Skin Puppet
Reightman & Bailey Book Three
Jeffery Craig
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to individuals living or dead is entirely coincidental and the product of the author’s imagination.
Cover design by LaLima Design
Cover images© Dreamstime
Author Photo by Clayton P. King
Edited by Jennifer Severino, Twitching Pen Editing
Skin Puppet. Copyright © 2017 by Jeffery Craig Schwalk. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or digital reproduction or by any information, storage or retrieval system or process without the direct written permission from the author. For further information, please contact the author at Jeffery Craig, 2903 River Dr., Columbia, SC 29201.
eBook ISBN: 978-0-9974866-4-3
Books By Jeffery Craig
Done Rubbed Out: Reightman & Bailey Book One
Hard Job: Reightman & Bailey Book Two
Skin Puppet: Reightman & Bailey Book Three
Little Deaths: Reightman & Bailey Book Four*
Ride the Dragon: Reightman & Bailey Book Five*
*Forthcoming
Table of Contents
Title Page
FRONT MATTER
Books By Jeffery Craig
Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
LINKS TO OTHER BOOKS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
—To all who have been lost, and to those who found them.
AMBUSHED, AGAIN.
Toby’s head bounced as he hit the wooden floor. He rolled and pulled himself to his knees, groaning at the effort. He had to get on his feet fast, or he’d be finished. He shook his head, trying to clear his dazed mind and, in the process, scattered bright, ruby-red droplets around him. The sight distracted him for a minute, bringing to mind a host of images and bad memories from the last time there’d been blood on the floor. He touched his split lip gingerly, then struggled to his feet and turned to face his attacker.
The man standing a few feet away was sizing him up with emotionless gray eyes. He was about the same height as Toby, but probably had twenty or so pounds on him—all of it muscle. The gray eyes narrowed, and the man shifted his blunt wooden stick from hand to hand. Before Toby was anywhere near ready, he attacked again. Toby dodged out of the way, trying to get into a position he could defend. “Damn! This guy is fast!” he thought as the thick wooden stick came at him from the side. “I don’t think I can hold out much longer.” He quickly glanced to the side where his friend and partner, Melba Reightman, was trying to pull herself up from the floor. She looked in pretty bad shape herself. He didn’t have the time or the energy to spare her much thought. He had to keep his attention on the stick. She’d have to look out for herself.
They’d been ambushed the minute they’d walked through the door. Neither of them had been prepared for the fury of the surprise attack and barely managed to fling themselves out of the way. They’d regrouped and, for a minute or two, it looked like they had the upper hand. After all, there were two of them and only one bad guy. Boy, were they wrong about that!
He dodged again, trying to avoid another hit and flinched as a fist came from the side. He lunged out of the way, desperately trying to catch his breath and thinking about his next possible move.
He’d been fighting a losing battle for the last few minutes, and he knew it. He’d tried to protect his head and face and, at the same time, keep his focus on the man in front of him. The stick came flying again and narrowly missed his temple. To avoid the jabbing foot that followed, Toby dropped to the ground and rolled. The man was on him in a flash. Toby knew he had to get up and put more distance between them. “I could use some help here!” he yelled, hoping Melba was ready to step in. At this point, he wasn’t ashamed to admit he needed reinforcements.
To his relief, she was ready. She launched herself into the fray with fists flying. She gave a blood-curdling yell, attacking the man from behind. He turned like lightning and, with two swift jabs, she was back on the floor. Quicker than Toby believed possible, the man was in his face again. “Think, dumb ass! What are you supposed to do in situations like this?” He knew he needed to focus, but was having difficulty just staying out of the man’s reach. “Think!” he commanded himself again. There had to be something he could do. He surveyed the room, hoping to spot anything he could use to defend himself. There were a couple of possible weapons at the side of the room, but he had to figure out how to get to them. Before he could come up with a plan, the stick struck him hard across the left shoulder. Toby cried out in surprised pain. He only had one option left. “When it’s time for a last stand and you’re almost out of gas, focus and then give it everything you’ve got. And remember—fight dirty.” He took one more breath, then narrowed his eyes and went on the offensive. He barreled his way into the man’s space and dropped to the ground. He kicked out with one leg and made contact. The man stumbled for a minute and, taking advantage of the unexpected opening. Toby levered himself up and punched him in the back of the knee. The man grunted in surprise.
Toby felt a surge of elation. “Take that, asshole!” he shouted. He punched his fist into the back of the other knee and moved to the side as the man went down. “I think I’ve got him now!” A thrill of excitement rippled through him, and he thought maybe he’d survive after all. He started to stand, but lost his balance when he stepped in a few drops of blood. The man jerked upright and swept a foot in front of him, catching the back of Toby’s ankle. Toby stumbled and tried to regain his footing. He started to panic and looked away for a moment, trying to locate Melba. He never saw the fist that laid him out cold. The last thing he remembered before he passed out was that he forgot to protect his head. Again. Jon Chiang was going to be so pissed off about this.
CHAPTER ONE
Toby blinked in the light and tried to lift his head.
“Can’t you just stay down?” The exasperated voice of his instructor rang in his ear. Everything hurt. With a groan, he laid his head back down and closed his eyes. He wasn’t ready for the inevitable lecture just yet.
“Is he going to be okay?” Leave it to Melba to ask the obvious question.
Toby opened one eye and caught a glimpse of his partner. She didn’t look too good herself. Her curly hair was tangled and matted with sweat and her white gi needed to visit the washing machine. He grimaced and decided his gi probably wasn’t in any better shape. To make matters worse, she was on her feet and he was on the floor. Plus, he was bleeding and as far as he could tell, she wasn’t. Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair. He shut the eye quickly when she moved a little closer. He didn’t have the energy for any of her fussing. Monday mornings were bad enough. Besides, it would be more fun to listen to what they said
while thinking he was out of it.
“He’ll be fine. It’d take more than a little whack on the head to do him any real damage.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty hardheaded.”
“You’re telling me? His skull cracked the stick on one end. I didn’t even think that could happen in a sparring lesson, and this is the second time he’s done it. I need to charge more for this.”
Toby heard Reightman snort. “Since this is the second time, you probably should add it to the bill. But then again, since the lessons are courtesy of your great aunt, you’ll have to take it up with her.”
“It’d take a braver man than me to broach the subject with her. She’d just tell me I needed to be more careful and remind me to take better care of my toys.”
Toby recognized the sound of rustling cloth as someone knelt down beside him. A rough palm pressed against his forehead, and he figured it belonged to Jon. He suppressed a shiver as the strong hand felt the front of his skull and worked its way over the top of his head to the back.
“There’s no blood from anywhere other than the split lip, and except for a little goose egg, there’s no swelling. I don’t think he has a concussion.”
“Why hasn’t he woken up? Do you think we should call someone to make sure?”
Toby almost grinned at the sisterly concern in Melba’s voice, but managed to keep his expression under control. If she found out he was faking, he’d be in for a world of hurt. Even Jon sounded a little worried.
“Let’s see if he comes to in the next few minutes. If not, we’ll call the EMS. Why don’t you check with Auntie and see if she can make up a cold compress. It might help—if the ice can penetrate his thick skull.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back. I’ll get one for his lip, too. It’s still bleeding.”
Toby heard Melba head toward the door connecting Green Dragon, the herb and tea shop, to the martial arts studio. He recognized the sound of the door opening and closing.
After a minute, Jon removed his hand. “You can open your eyes. I know you’re awake and have been listening to everything we’ve said for the last few minutes.”
“Have not.”
“Yes, you have. Now, open your eyes so I can check out your pupils.”
Toby reluctantly looked up at the man leaning over him. Jon’s gray eyes were calm, although there was a tight set to his smooth jaw.
Jon gently opened Toby’s lid wider and peered into one pale blue eye. Toby felt gentle breath across his cheek as the man leaned closer. He carefully checked Toby’s other eye and then sat back on his haunches. “You’ll live to fight another day.” He gave him a considering glance and then held out a hand. “Let’s see if you can sit up.”
Toby reached out a hand and let Jon pull him up into a sitting position, groaning at the stiffness in his neck and back. It wasn’t even noon, and he’d been put through the wringer. He touched his lip, only to discover it was still bleeding and was now puffy. His left shoulder throbbed and could tell he was going to have a nice bruise. “I…I hate fightin’ againth da’ stick!” He couldn’t quite form the words. His swollen lip was getting in the way, and it hurt to talk. “How com’ you geth to be da one to w’ack us awound all da time?”
“I get to whack you around because I’m trying to teach you to defend yourself against anything I can think of. It’s not too farfetched to imagine someone might come at you with a shovel or a broom, or even a broken tree branch.”
“Yeth, but dey wouldn’t be twained de way you ah.”
“You never know how well someone is trained or how skilled they are until the fight is on. Then, it’s too late. It’s better to be prepared.” Jon stood and reached out his hand again.
Toby grasped it and used the leverage to pull himself to his feet. He was a little unsteady, and he felt a headache coming on. “You weally goth me good dat time.”
“That’s because you forgot to protect your head.”
Toby mumbled something under his breath, but stopped when he caught sight of Jon’s arched eyebrow. “You were wight. I justh can’th seem to geth the hang of dis stuff.”
“I wouldn’t say that. We just started training a few months ago. You do pretty well with the physical aspect, but you don’t think things through and get over-confident. The only time to be confident is when your opponent is totally vanquished and you are absolutely certain that he won’t get up again. If I’ve told you that once, I’ve told you a million times!” When Toby glared at him resentfully, Jon responded with a resigned sigh. “You’ve made better progress than I expected. You’re fast and have good coordination. You just forget to focus.”
“I hardly ever geth a hith in!”
“Toby, you have very unrealistic expectations. I’ve been practicing the martial arts since I was a little boy, so I have about thirty years of experience you don’t have. Realistically, you should be pleased you everget a hit in.” Jon gave him a small smirk. “And today, you did very well. The punch to the back of the knee was a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to try something like that this early in training, and it worked. It would have given you time to get in another shot—or better yet—get away if this had been a real fight.”
“Yeth, I know. But somehow wunning away doesn’t theem like de best ting to do.”
Jon’s gray eyes shadowed for a minute, and he looked away, gazing off into space as if watching something only he could see.
“Toby, there are times when running away is not only the best option, but the only option. Especially when the odds are against you and there’s no way you can win. You need to recognize when that’s the case. You’d better start learning that lesson now.”
Before Toby could respond, the door opened and Melba hurried through, followed closely by Madame Zhou. Reightman was carrying an ice pack and a couple of towels. Her hair was still a mess, and Toby would have made a smart-ass comment if he hadn’t noticed the concern in her eyes. And if his lip and head didn’t hurt so much.
Madame Zhou was completely unruffled by the situation because, unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time she’d been called on for help. The tiny old woman was wearing her gardening clothes and looked about as disreputable as Melba. The tattered green tunic had seen better days, as had the large brimmed straw hat. She must have been puttering around out on her terrace, getting her pots and planters ready for spring. He grimaced when he noticed the steaming cup in her hands. He was getting used to her brews and potions, but wondered why they always had to taste so bad. Of course, he knew better than to ask.
He glanced over at Jon, who was now standing up straight and quickly tidying his appearance. His great-aunt Zhou had that effect on him. Toby had noticed early on that whenever Jon Chiang was in her presence, he was much more formal and polite. He even gave her a tiny, but respectful, bow.
“Let me see that bump.”
Toby started to object, but Reightman’s motherly tone caused him to reconsider. When she used that voice, it was better just to go along with whatever she said. He obediently bent his neck so she could check out the small knot on the top of his head. Since she stood only about five foot four in contrast to his own height of nearly six feet, he had to bend down a considerable distance.
She finished her none-to-gentle inspection and brushed a few damp strands of hair off his forehead, before handing him the ice pack. “Put it on the sore spot and keep it there until I tell you to take it off.” She handed him a smaller pack. “And hold this one on your lip.”
He felt like a fool holding one ice pack to his head and another to his mouth while they all examined him. He probably looked like some sort of “see no evil—speak no evil” monkey.
Madame Zhou stepped forward and thrust out the mug. “Toby, drink this down. It will help with the headache you must be experiencing.” Her tone was much milder than Reightman’s, but once again, he knew better than to argue. He took a swallow, grimacing at the bitter taste. He started to lower the mug, but caught the glint in Zhou’s eyes.
“Tanks, Madame Zhou. I’m thure it will help.” It never hurt to be polite, even if he sounded like an idiot.
“You’re welcome, Toby. Things appear to be under control here and I need to finish my gardening. I assume we will still meet for lunch.”
Toby inwardly groaned. The last thing he wanted was food, but her comment hadn’t really been a question. “I guessth tho, but I’m not weally vewy hungwy.”
“Give the tea time to work. By the time you have finished with your much-needed shower and are presentable, I think your appetite will have returned. Although, you may have to ask Bernice to prepare one of her delicious smoothies for your lunch, given the current state of your lip.” Madame Zhou held out her tiny hand for the mug. Toby gladly relinquished it, and she checked to make sure he’d finished every drop. She gave him an approving nod and turned and went back through the door to her shop.
Toby repositioned the ice pack and rolled his left shoulder to try and ease the stiffness. “I tink I’ll juth head upstaths and shower.”
“Not yet,” Jon informed him. “The shower can wait for a few more minutes. First, we’re going to talk about what went wrong this morning, and I want both of you to give me a couple of ideas of how you might’ve handled things differently.”
This time, it was Melba who groaned. “Well, the first mistake was not expecting an attack when we walked in. We weren’t paying attention to our surroundings.”
Jon nodded and turned to Toby. “And?”
“And, I losth my focus and was unable to concentwate on what I needed to do to defend us.”
“And?”
Toby sighed. “And I didn’ keep my eye on you de entiwe time. I was wowwied abou’ Melba.”
Jon pursued his lips, considering the answer. “I commend you for your concern. It is not a bad thing to be aware of your partner’s situation. However, you need to assume they can either take care of themselves or the situation is worse than anticipated. If you don’t protect yourself, you’ll be unable to help them.” He raised his eyebrow and waited, while pointedly looking at the ice pack.
Skin Puppet: Reightman & Bailey Book Three Page 1