins in the realm of Chujir were even more exotic than the most remote areas of China could match. He was not armed, relying on his gralic ability to reinforce his body's strength or speed as needed. His decade of Kumundu training under Teacher Chael gave him even more confidence in his capabilities.
Even before he crossed the office, the door crashed inward and a young woman dove through so quickly that she almost fell on her face. In that instant she first appeared, Sheng took in his impressions. Twenty or twenty-one, an inch or two over five feet tall and a bit chunky, with the glossy thick black hair and skin tones of an East Asian. She was dressed casually, white sneakers and tight jeans and a loose maroon sweatshirt under a black windbreaker. As soon as she barged into the office, the woman whirled and swung the door closed to lean back against it.
>"Quite the melodramatic entrance,"< remarked Uncle Pao in Cantonese. The old man had a smirk across his bony face with its thick-lensed glasses and shock of white hair sticking out uncombed. >"Next, she will tell you she is in great danger and only you can help her."<
"Sheng Mo-Yuan?" gasped their visitor. "Please! I'm in real trouble and I feel you're the only one I can turn to!" Seen close-up, she was cute rather than gorgeous, with a round gamin face and snub nose. The eyelid fold was not particularly noticeable and her large clear eyes were a striking hazel.
>"I am always correct,"< said Pao with unbearable smugness as he pretended to return to his puzzle.
"Yes, thank you, Uncle," Sheng replied, keeping to English. "You're safe here, miss. Please, have a seat and tell me what brings you here." The PI gestured toward one of the two plain wooden chairs which faced his desk. With obvious reluctance, the young woman stepped away from the door and gave it an anxious stare until Sheng reached over to snap its lock shut. "Now, come and sit and explain," he urged.
As she took her seat, gazing around the office quickly and meeting Uncle Pao's dubious smile, she said, "Ah, let me start by saying my name is Toy Hung, I'm a student at NYU. You may have heard of my father, he is in the same business as you."
"Hung?" repeated Sheng. "Not Harry Hung? THE Harry Hung?"
"The same. He has worked hard for many years to earn his reputation, I am proud to say." Toy Hung watched Sheng cross around his desk to drop into his own chair facing her. "I didn't think I'd ever see my father in a situation he couldn't handle. Until now."
>"Here it comes,"< scoffed Uncle Pao. >"Nephew, she has opened the trap and is waving the bait under your nose."<
Toy swung around to fix a venomous eye on the old man. "Please don't do that," she said. " I was born in Arizona, I don't speak any Chinese beyond what to order from a menu."
>"Only Americans think they need learn but one language,"< Pao chuckled, but he continued in English, "Excuse me, miss. I am used to speaking real words with my nephew when no one is here. I assure you that we will help you if we can."
"Thank you." She turned her pleading face back toward Sheng. "I know I was followed here. Two big white men. They can't be far behind me. I didn't know where else to turn."
"Really," said Sheng. He rose to his feet, unbuttoned his suit jacket and headed right for the door. "I don't want any confrontations with goons in here if I can avoid it. Clean-ups are too expensive." As he turned the lock and swung the door inward, he glimpsed movement in the hall outside. To his right was a row of three similar frost-glass paned doors belonging to an insurance agency, a computer repair shop and a vacancy. To his left was the wide opening of a wooden staircase with heavy old-fashioned bannisters. Thumping up the stairs, coming into view, were indeed two big white men. Each looked physically qualified to play pro football but the brutal dead-eyed faces revealed their actual trade.
"Told ya she came here," said the first one as he advanced toward the much smaller man who stood quietly in their way. "What other private eye is open this timea night?"
"Awright, kid," the second thug called over to Sheng. "Bring out the chick and we'll be on our way."
Moving toward the two who towered over him, Argent sighed. "No way out of this, I guess. I always have to beat fools like you half dead just to get some information." In the next instant, he drew on the transcendental gralic force to reinforce his body. His bones and muscles and skin became as near to invulnerable as flesh and blood could achieve. Lunging in like a fencer, he blasted a right backhand blow with a fist literally as hard as a block of stone. The goon's jaw slewed around until it was almost dislocated and he dropped to his hands and knees at the agonizing impact. Even as his first opponent fell, Sheng wheeled and was diving at the other one. But he received a rude surprise.
Full into his face came a stinging spray of the most caustic fumes he had ever taken. The stench alone was unbearable, but his vision was lost in a flood of tears and he wheezed desperately for breath. Sheng dropped back, circling his fists in a blind attempt to ward off any attack. He could hear the two men coughing as well.
"The boss said he could turn hard as a marble statue," one of the thugs managed to gasp. "But bear spray don't care if your skin is bulletproof. Come on, Damon."
For the next few seconds, Sheng wiped at his face with no results. His resilience was no protection against that punishing dose he had taken full on. He could hear Toy Hung scream and then Uncle Pao cry out, but by the time he made it to his office by memory of where he had been standing, the two henchmen stomped past him. There were muffled sounds of someone trying to yell with her mouth covered by a meaty paw, and Argent moved toward the noise but was shoved strongly back and lost his balance.
When he got back up, still unable to see and still fighting for breath, Sheng fell two hands pulling on him. >"Come with me, nephew,"< urged Uncle Pao. >"Don't resist me, you fool, come with me."<
Sheng let himself be drawn into his office bathroom, where Uncle Pao held his head under icy water turned up full blast. It helped a little but it was mostly Sheng's enhanced healing from a decade of the Tagra tea that allowed him to recover from the bear repellent. Many people would have died from taking that potent chemical right in the face. As minutes went by, his eyesight turned into a blur and then cleared. He coughed up some phlegm and took a deep steady breath. >"Okay, okay, let me up,<" he asked finally. >"Don't drown me."<
>"Your gratitude is oddly expressed,"< the old man snapped, releasing him.
>"Thank you, Uncle,"< Sheng said. He shook his sopping wet head, water running down his jacket, and straightened up. >"Those men took our client with them?"<
>"Our client? Really? Did I hear a fee being mentioned? Did I hear you agree to take her doubtful case? But be that way, if you will. Yes. They picked her up and carried away wiggling like a fresh-caught fish."<
II.
Toweling his head dry, Sheng went over to his desk and unlocked the deep left-side drawer to take out a long metal case. Its combination lock was a decoy, since the case actually opened when concealed catches were slid away from each other. Here were kept KDF gadgets and weapons which he normally did not carry on him. One of the anesthetic dart pistols sat in its padded interior. Sheng rarely felt the need to bring one of these with him, but now he checked the compression on the gas-powered mechanism and slid a clip of the darts into the gun's butt with a click. He secured the dart gun in a detachable holster which he attached to the rear of his belt where his suit jacket would hide it.
Uncle Pao watched this procedure with his usual disdain. >"You are not bringing the howitzer this time?"<
"Let's stick to English as much as possible," Sheng said. "The practice won't hurt you. Here."
The old man examined what his 'nephew' had handed him, a clear film rectangle that would cover the nose and mouth like a surgeon's mask when the side tabs were pulled over the wearer's ears. "So. One of your so-called oxygen membranes if these weak old eyes are not wrong?"
"Yeah." Sheng tucked two of the devices into the inner breast pocket of his jacket. "They filter out nearly every type of offensive gas, as well as smoke. You can even breathe underwater with one on, although to be honest they never seem to offer a full breath. Still better than drowning if things come to that." Replacing the metal case, he locked the desk drawer and came around to stand next to his partner. "We better get moving, Uncle, we've lost enough time as it is."
Making sure the office was locked and the Trom alarms also installed by Megan Salenger had armed themselves, Sheng led the way across the hall and down the wide staircase to the front foyer. They stepped out onto a quiet lower Canal Street at three in the morning of a worknight. "I managed to snatch a decent parking spot right across the street," he said. "Listen, Uncle Pao, I want you to look up Harry Hung's address while we get in the car."
"What? Am I an oracle? How do you expect me to do that?"
"Seriously. I know you have an Iphone and that you are perfectly able to go on Google with it. For some reason, your monthly bill comes to my office and I've been paying it without saying anything."
Sheng's beloved bright-red Ferrari 458 Italia sat where he had left it two hours earlier. On the driver's sunvisor, small blue and green lights blinked steadily. More Trom-level security alarms. If anyone had done more than lightly brush up against the car, those lights would have turned red and a signal would have been sent to Sheng's Link. Megan had also rigged it so that anyone touching the vehicle longer than ten secondswould receive an electric shock which could be adjusted from a mild static jolt to a blast that would send the person convulsing to the ground; Sheng had considered the legal liabilities of leaving this feature active and normally left it turned off. He spent enough time in court as it was.
As he beeped the doors open, Sheng heard Uncle Pao shout, "I have it! Harry Hung's address. He lives not far from here, nephew. Have you heard of Billings Lane?"
"Yeah, it's down by the Battery. Let's go. Uncle, that pinging noise will not stop unless you put your seat belt on."
"Oh, very well, if I must...." On the way out of the office, the old man had snatched up an oversized red cardigan and he started to wiggle into it after he had already pulled the restraint straps across his sunken chest. His struggles involved unhooking the straps, wrestling the sweater with his arms going in all directions and then getting buckled in again. Quite a bit of questionable language accompanied this. By this time, Sheng had driven ten blocks south and was rolling through a deserted warehouse district. He was used to Uncle Pao managing to wring drama out of simply getting into a car.
As they approached the modest fifteen story apartment building where the renowned Chinese detective was staying, Sheng slowed his car to a crawl and pulled over onto a side street. He had not been expecting this. Three NYPD patrol cars were blocking the entrance to the building. As Argent hopped out from behind the wheel and his Uncle Pao followed, dazzled by the mad flashing of the red and blue lightbars on the cars. Several uniformed officers were escorting a stout man in pajamas and bathrobe, holding his arms behind him. Evidently, handcuffs had not yet been applied.
Under the mad strobing lights, Sheng still recognized the face he had seen in the newspapers more than once. The bland round face under slicked back black hair, the pronounced single eyelid fold, the short two-piece mustache and the tuft of hair under the lower lip... all were exactly as he remembered seeing them in articles about the solving of some grotesque homicide. As Harry Hung peered around unhappily, he spotted Sheng and Pao and suddenly brightened.
>"Pao! Pao, old friend!"< he shouted in Cantonese. >"Look for my daughter Toy. Protect her. She has been pulling feathers from the tail of the vulture!"<
>"What is going on here?"< Uncle Pao yelled back. >"Have the Gwei-lo lost what little sanity they normally possess?"<
Before Hung could answer, his head was pushed down by a cop and he was shoved into the back seat of a patrol car. The doors slammed quickly and the officer gave the two newcomers an openly hostile glare before getting in the front passenger seat. Two of the vehicles pulled away but the third one paused. Stalking toward Sheng and Pao was the obese hulk of Lt Joseph Montez.
"Hey, hey, Montez!" called Sheng as he hurried to meet the man. Over the years, Montez had become an unofficial liaison between the police and the Tel Shai knights. Tonight he seemed angry about something. "Hold it, Argent. Not a word outta you. This isn't Midnight War, it isn't the weirdness you guys handle. Go home. What are you doing out at three in the morning anyway?"
"Aw come on, Lieutenant, give me some slack," Sheng begged. "I know who that was. Why are you arresting him?"
Montez swung around and headed back to the waiting car which had a door open for him. "I've been bending the rules too far and too long for you boys. No more free information you don't need to know." He hesitated as he stuffed himself into the front seat. "Not even on a Murder One rap."
III.
"You know Harry Hung?" asked Sheng at last. "And you never mentioned it?"
"Heh, when he and I were young and handsome, we left a trail of broken hearts all over San Francisco," Uncle Pao said. "Those were golden days...."
Seeing one of the uniformed officers had remained sitting in the remaining cruiser, slowly filling out a report held on a clipboard, Argent strolled nonchalantly closer. The single curious civilian spectator had drifted away by now. Stopping next to the open window of the car, Sheng asked quietly, "What's up with Montez, Dave? He gave me the old brush-off."
"I'm not supposed to be talking to you, Sheng," replied the cop Dave without looking up. "So I can't tell you that Harry Hung has been arrested for killing his current client, guy named Adam Wilcox. The murder weapon is going to forensics now. And I can't tell you that Hung's daughter has been associated with that freak Szymanski. Wish I could help. But I can't even mention that Montez suspects it was Hung's daughter Toy who really killed Wilcox or that Szymanski's playing a long game using Hung as bait."
Seeing his partner approaching along the sidewalk, Dave raised his voice. "Look, I told you to get lost. You heard the lieutenant. Go back to following unfaithful wives into sleazy motels and leave real crimefighting to professionals. Hi, Louie, you ready to roll?"
"Yeah." The other officer opened the passenger door and gave Sheng an unfriendly stare before getting in the car. "Sheng Mo-Yuan, huh? The new DA gave us a sermon about you and that Dire Wolf guy, you know!"
As the cruiser started up and rolled away into the night, Uncle Pao chortled. "You are getting better at passing bribes, nephew. I did not even see you put the money in his hand!"
"I didn't bribe him, Uncle," Sheng replied as if distracted. "Dave is mostly honest. We've helped each other back and forth."
"Ahhhh, when will you learn? Gold is the grease that loosens stiff tongues. Where are we going now?"
"I didn't get a chance to tell them about Toy Hung being abducted," Argent said. "It's on their heads, I was trying to inform them. Now I guess there's no choice but to go ask Szymanski some questions." Back at his Ferrari, the Chujiran beeped open the doors and disarmed security with a signal from his key fob. "I'd also like to run into that guy who dosed me with the damn bear spray...."
"You are not reminiscent of the rose with morning dew on it," agreed Pao as he began his epic struggle with the seat belt. "If this mad chase was not so urgent, a change of clothing might be a good idea."
"No argument on that from me." Sheng backed up a few inches and eased out onto Canal Street after waiting for the first car they had seen roll past. "Finding Szymanski might not be that easy, I only have one or maybe two possible Leakers who would have a clue."
"I don't suppose you stuck one of those little tracing coins on the Hung girl when you had a chance?"
"Afraid not," Sheng admitted. He turned right at the next two corners and starting heading north.
"No, no, that would make things too easy." Uncle Pao made a noise as if about to spit.
"Uh-uh," Argent warned. "You know the rules. No eating in my Ferrari, no drinks and especially no spitting on my leather interior. You can always stay in the office if you'd prefer."
The old man muttered something in Cantonese that was not intelligible. Then, he went on in English, "I knew Harry before you were pulled whimpering from your mother's womb," he said. "In Hawaii, when he was making a name for himself as a detective. Great depth to that man. He did not rely on DNA tests or microscopes or black light. No. Harry knew the human mind, he understood greed and lust and fear, and how most murders are driven by those flaws. I saw him pull confessions from killers who thought they were too clever ever to be found out!"
"Oh,definitely. I've read so much about him." Sheng slowed for a red light, saw no police cars lurking nearby and continued. "When I was living at KDF headquarters. Kenneth Dred had a dozen books mentioning Harry Hung and I devoured them. Did you know someone also wrote a series of mysteries about a fictional version of Hung, including some incidents taken from real murders?"
"Feh! Harry laughed at those books and used to read them out loud to his friends. I thought the writing was clumsy, but then English is a crude language at best."
At 20th Street, Sheng swung over toward Ninth Avenue and found a passable spot a little too close to a NO STANDING sign for comfort. "I might have to ask you to remain here and move my car if a cop goes by," he said, "But please be careful! Fixing a scratch on this beauty costs as much as buying a regular used car."
"Your beloved chariot is in good hands," Uncle Pao chortled. "No police car will ever catch me in a chase."
"That's not what I meant at all." Getting out of the Ferrari, Sheng took a minute to trot up the block and check for any signs of watchers at windows or in cars. He couldn 't spot any. Unclipping his Link from his belt, he called a local number, let it ring three times and hung up, then repeated the process. This was a signal he had long arranged with Fast Willie. He knew that the ratty little messenger always slept with his phone in his T-shirt pocket and woke up at every call. The door to the apartments would be buzzed open by now.
But it was strange that Willie hadn't immediately sent back a few rings before breaking off the call himself. That had always been the procedure between them. Sheng felt alerted by this, so much else was going unexplained this night. He stared up and down the street again, entered the tiny foyer with its rickety stairs and panel of mailboxes on one wall. A single bare lightbulb hung from a cord. The Chujiran placed one foot on the bottom step but had not put his weight down before he abruptly swung around the staircase and seized the man who had been crouched behind it. With one hand clenching the man's shirt, Sheng put his gralic focus into strength and hoisted the man up entirely off the floor before shaking him violently. To his great interest, the process dislodged a gun from somewhere on the man's person and an old-fashion .38 revolver clunked to the floor.
Sheng kicked the gun to one side and slammed his captive up against the mailboxes with enough impact to drive the breath out of him but not breaking any bones. In this enhanced state, Argent was stronger than someone twice his size would be. He got a good look under the naked lightbulb and was disappointed. This was a slightly built thug in his late forties or early fifties, sporting a brush mustache to compensate for a receding hairline.
"Aw, I was hoping you'd be the one with the bear spray," he muttered. "Drat."
"Ease up, ease up, buddy," the man managed to get out. "I can't breathe."
"You're lucky I'm not cracking your rib cage open like candy canes," Sheng answered. Still forcing his prisoner up against the wall with one hand, he patted him down and found no other guns but there was a nasty thin stiletto strapped to the right shin. This was also tossed far out of reach for the moment. "Let's get some answers before I use more pressure," said the Chujiran. "Is Fast Willie still alive?"
"No idea... Jeez, mister, let me take a breath."
"You were going to follow me upstairs in a minute, right? And while I was preoccupied with what I found up there, you'd knife me from behind or dent my cranium with your revolver. I think I might hold a grudge against you for that."
"All right, all right," wheezed the crook. "Lissen, ease up just a bit and I'll sing you a song. Ack. Okay, that's better. Yeah, you've got Szymanski mad at you, Argent. You and that Chinaman Hung. You're not gonna make it till dawn."
"I've heard that song before. Tell you what, give me a location where I can debate Szymanski and show him where he's wrong. That's all I ask."
"Sure. Why not? He'll find you first anyway. He's operating out of a moving van marked PURITAN SERVICES. White job with brown letters. He usually keeps it in some shipping yard down by the Hudson side docks. Now, you might as well let me go, I can't fight you, everyone knows you got some sort of superman powers in your game..."
"Fair enough," Sheng agreed. With his free hand, he dug into his left suit jacket pocket. Although he usually did not carry a KDF dart gun, he found the anesthetic darts themselves often useful. Carefully, he snapped open the flat metal case and tugged a dart loose without getting stuck himself by a extended needle-thin point. Before Szymanski's thug knew what was going to happen, Sheng jabbed him in the side of the neck with that dart. The man felt the puncture and a burning sensation, but only for two seconds before the potent Trom-formulated chemical dazed him beyond awareness. Sheng left the limp form sag to the grimy floor. This guy would be unconscious for a little over an hour and probably not feeling up to any strenuous activity for some time after that.
Well. Despite misgivings, Sheng decided he had to check on Fast Willie. Not that the little weasel was a friend of his. Willie sold information to anyone with cash and he had no loyalty to anything beyond his own skin. Sheng had found the informer useful, but he knew that Willie had also ratted him out a few times. You knew who you were dealing with when you negotiated with Leakers. Leaving the snoring gangster on the floor for the moment, Argent trotted lightly up the creaking stairs which made noise no matter how he placed his weight. Light spilled out from an open to his left as he reached the landing.
Sticking only his head in and immediately jerking it back out of the way got no response. Not even an intake of breath or the rustle of clothing as someone reacted. Sheng peeked into the incredibly cluttered apartment which smelled of stale smoke and unwashed clothes. There was an upraised hand protruding from behind a couch. The Chujiran took one cautious step through the door and saw the rictus of fear on that stiff face with its unseeing eyes rolled up in the bony face. Sheng backed out of the apartment and fought down an unreasonable anger that was stirring in him. Willie had played the game of deceit and misdirection for years with murderous mobsters and with independent maniacs like Szymanski or the Wither Man. The chance of being killed was always present. It simply annoyed Sheng for some reason that it seemed this informer had died as a means to get at him.
Szymanski must have known that Sheng sometimes bought information from Fast Willie, and he had been counting on Sheng coming here tonight. That showed a certainly level of planning. The drugged goon in the foyer must have arrived here to murder Willie and then hide behind the stairs in case Sheng came hoping for answers. It was a precaution that might or might not have paid off but Szymanski had thought the possible benefit was worth a man's life. The Chujiran shook his head at human nature. Bane had warned him that going into investigation work might leave him soured and disgusted with life but it was a chance to help people in desperate need as well.
Before leaving the scene, he went back and dragged the groggy mobster back under the stairwell where at least he was less likely to cause a stir. Sheng studied the wide face with its flattened nose and neck tattoo. Even deeply asleep, the man looked brutal. Going through the goon's pockets, Sheng confiscated the wallet, the phone and the keys, then retrieved the gun and the knife from where he had tossed them. He wasn't sure if either had been used in Fast Willie's murder, so he unloaded the revolver and left it along with the knife near the snoring thug. Might as well provide some evidence against the beast. As a final puckish gesture, he unlaced the man's heavy shoes and took them with him.
Back out on the street, Sheng disposed off the wallet and the keys in a garbabe barrel leaning in an alley mouth three buildings down. The phone got dropped carefully down a sewer grating, and the shoes and socks were discarded in a wet gutter. There. At least this crook would have a hard time contacting his boss or making his way back to report. Sheng's sense of humor manifested itself at the strangest time.
Argent sprinted back the two blocks and was relieved to find his car still sitting where he had left it, with Uncle Pao peacefully sitting in the passenger seat. More than once, he had come back from a few minutes investigation to find the old man either abducted by the enemy or having wandered off on some unlikely purpose.
"Hah! Your face is like a poster, so easy to read," remarked Pao. "You saw something you did not expect or like. Let me guess. Your squealing rat is no longer among the living?"
"You're right," Sheng admitted, his voice suddenly tinged by heaviness. He had strongly disliked Fast Willie and wouldn't have trusted the man to count out change from a dollar. But death was death. It never lost its fundamental impact. "At least I have an idea where to find our mastermind and hopefully Toy Hung." He started up the smooth, scarcely audible engine and pulled out again into the night streets with at least three different conflicting theories about what was going on tonight.
IV.
It was near to three-thirty before they spotted a van that matched the description given Sheng by the late Fast Willie. Next to the loading dock of a brick warehouse that had USED FURNITURE stenciled in block letters across one wall was a white van with PURITAN MOVING painted on its sides with a phone number. Near the van was a pair of identical black SUVs with tinted windows. Going to the end of the block, getting out of line of sight, the Chujiran put his car into park and took a deep breath.
"Uncle Pao," he said at last, "You know I honor and respect you."
"As is only right," answered the old man.
"Yes. Well, here's my plan. I intend to duck between those two buildings on our right and come out into that parking lot on the far side. There's no cover and it's moderately well lit. So I have to ask you for a distraction."
"Certainly," Pao said. "I will knock on the van and ask if they have a bathroom I might use."
"What? No, no, no. Not at all. Seriously, please drive around the block and pull into the lot with your headlights right on the van. Stay there until someone comes out to investigate, then swing around and wait for me back here. And PLEASE do not scratch the finish or create an interesting little ding in a fender."
"Feh. That would give this wagon some badly-needed character." With a grunt of discomfort, Pao edged out of the low seat and came around to the driver side.
Stepping back from the car door, Sheng said, "You know, the other day, a cute little coed from Columbia asked if I needed a secretary. She'd work cheap to get a good reference. I said I would think about it."
"Bah, you would solve even fewer cases without my help," Pao said as he adjusted the driver seat and pulled away. Argent felt his heart sink. He didn't know what was more distressing, the Harry Hung murder case or to see Uncle Pao driving his beloved car. Turning back to the matter at hand, he sprinted up the sidewalk and raced down a narrow alley between two windowless walls. As he emerged at the far end of the parking lot, he stuck his head out in time to see his Ferrari screech into the entrance much faster than was necessary. Next time, he thought, I have to come up with a better plan than letting him drive.
The headlights brightened and a few minutes later, the side panel of the van slid open. A huge bruiser of a man hopped out and started marching stiffly toward the car. He was wearing rough work clothes and the way he keep his right hand in his pants pocket was suggestive. Before the thug could make it to the Ferrari, Pao swung around in a tight loop and roared out of the parking lot with a jaunty toot of the horn. During this time, Sheng had hurtled over to crouch behind the van where he could not be seen.
The thug stood for a few moments, waiting to see if the car would come back. He held up his phone and said, "Probably some drunk, boss. "
"Come back in then," was the answer. Even from where he squatted, Sheng could hear that the voice held a harsh croaking tone. "We haven't heard from Carlton yet. I want you to go check on him."
"Yes, sir." The big man lumbered wearily back to the van as if tired, but then it was getting near four in the morning. He lifted one hand to grab the side of the open door and a fist harder than stone cracked against the back of his head. Sheng seized the dazed man by the back of the belt and by the shirt collar, lifted him bodily up to chest level and threw him hard into the interior. A crash of wood breaking and startled yelling followed as the Chujiran leaped up through the opening.
Here was where ten years of Kumundu training took over. Without conscious thought, he slammed into another thug and instantly drove an elbow against the man's chest with brutal impact, cracking a rib and forcing all the air out of his lungs. Sheng wheeled around, seized the wrist of a third goon to yank that arm out straight and wrench the small 9mm automatic out of the man's grip. Sheng grabbed the gun and whipped it out in a backswing that thumped against the henchman's cheek like a hammer. In less than a second, three hulking professionals were dazed and unable to function. The Chujiran flung the stunned man over to land in a tangle with the other two.
Now he had an instant to take in the interior of the van. He was surprised to see how well it was furnished, with a comfortable bench along one side piled with pillows and folded blankets, a waist high refrigerator and a propane tank-fueled stove, as well an overstuffed easy chair. There was even a three shelf bookcase with a flat screen TV bolted down on it. The three men were stirring in the broken remnants of a folding card table, and he had a few seconds before they could recover. Sitting in a plain wooden chair but getting up now was Toy Hung. She did not seem to have been hurt.
Leaning back in the easy chair was the grotesque form of Emil Szymanski.
The infamous blackmailer had to have passed seventy a year or so earlier. He was thin and bent, visibily hunched over even seated. The bald head was lifted up from where the bent back would have had him staring down at the floor. Szymanski's sharp protruding nose over a receding chin, the shaggy white eyebrows over mean-spirited blue eyes and the bony hands which clenched and unclenched... the origin of Szymanski's common nickname in the underworld of 'Mr Vulture' was obvious.
Stepping over to where he could watch both Szymanski and the reviving thugs, Sheng raised the automatic he had confiscated. Without looking over at her, he asked Toy, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she blurted as she took a step to stand behind his right shoulder. "How did you even find me?"
"Well, you know, private eye..." He was watching the henchmen as they sat up and rubbed their sore heads or chests before getting their wits back. "Watch out, I might have to play tag with these jokers."
Szymanski spoke for the first time in that low rasp. "Sheng Mo-Yuan, known sometimes as Argent. This is a relief. I was worried I might have to deal with Jeremy Bane on this job. He's a real threat."
"Ouch, that hurt." Sheng reached behind him to take Toy Hung by the arm. "Stay put, Szymanski. I'm getting the young lady to safety and we can talk later."
Szymanski chuckled deep in his bony chest. He lifted a clawlike finger reprovingly. "So young. So naive. You have many illusions to lose, my boy."
The unexpected explosion of pain in his head was accompanied by a white flash. Sheng found himself sitting in a wooden chair with his hands in front of him, many loops of fishing line around his wrists. There had been no interval of darkness, so he doubted he had been stunned for more than a few seconds. The enhanced healing he enjoyed from ten years on a Tagra tea diet enabled him to bounce back instantly from trauma that would send a normal person into the ICU if not the morgue. The back of his skull throbbed abominably but he could see clearly and think as well as usual.
Seeing Toy Hung staring at him, with the Glock 19 still held in her hand by the barrel, Sheng felt not outrage or dismay but an inexplicable urge to lecture her. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded. "Giving someone a concussion is no joke. It's serious assault. You don't just shake your head and get going like nothing happened. Getting knocked out -- and by a gun butt, no less! That leads to brain damage, coma or death. Look what happens to professional boxers."
"You seem fine," Toy retorted. "Maybe you need another smack or two."
Getting to his feet, Szymanski surveyed his three henchmen critically. "Big muscular brutes like you around, and I have to be protected by a teenage girl. Fine thing. Be that as it may, I suggest you do not try to get free, Mr Sheng. It's known in the badlands that you can become much stronger than normal, but if you try to break that line, you'll cut your wrists to the bone. Stay seated and listen."
"Under the circumstances, sure." Sheng studied his bonds. He could also shift his gralic focus to near invulnerability, but then he wouldn't have the muscle to snap the lines. He was so annoyed at the situation he took it out on the young woman next to him. "Oh, Toy Hung. I'm disappointed in you. Selling out your own father like this!"
"Shut up! You have no idea what you're talking about!"
"But of course, Szymanski has made a career of blackmail and extortion," Sheng continued. "Whatever you did that he's holding over your head, I can't see how it could be that bad that you'd see your father arrested for murder and not speak up."
"You need to be concerned about your own immediate safety," croaked Szymanski. The skeletal face split in a gleeful smile. "I can get a good price for your head. You have some bitter enemies, son."
"Oh, I'm the one who has enemies? That's rich." Sheng grinned back at the mastermind. "No criminal is more despised than a blackmailer. It's a common rule even among law enforcement that victims who murder a blackmailer might find the investigation quietly dropped. You wouldn't be missed if you died unexpectedly, Mr Vulture."
"Don't call me that. I dislike that name. Morgan, take the Hung girl out to one of the cars. She doesn't need to witness what happens next."
The one called Morgan had cocked his bruised head to one side. "Hey, any of you mugs hear something outside?"
As all heads turned, the side door swung outward and slammed shut again, but in that instant a round metal object the size of an orange was thrown inside. Immediately, a dense black cloud exploded to fill the interior of the van. Everyone began gagging and coughing uncontrollably, their eyes pouring tears. "Boss! Boss!" yelled one of them, "It's gas."
Sheng had shot to his feet and swung toward where he knew the door was. A familiar voice yelled in Cantonese, >"This way, you lost little sheep. Hurry."< The Chujiran followed the voice, felt two hands helping him out and dropped heavily to the asphalt as he tumbled outside. His eyesight was returning and his lungs didn't burn as badly as his healing factor kicked in.
>"Here is car door, get in quickly."< Sheng tumbled into the passenger seat with his hands still tied in front of him. To add to his confusion, he heard someone scramble into the back seat behind him, then felt Uncle Pao settle into the driver's side. As his vision came back to normal, he saw they were speeding down fortunately empty streets at a reckless clip. The car swerved around a corner with its rear fishtailing and they whipped through a red light with Pao's blithe assumption that traffic signals were for the timid. The old man did indeed have one of the clear oxygen membranes taut over his nose and mouth, but his eyes were still watering heavily.
Turning in his seat, Sheng found Toy Hung wheezing in the back seat, wiping her eyes with a tissue she had gotten out of a pocket. "Glad to see you came along," he said. "We can go straight to the police to turn you in."
"She was standing next to the van door," explained Uncle Pao. "I thought it best to bring the girl you were supposed to be rescuing, so I took her by the hand."
"That wasn't my hand you grabbed..." she grumbled.
"Sorry, sorry. Hard to see when smoke bomb goes off." Pao didn't sound sorry. "Nephew, I have seen many times where you hide your KDF equipment. The smoke and tear gas bombs, the flash grenades, the silk cord for climbing. I thought it sensible to get you out of that den of low-lifes before you corrupted their morals."
"Thanks again, uncle." Sheng had managed to get a small multi-tool from inside his suit jacket and was tryin to snip through the fishing line around his wrists with his hands still bound. "Head for the 20th Street station. I want Lt Montez to hear this kid's confession."
"You idiots," snapped Toy Hung behind them. "You've ruined everything. I was the last hope my father had of being cleared."
V.
By the time they reached the vicinity of the 20th Street police station, Sheng had freed his hands and instructed Uncle Pao to pull into a side street. Once they were parked, he turned his head around to face the girl in the back seat. "You know what, Miss Hung, first let's see some ID from you."
"My nephew has been fooled more than once by a so-called client who turned out to be one of the gang we were chasing," the old man volunteered.
"Thank you, uncle." Sheng studied the thin wallet with its driver's license, two credit cards and student photo ID. There was also a receipt from a Starbucks from earlier that day, three singles and a TAKE FIVE scratch off ticket. The Starbucks location was close to the college. As he handed the wallet back, the Chujiran said, "If this is a set-up, it's well done. I think you should start explaining the situation."
"I intended to," she said. "Only who has had a chance? Listen, I have six older brothers. All of them are in the medical field, everything from trauma surgeon to X-ray technician. My parents wanted me to be the same and have been shoving me toward a career as an anesthesiologist. But I hate that idea! I want to be a detective like my Pop. I have a knack for it, only he and Mom resist the idea."
"You should honor your parents' wishes," Pao interrupted. "The private investigation trade is uncertain and dangerous. My nephew barely breaks even. Better something secure that will provide you with a healthy bank account and steady employment."
"Ooooh, you sound just like Pop! Forget it. I know what I want in life. So, for the past three months I've been gambling all over Chinatown, not running up a big debt but making my presence known. Naturally I got a few offers to make money in a massage parlor or as drug delivery, and I always said I would think about it. I was waiting to be approached by Szymanski."
>"It is a foolish mouse who builds his nest in a cat's ear,"< offered Uncle Pao, still sitting behind the wheel.
"I'm going to start speaking French if you don't knock it off with the Chinese," Toy Hung said in a tone just below a scream. "Stop it! Anyway, as I was saying to Mr Sheng, I hoped that Szymanski would notice me and sure enough a few of his men took me to meet the old buzzard. He's called Mr Vulture for a good reason."
"You were hoping to stay on the outskirts of Szymanski's activities and gather intelligence on him?" asked Sheng. "Really? Experienced undercover cops get discovered and killed trying that, you know."
"Worth the risk to prove myself. I figure there'd be a new father-daughter agency, Harry and Toy Hung. Anyway. It turned out that Szymanski wanted something specific from me. He knew that Pop had been gathering information on his rackets for quite a while, waiting to build a case that would be sure to make it to court." A sigh escaped her. "Mr Vulture tiptoed around the idea of me stealing the file on him from my father and handing it over to him. In exchange, my gambling debt would be erased and I'd have a snug job as his messenger."
She dug around in a pocket and came up with a pair of oversized round-rimmed glasses, taking so much time doing this that Sheng said, "Well, what happened? Did you give him the notebook or whatever?"
"Please. It was on a flash drive. Pop is old-fashioned but not that much. I did hand it over to Szymanski's men after making a back-up which I hid in my dorm room. That thing is, the file was encrypted. I doubt if Mr Vulture has anyone working for him who could unlock it. And that's why those gorillas abducted me tonight...."
>"Have you forgotten the murder? You remember that Harry has been arrested, don't you?"< interrupted Uncle Pao.
"I told you to stop with the Chinese! That's it, I'm walking. I'll deal with this myself." She started to open her door, but Sheng reached back and placed a hand on her shoulder. For a second, his hand touched under her jacket collar but she didn't notice in the dark.
"No, please stay," he said. "Never mind Uncle Pao. I want to help you. What did you mean, you're the last chance to clear your father?"
"I mean," she said with exaggerated deliberation, "That of COURSE Szymanski framed Pop. If I show him how to open that flash drive, I'll demand he reveal how that man was actually killed and my father will be freed."
The Chujiran shook his head. "I don't think so. Szymanski isn't going to incriminate himself. Even if your father isn't brought to trial, he'll be occupied for a long time with the charges. That will keep him out of the way. And Szymanski does have the file on himself, so he will figure he can find some tech somewhere to unlock it for him."
"Well... I guess..."
"Think about it. Our best approach is for you to visit your father where he's being held and talk to the police. They won't tell you much, but you can read between the lines. Meanwhile, I will stir things up with Szymanski. He's already furious after the way I got you away and left him choking on tear gas, so it won't take much to make him flip out. When masterminds lose their cool, they tend to spill everything about their master plan. It's a well known fact in the crime fighting community."
Toy Hung peered at him through lenses thick enough to start fires if held up to sunlight. "You sound sure of yourself, Mr Sheng. It does seem like a better plan than mine. All right. What's the next step?"
"The precinct where Lt Montez works is around the corner. I was going to turn you in as a person of interest, but now I want you to march in there and demand to know what is going on. Call me when you're done. Uncle Pao and I will be a few blocks further away so we're not seen in the area."
"This car is as inconspicuous as a lightning bolt," Uncle Pao said. "You will notice I spoke in English."
"Yes. Thank you." She opened her door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. "I know your number from when I looked up your FIST FOR HIRE agency. I'll ring you as soon I'm back out."
"We will be a few blocks that way," Sheng said. "Uncle?"
As Pao started the Ferrari up and swung out from the curb without even pretending to check his mirrors, he muttered darkly to himself. Glancing back, Sheng saw Toy Hung remaining where she was, watching. He let the old man drive a bit, then told him to make two rights and circle back to 20th Street.
>"Heh, heh. You are starting to catch on, nephew,"
"Harry used to say that, when on a case, you may expect even the bird in the tree to lie to you."<
"Let's follow them," Sheng said. "She's going to lead us to Szymanski's back-up headquarters."
VI.
After a few blocks, Uncle Pao was forced to relinquish the steering wheel. Sheng insisted on pulling over and trading places.
"I should mention that I have never had an accident," the old man fumed. "Not in this car anyway."
"The way you drive, you're only going to have one accident." Sheng handed over his Link and pointed to the grid map of the city on its screen. Above the center, a green blip blinked rapidly.
"I have used this toy before," Pao said. "So you managed to plant one of your tracers on the girl?"
"Yes. I slipped it under the collar of her jacket in back. How's the signal?"
"Fine. We are crawling in the correct direction. Nephew, how well do you handle disappointment?"
"What, you mean if Harry Hung really is guilty of homicide? I don't like the idea but what can I do other than accept it?"
"No. I ask if you can deal with being wrong. Again."
"Now you're being cryptic for its own sake." He leaned forward as they went through an intersection. "That's funny. We're back in the neighborhood where the murder took place. And there's the apartment building. What is going on?"
Sheng had seldom been more flabbergasted. He pulled over, turned off the engine and got out of his car. A second later, Uncle Pao circled around and gently pressed a finger up under Sheng's jaw to close his mouth.
"There is a danger you may choke on a fly if you stay like that," the old man laughed.
In front of the apartment building was a patrol car and an unmarked Crown Victoria that Lt Montez was leaning back upon as he studied a written statement. Three uniformed officers stood by, one of them holding the Vulture's handcuffed arms in a tight grip. In the flashing of the lightbars on the cruisers, the mastermind seemed suddenly shrunken to be a harmless old man. Down the block, an ambulance pulled away from the curb and drove off with neither its lights not its siren active.
But what stunned Sheng Mo-Yuan into a daze was that Harry Hung stood next to Montez, arms folded, casually reading the documents over the lieutenant's shoulder. Nearby, Toy Hung watched with an unbearably smug grin. None of this was at all what Sheng had expected. His working theory was that he would find Toy conferring with Szymanski and betraying her father.
When he saw the newcomers hesitantly step away from the Ferrari, Hung beamed and clapped his broad palms together. "Ah! So very happy to see you have made it. Please, come over."
Montez glanced up and frowned. "Oh, very well. You can talk to those two troublemakers for a few minutes. I want to circle a few corrections on this before the suspect signs it. Don't wander off."
Shaking hands as if they would never let go, Hung and Pao finally gave in and embraced each other with much clapping on the back.
Toy Hung glanced over at the confused Sheng and said, "Don't expect ME to hug you, buddy."
"Sheng Mo-Yuan. Argent, you are called in the Midnight War, I believe?" asked Harry Hung, stepping over to offer a handshake. "You have my gratitude for risking your life on behalf of my number one daughter. As it happens, she was in no immediate danger but your heart in right place and I thank you."
"Mr Hung, I have to admit I am a little bit lost," Sheng said. "The police are arresting Mr Vulture? The last I knew, they were taking you in on suspicion of murder."
>"Explain in small words, old friend,"< interrupted Uncle Pao. >"My nephew is brave and noble but he is not very intelligent.<"
"Allow this humble one to attempt to bring light into darkness," said Hung in English. "Will leave out details for moment. Man named Adam Wilcox hire me to find who attempted to hit him with car. All a trick. He was shot to death in my apartment while I went out to get documents from car, and police arrive in seconds to find gun clumsily hidden under rug. Much arguing follows. The honorable lieutenant finally agreed to keep me as person of interest so I might work with him rather than sit in cell."
"Pop, will you please speak in complete sentences!" yelled Toy Hung. "You drive me nuts with that broken English."
"So very sorry," Hung said. "English is fourth language. This poor one learned Cantonese, Mandarin, French, then English. How many languages does beloved daughter speak, again?"
"Oh, all right. Never mind." She huffed and tilted her head back to express complete exasperation.
"So then. Evidence found which indicate that Mr Wilcox was not murdered by myself but by a man employed by Symanski... and in fact, Mr Wilcox was also working for said Symanski. Wilcox did not know he was going to be killed in clumsy attempt to frame me. All is made clear when we confronted his so-called Vulture. Gunman confess, his boss have no defense."
"But.. then..." Sheng shook his head and abruptly laughed. "What a relief. Mr Hung, I am so glad you live up to your reputation. But tell me, what was your daughter doing around Mr Vulture then? What was all that about a stolen dossier on a flash drive?"
"Oh my God. You still don't get it," Toy said. "I infiltrated Symanski's gang so I could find out exactly what the scheme was. We knew he was going to either pull a hit on my father or ruin him some other way. When I overheard the assassin get his orders, I managed to plant something on him that would prove he was at my father's apartment tonight."
"Really? Like what?"
"Something on the bottom of his shoes that he tracked into the apartment. I can't tell you more until the trial, you understand. Crucial evidence. By the way, that was the killer leaving in the ambulance. He tried to make a run for it and a cop tackled him with enthusiasm. Broken collarbone."
Sheng chuckled again, mostly because everything seemed to have unexpectedly worked out. He didn't even mind that he had been thinking in the wrong direction the entire case. "I'm so glad. If I had found that my hero Harry Hung had commited murder and might go to prison, I'd lose one of the few illusions I still have left. And I was also getting suspicious of Toy, to be honest."
The famous Chinese detective put an arm across Toy's shoulders and squeezed her affectionately. "She has helped me in small ways before. Most pleased that I decide to allow her to carry out dangerous mission. Excellent work. She is number one daughter."
"Popppp, please!" she complained. "I'm your ONLY daughter."
11/12/2018