Jade Dragon (Action Girl Thrillers)

by A. D. Phillips

  The mysterious woman had first approached him two months ago. In the dead of night, the assassin sneaked into his private cabin, and held a sword against his throat. Randall didn’t know this until water dripped from her chin onto his face, stirring him from his sleep. It was dark, and the intruder was wearing a black wetsuit and tinted goggles, but Randall knew she was a girl from the shape of her body.

  “Good morning, Randall,” she said. “I’m Suzanne. You don’t know me, but I have a business proposal you’ll be interested in. I suggest you pay close attention. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  The woman’s voice seemed familiar, though Randall had been involved with so many girls he could be mistaken.

  “You don’t mind if I dry my sword, do you?” she asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

  The woman rubbed the flat of her blade against Randall’s neck. She had only to flick her wrist, and he’d bleed to death in his bed, but it was obvious she hadn’t come to kill him. Not yet.

  Randall cautiously opened the negotiations. “I presume you’ve kept me alive because you have a favor to ask.”

  The scuba girl twisted her blade so its sharp edge cut into Randall’s skin. He felt blood trickle across his neck, but kept his eyes focused on the woman’s face.

  “A favor to demand,” she hissed. “I need certain tools from you. An untraceable handgun, silencer, and enough plastic explosives to reduce a car to scrap metal. Before you play innocent, I know you have contacts in the arms trade, men who owe you their lives and freedom. As you owe yours to me. Agree to help, and I’ll leave your body in one piece.”

  Randall nodded, careful not to slit his throat on the woman’s sword. “I know a supplier, but he won’t be cheap.”

  For some reason, the girl found that amusing. “You’ll get your money back,” she promised, suppressing a chuckle. “With interest. You can trust me, Randall. We’re partners now.”

  “Trust you?”

  Randall considered himself an expert at analyzing people he didn’t know. The woman had kept her facial expressions hidden behind a mask, but her words implied they both had something to gain from whatever she was planning. Randall wanted to know what.

  While he wasn’t in a courtroom, the current situation wasn’t dissimilar to cross examining a witness. It was all about making the right arguments. “Holding a knife to someone’s throat doesn’t exactly encourage trust,” Randall said. “And if you and I are to be partners, our arrangement should be beneficial to both of us. You strike me as being smart, capable, someone prepared to dirty her hands. You selected me for a reason. My guess is that you intend to eliminate one of my many enemies. If I said no to your… request, then you’d kill me. But not before you shared this information on the off chance it might compel me to cooperate. Am I right?”

  Randall kept a straight face, giving nothing away. He listened to the woman exhale, trying to tell if her breathing was steady. For ten long seconds, the girl said nothing. Then she lifted her sword from his throat.

  “You’re even smarter than I’d hoped,” she said. “We do have a common interest, a certain Japanese businessman with a mansion in Pacific Heights.”

  “Very well. We have a deal.” Randall replied without hesitation.

  If this girl was serious, he had everything to gain from Toshigi’s death. He felt no guilt. His associate would have made the deal in his position. Randall offered to shake his partner’s hand, but the girl kept both of hers on her sword hilt.

  “All I need now is the name and contact details for your supplier,” she said.

  That was how their partnership started. To distance himself from the messy affair, Randall referred the woman to a former client with connections to the Russian mafia. She could be involved with terrorists, and Randall didn’t want government agents following a trail back to him.

  Two days later, police discovered the supplier’s body at the marina docks. Someone had put three bullets in his head, and sprayed graffiti on his car windscreen. The assassination bore all the signs of a gangland hit, but Randall knew his partner had staged the arms dealer’s death to cover her tracks. His suspicions were verified when he received a package in the mail. It was the cash Randall had given the woman to purchase the weapons. A note was clipped to a stack of bills: Your money back, as promised. We’re in this together now. Suzanne.

  Going to the police would reveal his involvement, so Randall decided to record all future phone conversations he had with the assassin. He also kept records in his safe, insurance to protect him from a similar fate. Eight weeks after their first meeting, Randall’s documentation was still full of holes, but at least now he had a name to work from: Lenora Knight.

  Randall finished his brandy, and tuned into the late night news. Lenora had struck again. This time her victim was Hannah Davies, a Dragonsoft employee who Randall remembered fondly from his private parties. She’d attended many of his social events, both during and after her time at the company. Randall’s friends had enjoyed Hannah’s striptease dances, but she would entertain them no more.

  Lenora had every reason to hate Toshigi and Nicole, but Hannah had never done anything to hurt her. The killer was tying up loose ends, which meant Randall was on her hit list too. It was risky contacting her, but he’d much rather go to prison than suffer like Toshigi, Rebecca or Hannah. After Lenora was caught, he could always buy his way out of trouble or make a plea bargain with the police.

  Randall dialed his partner’s number, and left a message on her answering machine. “Hello, Jade, or should that be Lenora? You know who this is. Things are getting out of control. This was supposed to be a one off deal, but now you’re turning it into a personal bloodbath. Before you consider putting me to the sword, you should be aware I’ve made contingency arrangements. I have no desire to make enemies with you, Ms Knight. You’ve done me a favor, and I’m very grateful, but try anything and you will regret your decision.”

  Randall switched off his cellphone, and prayed his warning would be enough.

  ***

  Paradise Grove was anything but. The ugly, graffiti smeared apartment complex was located in the Tenderloin district, an area of San Francisco with no parks, gardens or even trees. Union Square and City Hall were both less than five blocks away, but very few tourists ventured into this region, especially after sunset. Recent urban renewal projects had done little to alleviate the poor living standards faced by local residents. Homeless tramps begged for spare change outside takeaways and cheap hotels, while those lucky enough to have a place to live were trapped in a vicious cycle of poverty.

  Jade parked down a side street, and chained her motorcycle to a drainpipe. Vehicle theft was rife in this part of town, and she didn’t feel like becoming a victim. A street gang loitered on the front steps of Paradise Grove, smoking cannabis in public. There were five thugs altogether, a mixture of skinheads and Mohawk cuts. Only one bothered Jade: a dark tanned guy wearing a studded leather jacket and bandana.

  “Where you goin’ dude?” he asked, grabbing Jade’s shoulder.

  Because of her powerful build and height, Mister Bandana had mistaken Jade for a man. She opted to keep her gender secret. There wasn’t a single woman in the gang, and she didn’t need extra attention.

  “Personal business,” she replied in a deep voice. “Somebody messed with the wrong people in Japantown. No need for you to interfere, unless you wish to get involved.” A quick flash of her katana discouraged the kid from pursuing the matter any further. Jade kept the sword sheathed in a scabbard on her back in case of unexpected trouble.

  Mister Bandana got the message. Not wishing to add his name to a Yakuza hit list, he patted Jade on the shoulder and backed off. “Hey, man. You don’t have a problem with us, we don’t got a problem with you. Everything’s chill.”

  The killer swung open an iron barred gate, and entered the lobby. Maintenance was low on the manager’s priority list. Everywhere Jade looked, paint peeled off walls and flies buzzed ar
ound lamp stands. The plants above the front door were withered and bone dry, the vending machines busted, and both restrooms displayed dirty Out of Order signs. The manager was asleep in his chair, snoring away without a care in the world. He was a blond haired, bearded man with a bloated belly and puncture marks all the way down his forearm. Looking into a trashcan behind his desk, Jade saw scores of empty vials and syringes. The manager was a heroin addict, which made it easy to check his records.

  Tracking down Hannah had been straightforward enough. Lady Cleopatra was the star attraction at The Exotic Pearl. Her topless body appeared in every single nightclub guide, men’s magazine and adult classified section. Iris was somewhat harder to find. She was married and no longer used her maiden name. It took four phone calls to her relatives before a careless uncle gave Jade the information she wanted: the name of Iris’ spouse, Roger Vega.

  Jade pushed a half-eaten, moldy chicken sandwich off the manager’s register and looked up Roger’s name. After memorizing the apartment number, the killer restored everything back to the way it was, and took the stairs to the third floor. The entrance to unit 362 was at the end of a long hallway sprayed with amateur artwork. Fluorescent gang signatures brightened up nondescript doors and windows, but none of the residents were brave or stupid enough to remove them. Despite wearing two layers of clothing, Jade had to walk quickly to keep warm. The radiators installed along the corridor were rusted heaps of junk. Many of the water pipes had burst, revealing lime scale that had accumulated over decades.

  Jade checked she was alone, and broke down the Vegas’ front door. A single kick shattered the locking mechanism. With a wood splitting crack, the door swung inwards and jammed on a safety chain. Jade reached through the gap and unhooked the bolt. She gained entry to the apartment before Roger even got off his sofa.

  The resident couch potato was a greasy haired, six-foot tall, overweight lout in a replica American football jersey. Jade had interrupted his favorite sports talk show, and now he was out for blood. Roger marched towards Jade, rolling up his sleeves. Either the strongman hadn’t noticed her katana, he wasn’t afraid of intruders, or he was too stupid to consider the consequences of confronting an armed assailant head on.

  “Whoever you are,” he roared, “I’m going to rip you apart.”

  Not worried by his tough talk, Jade back-heeled the door closed, and removed her helmet. The sight of her long, blonde hair stunned Roger into silence. Clearly he wasn’t used to picking on women his own size.

  “But I’m just a girl,” Jade said, raising her hands. “Hardly a fair fight, is it?”

  The killer struck Roger’s neck, flicking her wrist to maximize the impact. He reeled back, clutching his crushed windpipe. Jade stalked her prey without mercy, executing several spinning kicks to his face. Roger punched back in self-defense, but his telegraphed, clumsy swings were easy to block.

  “I’m not some wimpy housewife you can muscle around,” Jade told him. “How does it feel to be a victim for a change?”

  Roger was horribly out of shape, and soon wore himself out. Jade dodged a feeble kick, and poked the sweating man in the eye. He blinked and slumped against the wall, exhausted. Jade kicked Roger in the neck, lifting her foot high while balancing on her other leg. She forced the man’s head back, digging her boot in so hard he couldn’t breathe.

  Jade smiled, watching Roger squirm. “What happened to the tough guy? Your television’s so loud. No wonder the neighbors can’t hear us. Even if they could, they’re too scared to call the cops. Nobody’s coming to help you.”

  Roger grabbed Jade’s ankle and attempted to twist it, but his hands slipped on her leggings. He wiggled his body, a puny effort to escape the chokehold.

  “Which is good,” Jade said, “because Iris will be back shortly. She and I have some things to catch up on, and I don’t need any distractions. Girl talk. It doesn’t concern you.”

  Jade increased the tension in her leg. She applied so much force Roger’s neck snapped in two. The dead man’s knuckles thumped into the wall, and his knees caved in under the weight of his lifeless body. Jade released him, tossing back her hair as he slid to the ground.

  The busted lock rattled as someone outside turned a key. Iris, being the dumb fool she was, pushed open the apartment door instead of fleeing in the opposite direction. The world may have changed since the Cyber Maidens broke up, but Iris was still the same stupid, purple haired, gothic punk who didn’t know when to quit. Marriage to an uncaring husband had taught her nothing. Jade doubted she had a single good idea in her pea-brained head.

  The wimpy girl dropped her grocery bag, and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Roger!” she gasped.

  Iris backed into the hallway, trying to make sense of what she saw: the broken lock, her murdered husband, the blonde woman in black leather.

  “You can thank me later,” said Jade, drawing her tranquillizer pistol. She allowed Iris time to turn and run before shooting a sedative tipped dart into her ankle.

  Iris fell on her stomach. She scraped the floor with her fingernails in a pathetic attempt to crawl to safety. Jade put away her gun, grabbed Iris’ legs, and pulled the frail girl back into the apartment. The killer closed the door, and wedged a chair underneath the handle. She had a private interview to conduct with Miss Vega, and it was time to get started.

  “You know, it’s remarkably easy to turn common household items into effective tools of torture,” Jade shouted, rummaging through the kitchen cupboards. It was a small, one bedroom apartment with little storage space, and she soon found something useable. “Bleach can be a very effective poison. You can ask Hannah when you see her in the lava fields of hell. It won’t be long before the Cyber Maidens are all together again. Well, at least the three incompetent ones will be.”

  Jade switched off the apartment lights and television, leaving Iris in the dark. The girl’s breathing rate increased. Jade let Iris sweat it out before shining an electric torch in her eyes. She turned Iris on her side, pinned the girl’s arms behind her back, and bound her wrists in thick, gray duct tape. The killer made three revolutions, and sliced the reel with her katana. Iris never stopped screaming the whole time.

  “You’re not much of a heroine, are you?” Jade said mockingly, wrapping duct tape around Iris’ ankles. “I thought the legendary Eve Niagra of Girl Superspy fame was supposed to be a clever and resourceful woman.”

  “Who are… you?” groaned Iris. Her eyes blinked as the sedative took effect.

  Jade silenced Iris by placing tape over her mouth, and shone the beam on her own face. “Hello, Iris. Remember me now? Having trouble keeping your eyes open? Perhaps a little pain might help.”

  The killer unsheathed her katana and traced its tip around the girl’s eyes. Iris stared at the gleaming blade, unable to stop watching its path. Jade lifted the sword high then plunged down, skewering her victim’s chest. The blow was intended to maim, not kill. Blood spilled from under Iris’ jacket. The puny woman’s groans were muffled by the duct tape.

  “Did that hurt?” Jade asked, wiping her blade clean. “Let’s fix you up.”

  The killer walked into the kitchen, path traced by her torch beam. Iris rolled sideways and tried to free her limbs. Inadvertently she put weight on her wound, leading to more groans and muffled cries for help. Jade switched on a stove burner, and heated her katana in the flame until its tip glowed red. The killer rejoined her captive, holding the hot end so close the sweat on Iris’ forehead evaporated. Jade placed the sword on the wound to seal it. She laughed, ignoring the girl’s subdued wails as blood boiled around the blade.

  “But then, Eve wasn’t the greatest of games characters,” said Jade, watching Iris writhe in agony. “I let you develop your own project, and what happens? The biggest sales flop in Dragonsoft history. You should have used my ideas, like the other Cyber Maidens. I was the brain behind every success the company ever had. I’m the reason their games topped the charts for weeks on end. And who gets all the credit?
Toshigi, and people like you.”

  Jade lifted Iris’ shirt to expose her chest, and branded the initials E.N. into her skin. Iris almost blacked out from the pain, but Jade spread her eyelids apart, forcing her victim to soldier on.

  “Surely you didn’t think I was going to write it with a felt tip pen? It has to look authentic. A secret agent with initials branded on her chest. What kind of stupid design idea is that? Oh yes, that was one of yours.”

  Jade cooled her katana in the kitchen sink, and returned with a roll of cellophane. “A dumb character, a boring title, and a terrible designer. No wonder the game bombed. Well, the world won’t have to suffer through another one of Iris’ mind numbing adventures. Good night.”

  Jade peeled off a sheet of film and pressed it down on Iris’ face, staring into her eyes. The plastic closed around her victim’s skin, forming a clear mask. Iris shook her arms and legs, squirming as she suffocated. Her nose ring cut her cheek, and blood spread over the inside of the cellophane. Iris’ violent convulsions became weaker by the second. Jade didn’t stop smiling until the girl’s air supply ran out.

  ***

  Lakeysia saw flashing lights as she approached the ghetto otherwise known as Paradise Grove. To her relief, the patrol cops had heeded her instructions and remained in their vehicles. Lieutenant Thorne pulled up alongside her, adding to the substantial police presence. The detectives and their backup were the only people on the street. Local gang members had fled, not too keen on having a shootout with four armed officers.

  “Listen up,” Thorne addressed his team. “You’ve all been briefed. The suspect we’re hunting, Lenora Knight a.k.a. Jade Dragon, is to be considered armed, dangerous, and queen psycho bitch of the universe. This girl likes collecting feathers in her cap, especially those of the S.F.P.D. blue variety. So if you make a positive I.D. on the target, you have my permission to shoot on sight. I’ll vouch for you and take any flak we get from the Captain about procedure. I’d rather have to explain why we killed a suspect than why she killed one of us.”