Point Blank (Sisterhood Book 26) (12 page)

“Sounds like a dozen or more,” Dennis said.

“Four would be my guess. I read somewhere, or possibly I saw it in a movie, but I think the triads send out groups of four. They take no prisoners.” Dennis shivered at Yoko’s ominous tone.

“Yes, that’s how it works. They’re well trained, and they work in sync. I love to gamble and go to Macau at least once a month. Want to place a wager, anyone?”

“On what?” Jack asked.

“Them. Us. Who takes who out. There’s always a winner and a loser. I have never been a loser. Well, once when the Abbot picked Jun Yu over Harry and me. But right now, that doesn’t count. Oh, one last thing. These guys fight to the death. That’s what taking no prisoners means. You all need to know that.”

Jack looked at his watch when another earth-thundering blow hit the double doors. Two and a half minutes to go. He rolled his neck on his shoulders in an effort to loosen his cramped muscles. While he wasn’t loose as a goose, he nonetheless felt confident that he could hold his own and not let Harry and Dishbang Deshi down. He sighed. Why did life always have to get so complicated?

“One more good hit and the doors will cave in,” Dishbang Deshi said as he held his hands up, his fingers moving like pistons. Jack knew those stiff fingers could kill if they hit the right targets.

“I think we should all sit in a circle and pretend we’re meditating. That will throw them off for a few seconds, just enough time for us to spring up in surprise,” Dennis said as he flopped down and assumed the lotus position.

“Good thinking, kid,” Harry said as he dropped to the floor, Yoko at his side. Dishbang Deshi did likewise. Jack was the last to drop, his eyes never leaving the heavy metal doors, which were slowly caving in.

“Does he shave yet?” Dishbang Deshi hissed in Harry’s ear.

“Once a month,” Harry hissed in return.

Dennis heard the question and laughed. “Actually, it’s twice a month these days.”

BOOM!
The hinges on the heavy metal doors gave way and the doors sagged. Four men, all dressed in loose black clothing, advanced into the room. Dennis was right—for the barest seconds, the scary-looking men stood rooted to the floor as they stared at the small circle of people.

“On the count of three, guys,” Harry whispered.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

 

T
he moment the five Americans heard Harry hiss
three,
their legs were spring-loaded pistons, and they were airborne, arms windmilling in all directions, leaving the four black-clad figures spinning in shock and dismay. It was over in less than five minutes. It took an additional two minutes to use up the rest of the duct tape Snowden had used on the first group of thugs and left behind.

“Good job!” Dishbang Deshi said as he eyed the four bound men. He watched as Yoko searched their baggy pants for cell phones.

“Burners,” she announced. “These look just like the others, one number programmed in. My first thought is these phones were used to call the first guys. I guess that when they didn’t report in, this group knew something was up. What’s next?”

Jack was already on the phone with Snowden, telling him he needed to return to the showroom to pick up another delivery. He held the phone away from his ear so the others could appreciate the man’s rich vocabulary. “He said if nothing goes wrong, he should be here in thirty minutes.”

Dennis found himself giggling and didn’t know why. It rubbed off on Yoko, who also started to giggle. Harry glared at both of them until Yoko flipped him the bird.

“We need to get out of here, and we need to do it quickly,” Dishbang Deshi said. “Timing is everything with these goons. The first string will be within striking distance. Your friend driving my truck might not be so lucky this time around. Let’s take another crack at the one with the pigtail. He looks to me like he knows something. Just a gut feeling, Harry.”

Yoko held up her hands and said, “Allow me to do the interrogation, my dutiful husband. Unless you think you can do it better.”

Harry wasn’t going there. He simply stepped back and watched his petite wife hitch up her white knee socks, scuff her ballet slippers on the carpet, then adjust the wire-rim glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Does he have a name, my dutiful husband?” Yoko singsonged.

“Um . . . he said it was Shen, but they all said their name was Shen. Obviously, they’re all lying.”

“Do you think any of them understand English? This one in particular?” she asked.

“Not sure.”

“It doesn’t really matter. I think I can get my point across in English. It’s all in the expression, in the eyes, the flare of the nostril. Stand back. Allow me to proceed,” Yoko said in the same lilting tone.

The others watched, mesmerized, as Yoko made her way over to the man Harry and Dishbang Deshi thought might be the ringleader. She dropped to her knees and studied the man for a full minute before she removed her wire-rim glasses. She made a slow-motion production of prying off the cap that cushioned the back of the ear and was left with a slender, sharp wire in her hand. Slowly and deliberately, she leaned over and whispered, “I am going to stick this wire in your right ear until it comes out your left ear.” She gave a brief demonstration. “Then I am going to shove it up your nose and wiggle it around inside your brain.” She tickled the end of the man’s nose to demonstrate what the wire could do. He recoiled in fear, his eyes wild as he started to jabber hysterically in Chinese.

“If that doesn’t kill you, I will stick it in each eye, and after that, it will go into your . . . penis. That is, if you haven’t bled out by then.” The wire moved in all directions, the man’s eyes filling with tears. “Just so you know, the pain will be unbearable.” To make her point, she dug her clenched fist into the man’s groin. “That was a love tap.” The man howled in pain.

“What’s she saying?” Dennis demanded. “She’s just trying to scare him, right?”

“Trust me, kid, you do
not
want to know. The reason you don’t want to know is, she will do everything she’s telling him she’ll do. From the look on his face, the guy knows it, too. Just watch and . . .
learn
.”

Dennis wasn’t sure he wanted to learn, so he squeezed his eyes shut.

The man thrashed about as he tried to move his head as far away from Yoko as he could get. “See, my wonderful husband, he does understand English. How astute of you and your friend to figure out he is the one. I say that only because he looks so stupid.

“Speak!” Yoko shrieked.

“I know nothing. I follow orders. I know nothing.”

Yoko looked up at Harry with an adoring look. “What is the Chinese word for bullshit, my wonderful husband? When you say it to him, say it forcefully, to make sure he understands.”

Harry barked out the appropriate word in Chinese.

“Then tell us everything you
don’t
know,” Yoko said. She put the wire right up to his ear. The man tried to pull away, but Yoko held his shoulder to the floor with amazing strength. The man stared up at Harry, his eyes pleading for mercy as he tried to struggle free to no avail.

In Chinese, Harry warned the man that his little lotus flower had no patience and loved the sight of blood. The man started to babble. When he wound down, spittle oozing out of the corners of his mouth, Harry said, “What he said is all the English he knows. I think he’s telling the truth,” he said in disgust.

“He’s lying,” Yoko said. “I can see it in his eyes. I changed my mind, I’m going to start at the bottom and work my way to the top. Tell him that in Chinese, Harry.”

Harry laughed out loud when the bound man rolled over onto his stomach. “So much for my insight. I was wrong and you were right, my precious flower petal.”

“Pull his pants down, Harry.” Harry happily obliged, but he had to keep his foot on the man’s back to hold him in place.

Yoko crept closer. “This is going to
really
hurt!” She wiggled the wire to make her point. Her arm was raised and then lowered to plunge the wire into its target when with a Herculean effort the man rolled away from under Harry’s foot, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I know nothing. Maybe one little bit. Not much. I hear . . . maybe something.”

“What?” Jack exploded.

“Fix my pants. Not good exposed. Is cold here. Not like you look.”

“It’s cold here because of the silk, you weasel,” Dishbang Deshi bellowed at the top of his lungs.

“I like the view. Makes me laugh. See me laugh, ha-ha,” Yoko said.

“Oh, jeez,” Dennis muttered.

Dishbang Deshi’s face was a study in confusion.

Harry turned away so his earsplitting grin with Jack couldn’t be seen by the bound, half-naked man.

“What time is it?” the man asked.

“What difference does it matter? You aren’t going anywhere,” Dishbang Deshi said.

“More men come if I no call. I miss call. They kill me and you and all in room. You see. Soon they come.”

“Yeah, right! Them and what army? We took you guys without breaking a sweat,” Dennis said bravely, his eyes now open wide so he wouldn’t miss anything.

“The bastard is stalling us. I know a stall when I see one,” Jack said as he craned his neck to listen to any strange sounds that might be coming from the loading dock. “Dishbang Deshi, turn off the lights! Let’s not make it easy on them. If that jerk is telling the truth, no sense giving them an edge. Snowden can find his way in the dark.”

The room turned dark, only a faint yellowish light coming through the loading dock’s open doors. Then a bright light appeared. It was Dishbang Deshi’s delivery truck, being driven by Snowden and his people.

“We need to go in the truck, too. Your man can drop us off away from here. We can make our own way back to your hotel. They won’t bother us there. Hurry!” Dishbang Deshi said.

“What about these doors? Won’t someone rob you?” Dennis asked.

“Without a doubt. It is only silk. My life, your lives, are more important than bolts of silk. Hurry! The phones. Who has the phones?”

“I do,” Yoko chirped. “Oooh, one is ringing now.”

“Don’t answer it,” Harry bellowed.

“Bring the duct tape!” Jack ordered. “These guys might try screaming. At this hour of the night, that is not what we need.” Dennis picked up the tape and slid his hand through the opening to wear it like a bracelet.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Dishbang Deshi shouted as the last man was dumped into the back of the van. He stood watch until all the others were safely inside before he climbed in and pulled the doors shut. “Go!”

The big truck trundled out of the narrow alley and onto a congested thoroughfare.

“We’re going to be a target. My shop does not make night deliveries, so we have to get rid of this truck as soon as possible. Go straight, make the next two rights, then a left, go maybe half a mile, and let us out. Then go wherever you plan on going and ditch this truck. Slash the tires, pull out the battery if you have time, and be sure to take the keys.”

“You got all that, Snowden?” Jack bellowed.

“I got it! I got it! Like the countess says, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been here in Hong Kong so many times, I’ve lost count. I got it! We’ll meet for breakfast, so put my order in for coffee, bacon, and eggs. I do not do tea. None of us do tea.”

“Okay. Okay. I got it, too.”

The big truck ground to a stop. Pedestrians scurried to get out of the way, and the five Americans and Dishbang Deshi exited through the back of the truck. The big truck lumbered off.

“Follow me, people. We’re going to a pastry shop for tea and rice cakes. Just a normal stop before heading to the hotel. Try to look . . . like tourists. I will pretend to be your guide. Harry and I will speak Chinese. Just keep quiet and smile. Be sure to drink the tea and eat the cakes. If you don’t, it will raise suspicion. Eyes are everywhere just waiting to report something to someone for a few yen.”

Within minutes, the small group of six was seated at a round table. The shop was crowded, even at this late hour, with customers eating rice cakes and drinking tea or slurping noodle soup. It was a noisy crowd, all speaking Chinese. Harry more or less paired off with Dishbang Deshi, while Jack and Dennis sat next to each other. Yoko sat in the middle, still pretending to be a child. Her glasses, minus one arm, were still perched on her nose.

While Harry and Dishbang Deshi jabbered away in Chinese, Dennis leaned closer to Jack and whispered, “She wouldn’t have . . . you know . . .
done that
, would she, Jack?”

Jack smiled as he bit into one of the sticky rice cakes sitting in front of him. “That and more, and she wouldn’t have missed a beat, kid. All those women march to a different drummer. I thought you knew and accepted that.”

“I did, I do, it’s just that it was so real, so in my face. Hearing about things like that and actually seeing it going down is something else. I’m not being a wimp here.”

“Yeah, you are, kid. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Let me ask you this, Dennis. Let’s say Yoko faltered, tripped . . . whatever, and she dropped the wire, and the rest of us were preoccupied, could you have picked up that wire and did what Yoko intended?”

Dennis thought about the question for a moment. To lie or not to lie. “Probably not,” he said honestly.

A grin split Jack’s face. “Me either, kid. I would have just smashed his nose up into his brain. Women just have a different take on . . . what works and what doesn’t. And they’ve been at it longer than we have. In short, they don’t mess around.”

“I get it,” Dennis said, gulping at the tea in his tiny cup. “What do you think Harry and that guy Dishbang Deshi are talking about?”

“No clue, kid.”

What Dishbang Deshi and Harry were talking about had nothing to do with their present circumstances. While the conversation was the news of the day, their ever-watchful expressions were not.

“Everyone in Hong Kong is talking about the Brit who worked for the Bank of America who was arrested today in Wan Chai for a double murder. It’s where you go for a special kind of nightlife.” Dishbang Deshi lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just listen, Harry, that’s all the people are talking about. We need to do and act like them, or we’ll come under suspicion.”

“I don’t give a good rat’s ass about some dumb-ass banker getting arrested. So that means you’ll have to do the talking, and I’ll ask questions,” Harry said.

“The guy was twenty-nine, a British banker. They found one body stuffed in a suitcase and left on his balcony. The other one was inside the apartment.”

“Prostitutes?” Harry asked.

“According to the press and TV coverage, yes. The truth is, Hong Kong has a very low murder rate. The last big one was one of your Merrill Lynch bankers who was clubbed to death in 2003 by his wife, who drugged him beforehand by serving him a milkshake full of sleeping pills. Since he was one of yours, Harry, I thought you might remember.” Dishbang Deshi lowered his voice and hissed. “Look like you’re interested and say something, for hell’s sake. People are watching us. And they’re listening.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, the milkshake murder. It had a big run back in the States at the time. What’s the Brit’s name? Anyone you know, Dishbang Deshi?”

“No, but I use that bank here. The guy supposedly liked the high and good life. At twenty-nine, that’s all guys think about around here. The British consulate is involved but not saying much. He was what you Americans call a mover and a shaker. He worked at Barclays. Attended Cambridge—Peterhouse, the oldest college—and was president of the Cambridge University History Society. Prior to Cambridge, he went to Winchester College, one of Britain’s most famous and oldest public schools. He was also a cross-country runner and rower.

“You, of course, know what Facebook is, eh? He made a post that said, ‘Money does buy happiness,’ and twenty-nine is the perfect age.”

“And I need to know all this crap, why?”

“You aren’t listening to a thing I say, Harry. I told you to tune in the other patrons here and listen. Mr. Rurik George Caton Jutting is the sole topic of conversation. When in Rome . . .”