Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella)

by Ty Hutchinson

  Thumbing through the DVD covers, I realized there were two types of movies the Chinese liked to watch. Movies that took place back in the sword-wielding days of 450 A.D. or a modern Hong Kong police drama. I picked up a sleeve with a picture of five men on the cover. They were all dressed in black suits. Three of them were holding large knives, more like swords actually. One had a sawed off shotgun and the last an aluminum bat. Were these Triad gang members? Probably. I bought the video for homework. But what I really needed was to find a Triad member to survey, so I could get an idea of how they operated.

  I left the video store and crossed the street and made my way into one of the alleyways. What was once lined with opium dens in the early 1900s and off-limits to Caucasians is now the best way to get around. With mostly Chinese and only a few lost tourists, there was none of the stop-and-go tourist traffic found on the main drag.

  This particular alley was filled with the familiar sounds of the illegal, yet booming, mahjong parlors. The rumble of the tiles being swished around on tables vibrated my eardrum. Always in earshot, never in eyesight.

  Every once in a while, one of the many metal doors that lined the alley would open and someone with a cigarette dangling from their mouth would exit.

  I slowed my pace down, listening to tiles crash into each other and wondering what I would need to do to gain entrance into one of these illegal parlors. Suddenly one of those nondescript metal doors flew open and an old man exited. I couldn’t believe my luck. I froze like a statue as I peered inside the room. It was surprisingly plain. For some reason I thought it would be dark with indirect lighting on red furniture.

  The tables I saw were cheap and round. Each had five people sitting around it chattering as they sipped hot tea. A couple of women walked around the tables refreshing drinks and replacing snacks. A man toward the rear of the room was busy counting a stack of money. I stretched my neck further, but one of the workers noticed me looking inside and shut the door.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon combing all of Chinatown for the Triads. If the gang really existed, they were doing a good job of staying out of sight.

  After a few hours of crutching around, I decided to call it quits. My efforts to spot a Triad member were coming up short. No surprise there. Plus my arms were killing me.

  Chapter 21

  It was nearly six o’clock when I arrived at Mr. Fu’s. I peered inside and saw Mr. Fu handling his wok in the back while one of the girls on staff ran a tray of food up the steps.

  Both of them looked crazed, so I slipped in quietly and sat on the same bucket from the night before. I figured Mr. Fu would get to me when he had chance.

  I waited for two minutes before clearing my throat. Mr. Fu turned around and pointed to a knife on a counter. I sensed he wanted me to do some sort of work but I felt lazy. I played dumb and shrugged my shoulders.

  “Knife,” he said. “Cut vegetables.”

  Confused, I asked, “Why?”

  He said, “You scratch me on back. I scratch you on back.”

  I rolled my eyes thinking this was some Fat Sal bullshit but then I remembered why I was here in the first place: the killer idea. Plus it was only vegetables. The knife he gave me was actually a heavy cleaver––solid metal with a wooden handle. I let out a loud sigh and got on with it.

  About an hour into my chopfest, my hand began to cramp. I wouldn’t be surprised if my right thumb gave me the middle finger. To add insult, I wasn’t even getting paid to do this. Plus there wasn’t any music to listen too, only the clanking of kitchenware.

  Whatever. Tonight I would make Mr. Fu tell me everything. I planned on working the old man like an old Soviet interrogator. Vee have vays of making you talk.

  I stopped and dropped the knife. “The veggies are done. Can we talk now?”

  “Only seven o’clock, many orders to make. Later. You wash dishes.”

  It became apparent Mr. Fu was going to work me all night in exchange for the information. Fine. Make sure your lips are loose, pal.

  It was nearing nine thirty when things finally slowed. I washed the equivalent of Mt. Fuji in dishes and I was pretty sure I filled a bazillion takeout boxes.

  After wiping down the counters, I sat near Mr. Fu.

  “I’m beat. You got a lot from me tonight,” I said wiping sweat off my forehead.

  He scooped chop suey into a bowl and handed it to me with a grunt. I was starved and started shoveling food into my mouth. Mr. Fu also fixed himself a bowl.

  “Good?”

  All I could manage was, “Uh-huh.”

  Mr. Fu filled up a metal teapot from one of the large industrial urns and poured us each a scalding cup of tea that was completely undrinkable, at least for fifteen minutes.

  We ate in silence, the way men do. No need for conversation. It wasn’t long before we were both swirling toothpicks in our mouths. Mr. Fu cleared his throat.

  “I live in Hong Kong, Kowloon part. Poor family. No money for anything, only food.”

  I listened quietly. This was what I wanted, what I hoped for. Full disclosure.

  “One day I meet another boy––Lim. He has nice clothes, a new bike, and sweets in his pocket. All the kids at the playground very impressed. Nobody had money.”

  I nodded.

  “So I ask Lim where he get money. He tell me he has good-paying job and he can get me one, too.

  “Did you want one?”

  “Yes. All the kids did. He said only me come with him. Other kids too young.”

  “Were you scared? I mean you didn’t know this kid.”

  “No. I wanted bike. He took me to the Tsim Sha Tsui district. Back then it was bad part of town. Lots of thieves.”

  “Were you scared then?”

  “No, I wanted the bike. He took me into a restaurant. Only see five men sitting around a table. Lots of laughing and drinking.”

  “Were they Triads?”

  Mr. Fu nodded with a grunt. His eyes were closed slightly. I could see he was digging into a past he wanted to forget.

  “Did they give you a job? What happened?”

  “The boy Lim talked to one of the men. I don’t know what he say. The man, he ask if I want to make money.”

  “You said yes?”

  Mr. Fu nodded. “I say I do anything for money. Then he whisper something to Lim. When he done, Lim tells me we leave now.”

  “Where did you guys go?”

  “When we get outside, another boy join us, I don’t remember name. We walk down the street to a dim sum shop. Lim say wait outside and open your eyes. I don’t know what he mean, so I ask. He say to shut up.”

  Clearly Mr. Fu was the lookout and some crazy shit was about to go down.

  “Then I hear yelling inside shop. I peek inside. Lim and other boy are yelling at the man. They keep asking about money.”

  Mr. Fu was no longer looking at me. He was playing with the tiny bit of scruff on his chin. He was lost in the past. His eyes locked onto the kitchen floor.

  “Why didn’t you leave?”

  “I keep thinking about the bike.”

  “And?”

  “I look back. Lim is holding knife. He’s yelling for the money and then…”

  Mr. Fu ran his finger across his neck and stuck his tongue out.

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  “Nothing, I scared. The man run out of the shop holding his neck and fall down next to me. Blood everywhere.”

  I was speechless. Mr. Fu placed his head in both of his hands. Like a little boy he sat there quietly, his breathing elevated. One minute he was a grumpy old man, the next minute he was a big mess of chop suey.

  “It’s not like it’s your fault Mr. Fu.”

  Mr. Fu sneered. “You think you know?”

  “Well, did the man die?”

  Mr. Fu nodded and then stood up. He took both our empty bowls and rinsed them out in the sink. I wondered if he was saving the dishwashing soap for a special occasion.

  “What about the oth
er two boys? They’re just as guilty as you. What happened to them?”

  Mr. Fu didn’t answer me right away opting instead to empty out the teapot. He held it above the sink and let the still steaming liquid drain out of the spout.

  “Lim take all the money from the shop. When he come out he give me HK$5. Tell me come back if I want more.”

  And I bet you kept going back, didn’t you?

  Chapter 22

  The Voice watched the two as they chatted. They couldn’t leave each other alone, like Siamese twins they were. One day Darby was a customer, the next day a confidant?

  Whatever was going on between them, The Voice liked it. All these years it listened to Mr. Fu like an obedient son. Doing what it was told. Playing nice. Clearly it wasn’t going to happen anymore.

  “I’m back,” The Voice snickered.

  So was the fog. Thick like a milkshake, it slogged through Chinatown. Visibility was poor. Sounds were muffled. The Voice liked this. Together we can accomplish a lot.

  Watching Darby leave the restaurant, The Voice realized he had him to thank for his impending comeback. He would not be a victim yet. Darby would be allowed to live a little longer––allowed to watch and see what he was responsible for. Congratulations, Darby. San Francisco will live in fear because of you. Stupid little man.

  It had been a long time since The Voice had allowed his emotions room to breathe, but once he did there was no holding back. The cravings were strong––like an alcoholic to the bottle, like an addict to the pipe, like a killer to his weapon. The Voice felt alive, overjoyed. Who to kill first? Who to take off the street? Someone had to go. Someone had to be the first, the one to warm up on.

  The Voice wandered through Chinatown. With a new lease on life, it looked at every passing person as an opportunity––like a jolly kid in a candy shop.

  Hey, fat woman shopping for gifts, how about you? Would you like to be first? The Voice took such pleasure in this impromptu shopping spree. No, wait… Across the street. You there, standing next to the street sign, the one handing out menus––care to die?

  What luck, The Voice thought. The poor little woman had run out of menus and was heading back to the restaurant.

  The Voice moved in like a fox, a ninja fox. It was close on her tail as she walked toward the door. Keeping in step, blending with the crowd, The Voice was proud of its instinctive tracking. Even after all these years, nothing was lost.

  The tiny woman stopped for a second, as if she had sensed someone walking closely behind in step.

  Yes, turn around. Do you sense me? Turn around. Make this a challenge.

  But that wasn’t the case. The silly old woman reached down and scratched her calf.

  Ah, you old whore, how stupid you are. Don’t you realize a killer is shadowing you? I’m right here. Turn around. Face me. Face death.

  Then the old woman stepped into a nearby alleyway.

  I don’t recommend that. Attention, Chinatown: Never, ever walk into an alley when I am behind you.

  Fumbling around in her pants pocket, the old woman took out a bunch of used tissue and headed toward a dumpster. The Voice thought to take a second to look around but decided there was no need. Witnesses or not, The Voice was committed. Turn around. I want to see your eyes. Refresh my memory of what terror is like.

  The woman tossed the tissues into dumpster and did an about-face. Her brown eyes met those of The Voice for a brief moment. She started to smile and apologize for the near collision. If only she knew this traffic jam was meant to happen. The Voice held the knife up in plain sight causing her eyes to widen from fear.

  Yes, that’s what I was looking for. Thank you.

  In one single move, the voice stepped to the side of her as it brought the knife around. The blade cut deeply across her neck nearly severing the head. Her body fell back, along side the dumpster.

  The Voice never missed a step and continued down the alley. It still had what it took. No hesitation. No mistakes. No survivors. The Voice was back and it wanted more.

  Chapter 23

  My nightly chats with Mr. Fu proved to be well worth the labor I had to offer up in return. The more Mr. Fu opened up about his Triad past, the more I began to think my plan to target crime organizations was viable.

  I looked over my cubicle wall and scanned the floor. Business as usual at Teleco. Sales reps were busy chatting up potential clients. Dry cleaners, restaurants, liquor stores––they were all fair game. Every business could use some sort of wireless solution for their problems. Keep at it, wannabes.

  Even though I was still on crutches, I felt empowered.

  My fellow brothers, I will be leaving you all soon. I’m well on my way to heavy-hitter land where accounts are bountiful and awash with money. No, no, please hold your applause, my fellow minions. I want each and every one of you to know we will still be friends. We’ll say hi in the hallways and mention we should grab a beer after work and not mean it.

  “Who are you talking to?” said Tav after entering our cozy workspace.

  “Huh? I wasn’t talking.”

  “You were moving your lips like you were talking.”

  “Nah, I was just looking around.”

  “Were you talking to yourself?”

  “Nope.”

  “You sure? ’Cause it looked like you mouth was moving and you were talking.”

  “Since when does moving your lips convey talking?”

  “Since forever.”

  “All right, maybe I was strategizing.”

  Tav plopped down in his chair. He was halfway through a breakfast sandwich while he talked and chewed and swallowed.

  “So you’re still serious about this Get Organized plot thingy?”

  “Dead serious.”

  “You wanna bite?” he said as he shoved the sandwich in my face. The smell of fried egg yolk made me nauseous.

  “No.”

  “I was hoping you would say no.”

  I moved a bit closer to Tav and lowered my voice, “I’ll tell you one thing I’ve got figured out. I need to get a credible case study out of my first client. It’ll help me sell the others.”

  Tav swallowed hard. “Okay I’mma break this down for you,” he said as held up one hand and started counting with a single thumb, “one, you need to find a gang––”

  “A pathetic one. It’ll be easier,” I quickly said.

  Tav raised an eyebrow. I had just raised the difficulty level of my plan in his eyes.

  “Okay…one, you need to find a pathetic Triad gang willing to play ball. Second, you need to make them successful. And third, they need to agree to let you document all of their criminal activities so you can have a case study to show around. Does that sum stuff up for you?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Sum what up?” said Harold Epstein.

  I looked up and saw Harold peeking over the wall, purposely. Shit, I wasn’t sure how much of this stuff he had heard. This was typical Harold behavior. He’s been known to spend entire days trying to listen in on the floor.

  “You frightened us, Harold,” I said. “We didn’t smell you coming.”

  “Keep running your mouth,” he said as he walked around to the entrance of our cubicle. “We’ll see who’s laughing in the end.” Harold snipped his two fingers together like a scissor and made a clicking sound in his mouth.

  I looked over at Tav while I pointed to Harold, “I think he’s offering us a haircut.”

  And then Tav, always the moderator, piped up, “Look, Harold, we’ve got some work to do so if you don’t mind….”

  “Work? Ha. This guy could work his ass off for the next six months and he’ll still get the boot.”

  “That’s what you think?” I said.

  “Whatever you two idiots are planning, it ain’t gonna work.” Harold looked at me intensely for a moment then slowly backed away as he did the ever-popular cliché of pointing at his eyes and then at me while mouthing the words, “I’m watching you.”
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  Lame.

  Chapter 24

  I love that Google images occasionally slips you unexpected porn. It was nearly four and I had spent the entire day surfing the Internet for information about the Triads. I had already built a folder with over thirty bookmarks. Not bad for one day’s work. Also the History Channel did a series on various gangs in the U.S., Triads included. So I downloaded the episode from iTunes.

  “You know IT monitors the sites you visit,” Tav said behind my back.

  “Come on,” I said brushing off his warning. “They don’t do that.”

  “I’m not kidding. Remember Jerry Sanchez? Fat guy who worked in receivables?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, apparently they had a huge file on him. Been collecting stuff for years. Crazy shit, like bomb making, suicide machines, even trannies.”

  “What? Jerry? No way. Harold had it in for him ever since Jerry accused him of stealing lunches from the fridge on the second floor. He was embarrassed and wanted revenge.”

  Tav flashed me his sly grin. “Exactly. Harold told IT to pay extra attention to Jerry, finally got him KO’d on a file.”

  Tav stood up and slipped his bag over his shoulder. “I’d be careful, Darb. I gotta jump––got my book club meeting tonight.”

  I wondered if what Tav said was true. Could be. I mean I wouldn’t put anything past Harold. If he wanted someone out, he usually found a way.

  Just to be sure, I emailed myself all the bookmarks then erased them and cleared my history and cache. Better safe than sorry. From now on I’d have to do my research from home. It was a good excuse to replace the PC at home with a proper laptop. A Mac.

  On the way over to Mr. Fu’s, I got to thinking about how comfortable he had become with discussing his past. He never questioned why I was interested in the gang. I thought it was strange. Maybe he had grown to trust me. Or maybe he wanted me to know.