by Brett Baker
He didn’t see her at first, but as she came within ten feet of him she shouted, “Come get me,” and greeted the man with a swift kick in the groin. As he doubled-over in pain, she grabbed him by the ears, pulled his head toward the ground, and lifted her knee, which crushed the bottom of his jaw and sent his head backward with enough force to sever his spinal cord. He yielded to the ground without a sound.
The two other men turned toward Mia as soon as she yelled at Grook, and felt sick to their stomachs as they watched his body languish. But despite their queasiness, they had no choice but to charge at her.
If they expected her to run away or cower at their aggression they were sourly displeased. As the first man reached her she took one step to the side and pushed his shoulders as he passed by, sending him head-first into the gunwale, almost knocking him out.
The second man, running at full speed, received an open-hand chop to the throat so quickly that he felt and heard something pop in his throat before he even realized that Mia hit him. She followed this with a solid jab to his left lung, which knocked the wind from him. As he rolled around on the deck trying to catch his breath, she walked over to Randy.
He appeared unconscious, in the fetal position. Mia knew he wasn’t dead, but she also knew that too many more blows from the feet of the two intruders might have done the job.
“Randy, can you hear me?” she asked, as she fell to one knee. She rolled him onto his back, and used her knuckles to rub his sternum. He writhed, coughed twice, and opened his eyes.
“Cut it the fuck out,” he said. “That shit hurts. I’m not fucking dead. Leave me alone.”
“You’re an asshole, Randy,” Mia said.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Randy said. “Good fucking luck. I know everything. Like not to do a sternal rub on some poor sap who’s just trying to lay low so he doesn’t get his ass kicked. Where the fuck have you been anyway? I could have used some goddamn help.”
“Don’t go anywhere, Randy,” Mia said, as she stood up.
“Damn, I was just going to go for a swim.”
Mia smiled at Randy’s ability to joke despite the severity of the situation. She looked starboard toward the other two men, both of whom were getting to their feet.
She walked portside and retrieved the life preserver that Randy and his crewmates had used to save her life. As she approached the man with the wind knocked out of him, she wrapped the preserver’s rope around both of her hands.
She had neutralized the man’s height advantage by taking away his ability to breathe, thus knocking him to the ground, so she had no problem getting the rope over his head and around his neck. He grabbed her hands and tried to pry them off of the rope for a few seconds, before trying to walk away from her, dragging her on his back. Mia pulled her weight back, getting her feet back on the floor, and then in one violent jerk she fell to the ground, pulling the large man on top of her, his back to her chest, and kept enormous tension on the rope until she felt his struggle cease.
After she rolled the man from on top of her, she stood and walked over to the other man who lie half-conscious on the deck, having knocked his head into the gunwale to stop his momentum. Mia stood next to the man’s head, and placed one foot on his throat. He barely moved as she lifted her other foot from the deck, exerting all of her force onto his windpipe. His legs kicked a couple of times and his mouth gaped open, but with an already-damaged brain, he could offer no better resistance.
She returned to Randy, who hadn’t moved. “Are you still alive?” she asked.
“You tell me,” he said. “Either I’m alive or heaven’s a fucking disappointment.”
“You’re alive,” Mia said. “Just like me.”
“I had those guys right were I wanted them. Another couple minutes and I would have had them. You should have just left me alone.”
“I know you didn’t need my help, but I just couldn’t resist. Sorry to ruin all of your fun.”
“It’s all right, I guess,” Randy said. “Just don’t let it happen again.” Mia exhorted a half-chuckle, half-sigh, which was the best she could offer.
“I’m tired,” she said. “Don’t try anything.” She lay down on her back next to Randy on the deck, using her arms as a pillow.
“I’ll be good. I’m pretty tired, too.”
The two of them lay next to each other without saying a word. Thirty seconds later they were both asleep, oblivious to the carnage around them.
7
Chapter 7
Wenzao Pan met Buster just after the American arrived in Quanzhou. Wenzao made a living providing scenic, informative tours of the city. He’d come to Quanzhou late in his teens from a remote village in Fujian province. Named after one of the first Catholic bishops in China, Wenzao had lived a charmed life as the center of attention in his family. But his father’s death plunged the family into financial ruin, and Wenzao headed to Quanzhou partly with plans to strike it rich so he could support his family, and partly to escape the chaotic mess his life had become.
The years he spent leading tourists around the city and the countryside had made him very familiar with the geography, and the citizenry. When Buster began selling plantains to tourists, Wenzao helped filter large groups toward his stand. With a financial incentive from Buster, Wenzao also convinced local officials not to apply pressure to the American who so injected himself into Quanzhou society.
As Buster’s business dealings grew in size and import, Wenzao always made sure to remind him of the vital role he played during the early days of Buster’s life in Quanzhou, hoping that Buster would give him a cut of the action. Unfortunately for Wenzao, his close relationships in Quanzhou meant that Buster would never view him as big time. He’d always think of Wenzao as someone who’d mastered the city, but had too many connections and restraints to succeed on a bigger stage. The two men had many conversations during which Wenzao pleaded his case, but it always fell on deaf ears.
But when Li collapsed and died in Buster’s brand new conference room, Wenzao’s luck changed. Despite needing Wenzao’s assistance and connections over the years, Buster always had the upper hand in the relationship. Buster implied that if Wenzao didn’t want to help him, Buster could find someone else who did want to help. And Wenzao always saw a confident capability in Buster that made him believe in his inevitable success.
So no matter what happened, and no matter how much Buster relied on Wenzao, their relationship never changed.
Until now.
Buster had no choice but to call Wenzao for help. With Li dead on his conference room floor, and splatters, streams, and pools of blood throughout the room, Buster couldn’t hide what had happened. Less than twelve hours later the place would be vibrating with action as dozens of people scurried about, making calls, setting up meetings, closing deals. People moved in and out of the conference room throughout the day. They wouldn’t just overlook the gruesome remnants of Buster’s encounter.
Following his initial hysteria upon realizing that he’d killed Li, Buster sat in his chair at the head of the table and tried to figure out what to do next. Even in his mind’s dense fog Buster realized that he had to do three things if he wished to avoid spending the rest of his life in a Chinese prison camp.
He had to dispose of Li’s body. He had to cleanup the mess in the conference room. And he had to concoct a feasible explanation for Li’s disappearance.
Li might have told anyone about his plans to meet with Buster, and, if so, when he went missing, Buster would be the first suspect. He couldn’t afford to be interviewed regarding Li’s disappearance. He’d kept clean throughout his time in China, and with such big plans on the horizon he didn’t want to change that.
He used his cell phone to dial Wenzao, who answered on the third ring, but sounded half-asleep.
“Yes?” he said in flawless English, which he’d perfected from a young age at his father’s insistence.
“Wenzao, this is Buster. If you’re not busy can you come
down here? I really need your help.”
“What? What time is it?”
Buster looked at his watch. “Almost nine-thirty. A few minutes before. Are you sleeping?” Buster was annoyed, but he continued talking without giving Wenzao time to answer. “I need you to come down to Chinchew.”
“Working late tonight?” Wenzao asked.
“Yeah, sort of. This is very important. I need you here as soon as possible. And it’s going to be a long night.”
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain right now. Just come over here.”
“Buster, I can’t come over there. I’ve got two important meetings in the morning. Some investors from Thailand want to discuss the sea cruises. They think it sounds like a money maker and if I can sell them on my vision I think they’re ready to invest.”
“Fuck them,” Buster said. “Whatever they’re offering you, I’ve got something bigger for you.”
“What is it?” Wenzao asked. “You need to tell me or I’m not coming.”
“If you’re not coming then I’ll just call someone else. But this is a one-time thing, Wenzao. Either you do it now and you become wealthy sometime soon, or you pass and you spend the rest of your life kicking yourself. The choice is yours.”
Buster tried to hide his desperation. He knew that he couldn’t call anyone else to help him with Li. No one he knew could match Wenzao’s connections, knowledge of the city, and resourcefulness.
“I’ll be right there,” Wenzao said.
Buster could sense the defeat in his voice.
8
Chapter 8
Thirty minutes later the elevator dinged and buzzed and Wenzao stepped off. Buster sat in an overstuffed leather chair just off to the side, and called out, “Thanks for coming down here.” He walked over to Wenzao, shook his hand, patted him on the back, and looked back into the elevator, checking to see if he’d been followed.
Buster led him toward the conference room, but stopped ten feet short of the door. He stood between Wenzao and the entrance, stared into the man’s eyes, smiled, and said, “We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we?”
Wenzao nodded.
“You were the first person to help me. Most of my success is thanks to the lessons you’ve taught me. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have sold a single plantain. And without your guidance I wouldn’t have the growth I’ve had. Chinchew wouldn’t exist.”
Wenzao couldn’t believe Buster’s words. He’d often thought all of the things that Buster was saying, but he never expected to hear Buster say them. He decided to remain quiet and let Buster talk.
“In all the years you’ve known me, do you agree that I’ve been honest? That I haven’t broken any laws?”
Although Buster had created inventive ways to challenge business statutes, and often done things that rubbed people the wrong way, Wenzao agreed that Buster wasn’t a criminal. He might have bent the law on a regular basis, but he never broke it.
“And I mean well, right? I don’t want to screw anyone out of anything. I don’t want to cause trouble for anyone.”
Wenzao wasn’t as sure about that, but kept his doubts to himself. Instead he simply nodded.
Buster turned around and looked into the conference room, then back at Wenzao. “We’re going to go in here, and I need you to be cool about this. It’s a situation. Let me explain, and tell you what we need to do, and then tell you what I can do for you. Do you think you can handle that?”
Wenzao stood on his toes and looked over Buster’s shoulder, into the conference room. Li remained right where he landed, on the floor on the other side of the table, but Buster had turned off the lights so Wenzao couldn’t see Li’s body or the bloody residual.
“What is this?” Wenzao asked.
Buster brought his index finger up to his lips to shush Wenzao. “Not now. Come inside, take a look around, and we’ll talk then. I can’t explain it. I mean, I can explain it. I will explain it. But after you see it. If I try to explain it you’re not going to understand. You have to see it, and then I’ll make sense of it for you.”
Wenzao scowled at Buster and felt unsure about entering the room. He’d become used to Buster’s evasive manner, but he was being especially difficult, even by Buster’s standards.
Still, Buster’s promise of opportunity, and his own curiosity regarding the conference room, left Wenzao with no choice but to agree.
“Thank you,” Buster said, grabbing Wenzao by the shoulders. “Let’s go.”
He spun around, opened the door, and flipped on the lights. Wenzao wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at, so he stepped cautiously and tried to scan the room. He half-expected someone to startle him from behind. When he didn’t understand where he should look, Buster motioned for him to follow and led him around the far end of the table.
When they reached the other side Buster stepped toward the exterior wall of glass overlooking the river, leaving an unobstructed view of the carnage.
Wenzao gasped and covered his mouth. He didn’t move though, which pleased Buster. He’d hoped that Wenzao wouldn’t freak and run off when he saw Li and the carnage. Buster knew that if he had the chance to explain things to Wenzao he could get him on his side.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Buster said.
Wenzao looked at him, still covering his mouth, and then back at Li.
“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s not what it looks like. He came here, we had a discussion, and then he wanted to leave. I still wanted to talk though, so I got between him and the door, and I don’t know if he felt threatened or what, but something snapped. He became violent, and attacked me. He threw me into that bar cart over there, and came at me. I’ll never forget the look in his eye. He looked demonic. Out of control. I tried to fight him off, but he just kept coming. And then he wrapped his hands around my throat. He intended to kill me. My vision started to fade, and I could feel myself slipping. So I used the only thing I could grab, a broken bottle. I swung it at him, caught him in the throat. That’s it. More blood than I’ve ever seen in my life. It just kept coming. He let go of my throat, and then just collapsed.”
Wenzao’s eyes grew big, and he kept looking back-and-forth from Buster to Li. He saw the broken cart on the far wall, and the murderous jagged brandy bottle that sat on the table.
“The panic in his eyes after I hit him. When he was bleeding, his hand covered in blood and he knew that the injury was serious, maybe fatal. The absolute panic in his eyes, and the way he looked at me. I’ll never forget it. Those eyes will haunt me until my dying day.”
Buster felt himself begin to well up, and looked away from Wenzao, out through the window onto the river below. “I didn’t want to kill him. Even when he was trying to kill me, I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted him to stop. I would have done anything to make him stop. The bottle was all I had though. He wouldn’t stop. No matter what I did, he wouldn’t stop. So I used the bottle.” He turned back toward Wenzao, gestured toward Li’s body. “And that’s what happened.”
Wenzao took three steps back and Buster thought he might take off, but instead he pulled a chair out from beneath the table and sat down. He leaned forward in the chair, rested his forehead in his hands, and stared at the ground.
“And you need me to get you out of it,” Wenzao said, understanding his involvement in the situation. “You need me to help you get away with murder.”
“I hadn’t thought of it quite like that,” Buster said, “but, yes, I guess that is what I need.”
“It doesn’t matter if you hadn’t thought of it like that. That’s what you need. You killed a man, and you’re not brave enough to deal with the consequences, so you’d rather avoid them.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Buster asked. “Would anyone kill a person and then fess up so they can go to prison?”
“Perhaps. Someone who didn’t mean to murder. Someone upset about killing another person. What you’re saying is, ‘I didn’t
mean to do it, but I didn’t not mean to do it enough to take responsibility for doing so.”
“Fine. You’re right. Maybe I should take responsibility for it. But what good would that do? His life is gone. I can’t do anything about that. I’m sorry. I wish it didn’t happen. But why ruin my life, too?”
“Always looking out for number one, aren’t you Buster? Fuck everyone else. Love ‘em if you can, kill ‘em if you have to, but whatever happens, don’t forget who’s really important.”
Buster could feel Wenzao slipping away. His voice grew angrier with each word he spoke, and Buster imagined him running from the room and going to the police. Buster looked at the broken brandy bottle on the conference table, and tried to guess whether he could subdue Wenzao. He thought not. Wenzao had too much experience on the streets. He’d never spoken of fighting ability before, but Buster expected that Wenzao could hold his own.
He regretted calling Wenzao.
“This guy had a family, Buster. He’s not someone you can just dispose of and never think about again. You can’t just do whatever you please. We’re not all here just to serve Buster Dodge.”
Buster walked toward Wenzao and said, “I’m not saying that you’re here to serve me. It’s just that…”
Wenzao held up his hand, and Buster stopped speaking. The two men stared at each other for ten seconds before Wenzao smiled.
“I’m just fucking with you, Buster.” He smacked the table and stood up. “I just wanted to see you squirm.”
“Holy fucking shit,” Buster said, as he pulled out a chair. He collapsed into the chair and sprawled out. He felt like he’d just survived a twelve-round boxing match. “You’re an asshole, Wenzao. You have to know that, right? You’re a complete asshole.”
“Watch it, Buster. This asshole is saving your ass.”
“Okay, okay. So what do we do?”
Wenzao stood up, walked over to Li, and looked down at him. “It’s not rocket science. You want people to see this body? You want people to see all of this blood? Of course not. So you need to get rid of the body and you have to replace the carpet.”