by Matt Elam
“Tang! Don’t move!” I ordered.
Tang continued to poke around for the shell.
I stepped forward with my left leg and flung my blade toward Tang’s hip area.
Clang. Tang’s man batted it down with the side of his gun.
Crack. Donald took his shot and the bullet went cleanly through the man’s shoulder.
The man let out a loud baritone whimper.
I moved in. Behind me, I heard Donald yell: “I’m out!”
“Don’t let him get to me,” hissed Tang, to his man.
The man widened his stance in Tong Long Ma, the stance of Southern Praying Mantis Kung fu. The man had to weigh around two fifty or so, which was gigantic for an Asian. He placed himself between his boss and me. It must have been his stance and the way he held his hands. I immediately - without thinking - switched to football mode.
I accelerated toward him like a racehorse out of its start. As I approached trapping range, he tried to hit me in the solar plexus with two consecutive phoenix eye fists.
Whoosh. I simply swam his left shoulder, and took a step toward Tang.
He had found the entrance and the front half of his body had disappeared.
I laid out, attempting a single leg tackle. Missed, but slid down to the foot. Got it.
The man must have forgotten about Donald behind me, because he turned toward me when I’d maneuvered past him. Donald took the opportunity to knock the guy out with the butt of his weapon.
I was holding on to Tang’s leg for dear life. “Hold on,” said Jinx, moving in to grab Tang around the waist.
Donald’s arms disappeared and he freaked the hell out. He instinctively released his grip around Tang. I had gotten to my feet and had no other choice but to push all three of us through the shell.
Inside the portal tunnel, Donald dropped like a stone. The enhanced gravity got everyone the first time passing through.
As I was readying myself to jump on Tang’s back, he caught me with a wicked back kick to my chest, which was impressive, seeing as gravity was multiplied, and he was as old as Moses.
Tang popped out of the shell first, and seemed to disintegrate in front of us. I helped Donald up and we sprinted after him.
The two of us emerged from the portal, and I instantaneously began panning the environment in a three hundred sixty degree turn.
“Fuck!” I shouted. “He’s gone.”
Donald Jinx was worthless to me at that point. The expression on his face said it all. He looked like he just got a tour of Area 51 and was shown all their deep, dark secrets.
“What? Where are we?” he said.
I put both hands on top of my head and cursed again. I wanted Eddie Tang so badly for what he did to Bai’s best friend. Now we were going to go to her with all bad news. Nothing positive. Well, maybe the fact that I broke Benny Tang’s leg counted as good news.
Donald was slowly but surely coming around. “Holy Mother of Mary,” he said. He squinted into the horizon, the sun’s rays bathed the mountains and greenery below. “This is really not our world?”
I put my hand gently on his shoulder. “Welcome to the Second Sun, brother,” I said. “Your world will never be the same again.”
Thirty-Five
RATHER THAN WALKING THROUGH the marketplace, we stayed by the lake. It was the longer of the two routes, but I figured the mess we got into last time with Dut and the maniac butchers would not lead to a very welcoming environment. Plus, the smells and visuals of that place would most definitely demolish Donald’s current eggshell psyche. Again, I gave him a lot of credit. He was already asking questions, trying to gather intelligence about his new habitat.
“So, there’s no metal here,” he said, confused.
“Not in the way you and I know it.” We continued our brisk pace. “They seem to cultivate glass really well in this world.”
“Glass, you said?”
I nodded. “It can be forged, like we forge metal. So, those butchers that came at us? You remember that story I told you about the little boy, Dut, and those butchers from the market?”
“Yeah?”
“Well their blades were made of what appears to be glass, but really, is something we just don’t have in our world.”
Jinx shook his head. “Man, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know. You’re where I was about fifteen years back.”
“Water, food, clothing, weapons -?”
I nodded once more. “Yup, seem to be the same as us, per this time period.”
I pointed straight ahead at a row of one-story houses in the distance. “There’s Widow’s Tears up ahead.” I took out two linguistic modulator pills and gave one to Donald.
Patricia Sawyer and her lead investigative detective, Vince “Vinnie” De Luca, were sitting in her office going over cases when Peter von Lector walked down the hallway.
“Sir. You can’t go back there without an appointment,” said Patricia’s secretary, on the heels of the intruder.
Von Lector swung the door open to Patricia’s office, which caused both Sawyer and De Luca to look up.
The secretary had that deer in the headlights sort of look. “DA Sawyer, I’m sorry, he just stormed past me.”
Sawyer put her hand up. “It’s okay, Ingrid. Thank you.”
As Ingrid walked back to her desk, Peter von Lector shut the door.
“Good morning, Agent von Lector,” she said, evenly. “What seems to be the emergency?”
“I must speak to you privately,” said von Lector.
De Luca looked as if he may defy the GSI man’s request. He was a second generation Italian-American from the Little Sicily side of LHK. He loved authentic pizza pies - which showed on his waistline - and the New York Mets.
“It’s okay, Detective De Luca. We’ll reconvene in a few minutes.”
“De Luca? So, you are Italian then?” It wasn’t always what von Lector said, but how he said it that frictioned people the wrong way.
Vinnie De Luca got up and stood but inches from the other man’s face. “Yes, I am Italian-American and proud of it.” He sniffed twice. “And why is it every time you GSI guys come around, I smell Nazi.”
Peter von Lector said nothing.
Sawyer wanted to add a hallelujah to that but restrained herself. De Luca always had her back and she was grateful for that.
When he exited the office, von Lector took a seat.
“Do you let all your subordinates disrespect those with higher ranks than their own?” Von Lector crossed one leg over the other. “Perhaps that is why this country is failing and needs new leadership. A new way of governing.”
Patricia Sawyer refused to play these petty power trip games with von Lector. “What can I do for you, Agent von Lector?” she said, getting to the point.
“It appears one of our GSI task force members is a double agent.”
Sawyer maintained her poker face. Sadly, she had heard the news of his capture earlier that morning.
Von Lector continued. “Apparently, he was the man that tampered with the evidence at the Little Hong Kong police department.”
Sawyer said nothing.
“Does the name Arthur Manning mean anything to you, DA Sawyer?” said von Lector, showing her a picture from his mobile.
Sawyer pretended to study it intently. “No. It doesn’t.” She looked at the image once more. “And I don’t recognize that individual. Is he in the system?”
“Yes, he’s in the system, but there’s not much on him. A little bit of military service, but that’s about it. No criminal record, either.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t sound like much of a double agent, Agent von Lector.”
“Well, DA Sawyer, that’s exactly what whoever is funding him wants us to believe,” he said, contempt in his voice.
Sawyer nodded.
“But don’t worry, we have ways of making people like this talk.”
“You mean torture?”
“An incentive plan,” h
e smirked.
Patricia wanted to throw her scalding hot coffee on this clown, but would regret wasting a good cup of Joe on a Class A loser. “I appreciate you keeping me in the loop, Agent von Lector and we will see to it that this man receives representation and the right to a fair trial. And if there’s nothing else, sir, I need to get back to my city.”
That silly smirk had not left the man’s face. As he rose from his chair, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a document with an official-looking logo on it. “This is a decree from Parliament Representative Sarah Hawkins, that clears me of all previous charges alleged against me, and reinstates my eligibility for the Eisenhower case.” He placed the document on her table.
Sawyer picked it up and read through it. “Hawkins is a United States congress woman who represents Florida.”
“Yes, but she is also the Parl -”
“And as such, has no legal jurisdiction in this case.” Sawyer began tearing up the letter. “And as long as you are in these United State of America, Mr. von Lector, I would advise you learn and abide by the rules of our land.”
Thirty-Six
AS WE ENTERED WIDOW’S Tears village, Donald and I were met by Dut and a gang of the other village children. They tugged at our pants, a few of the younger ones were asking to be carried. I picked up the smallest of the group, a cute little girl in rags. Jinx grabbed a boy about the same size as the girl.
The little boy’s mouth was agape as he stared at Donald without blinking.
“What’s this kid’s problem?” said Donald, staring back at the boy in his arms with trepidation.
I let out a hardy laugh. “It’s the seventeenth century China, bro, and you’re a black man.” I continued laughing because, well, that shit was funny.
Donald and the young toddler proceeded with their staring match.
“Look at the eyes,” he said. “Such innocence and wonder in them.”
As we walked toward Bai and the other adults, I told Donnie: “Hey, don’t feel too bad. When I first found this place, they all thought I was Mongolian due to my size. That’s way worse than being anything else in this part of China aside from Manchu. It took me a long time to earn their trust.”
Bai must have heard the commotion outside the house. She ran up and planted a kiss on my lips. It felt really good. I had missed her, which was a big deal for me. The thought of me telling her about her best friend twisted my gut in knots. I introduced Donald to Biao and the others.
“Do you know how to toss the brown oval, Jinx of the First Sun?” asked Dut, with curiosity.
“All of the men of his shade are really good at it, Dut,” I jabbed.
“You’re a racist son of a bitch, Johnny Jo,” said Donald.
Dut’s eyes grew wide. “I will go get the brown ball!”
When we got indoors, I sat Bai down on our bed and broke the news to her about Tina Wattson. My mobile didn’t work here, so it was all by my word, which in a way, I was glad she was spared seeing those gruesome photos of her friend. She began to cry against my chest.
“I’m so sorry, doll,” I said. After that, I let her sob; it was best to get it all out, so I believed.
She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “Who did it?” she asked, in a raspy tone.
“Eddie Tang,” I said.
Bai’s eyes showed that of utter disbelief. “Benny’s father?”
I confirmed that it was. Her eyes seemed to convey anger, almost. It was just for a split second, and then more crying and consoling ensued.
After a few minutes, there was a knock at the bedroom door. It was Donald, dressed in a dark grey laborer’s outfit and black laceless shoes.
I whistled. “Looking good, Bruce Leroy,” I teased.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Donald, looking down at his ensemble. “These are your clothes. It’s the only thing Biao could find that actually fit me.”
After a generous meal of pheasant and white rice, we smoked pipes and discussed the landscape of this new dimension.
“What about Hong Kong, down south?” said Donald.
Biao’s eyes widened. “No, Mr. Jinx. You must never travel that far south,” he warned.
“Why not?” said Donald, looking confused.
“The whole Canton region is near the China Sea, and those who sail its waters, never return.”
“What? Like the sailors get lost or something?”
“No, Mr. Jinx,” said Biao, deeply troubled. “The edge of the Sea is flat and leads to an eternal abyss.”
Donald couldn’t believe what he was hearing. I forgot to mention that the earth was flat, or at least that’s what the locals kept telling me. I hadn’t ventured that far south yet to verify. Anything was possible though. It wasn’t our world, so the same rules didn’t always apply.
We changed to a lighter topic and I told Biao and Dut about my days playing American football. They were awed by the game, especially Dut. I almost wanted to take him back to the First Sun with me and begin his training. He could become the next Dat Nguyen, the great linebacker from Texas A&M and later, with the Dallas Cowboys. He was also the first ever full Vietnamese athlete to play in the NFL. With a monstrous work ethic and a bit of luck, Dut Yim could be the first Asian from the Second Sun to play in the NFL.
A hard and hurried knock on the door put an end to the reminiscing and dream building.
Thirty-Seven
WHEN BIAO OPENED THE front door, he was met by a very weary looking rebel. His name was Chu. He told Biao that the mistress, Mei Li, was leading an army of Manchu past the central border into the town of Plum Orchard. This news was significant, as the Manchu were previously unable to penetrate the rebels’ defenses for the last decade and a half, since I’d been visiting the world.
“Not that crazy bitch, again,” I said, now standing behind Biao.
When Chu saw me, he dropped to his knees, and buried his head in the earth. “Master Jo,” he said.
As I helped the rebel to his feet, Jinx asked, “Who’s Mei Li?”
“The villagers originally knew her as Hualing, the pretty clothes washer girl from two town’s down.”
“You thought she was pretty?” accused Bai.
“No. That’s what the villager’s referred to her as,” I said. Now was probably not a good time to mention that I had slept with Mistress Mei Li when I thought she was Hualing. But as it turns out, she is someone that I believe could have only been created by something truly evil.
“Mei Li’s dark internal style is very powerful,” said Biao, his voice tight.
Dark Qi Gung, I thought to myself. I turned my attention to Chu. “I need you and two others to head north to Plum Orchard.”
Chu bowed. “Yes, Master Jo.”
“But stay in the distance, Chu, okay? Do not engage the enemy, even if they take the town.”
“Yes, Master Jo. I will do as you ask.” Chu had a sparkle in his eye now. “And Master, the border rebels have been using the tackle techniques you taught us, along with the earth and punch - ”
“Ground and pound,” I corrected.
“Yes! Ground and pound, and have had great success with it.”
“That’s great news, Chu,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. “I fear that if the mistress is involved in this particular attack, we’re looking at something far more nefarious than we’re equipped to deal with.”
Biao stepped forward. “I will go with Chu to Plum Orchard.”
“No. Biao, you stay here. Chu gather two more men from the village and go at once,” I ordered.
Chu bowed and then turned on a heel, and walked briskly away.
I turned toward the others in the house. I locked eyes with Donald. “Dut will take you and Bai back to the bi-layer.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” said Donald.
“Listen, man, this isn’t your fight,” I said.
“If you’re staying here, then it is my fight, Johnny.”
“I’m staying too,” seconded Bai.
I was both frustrated and honored at the same time. I felt compelled to explain why this struggle was so difficult for me.
I told them what had happened with a village near the border of Central China. I had been training the rebels in modern-style tactics in a town twenty miles north of Plum Orchard known as: Ho Jing. During my stay, I got very close to a village girl around the age of eight. Her parents nicknamed her Master Jo’s shadow. When I had returned to the First Sun, Mei Li had led a squad of Manchu against the town of Ho Jing, ruthlessly murdering men, women, and children. My little shadow was not spared in the massacre.
“That’s why I have not returned in almost two years.” I looked at Biao. “I planned on never returning.”
Biao looked down, saddened by this admission.
“But we’re here now, Johnny,” said Jinx. “What do you want to do?”
Thirty-Eight
TWO DAYS HAD PASSED since I had sent Chu and the two other rebels to gather intel at Plum Orchard. That gave me about ten hours of physical training with the men of Widow’s Tears. We began with Hung Gar Kuen, aiming to both strengthen and toughen their bodies and build functional power in their techniques. Secondly, we covered the five ranges of combat, spanning from kicking-to-ground-fighting-to-weapons range.
Donald and I were hanging out by the waterhole when we heard a commotion behind us. We turned to see a bloody and battered Chu being supported by two local villagers. I sprinted toward him.
The men laid him down on the ground so I could examine his wounds. “Water!” I yelled. I noticed two puncture marks, one small opening in his flank, and the other his lateral thigh. They had not been infected as of yet, but the severe lacerations and bruising on his face and torso suggested he took a brutal beating.
Dut handed me a pail full of water and I tilted it toward Chu’s lips.
“Drink,” I said.
He sipped it best he could in his condition. I took a rag, damped it, and wiped the blood from his eyes.
“Chu, the other men?”
He shook his head to signify they didn’t make it out.