by Bill Cariad
Inside the office, Maria joined Kimoto, and Doyle, and all three watched as the professorial looking man grounded his attaché case and withdrew surgical gloves from his casual jacket. The gloves were slipped on with obviously practiced ease, and he opened up the box which was on top of the stack of six. He rummaged inside the box, and Maria saw his lips move and realized that he was conducting a silent count.
“How long will you need, Mister Pope?” asked a now impatient sounding Doyle.
“If each box contains the same number of packets,” replied Pope, “about an hour.”
“Okay,” said Doyle, “we’ll move the boxes back into the other room and do it there.”
“It would be more efficient,” said Pope calmly, “for me to inject here, then do the transfer.”
“What is it with you Popes,” began a suddenly angry sounding Doyle, “that makes you deliver an opinion like you’re talking to a half-wit. You think you invented efficiency?”
Maria saw the veins in Doyle’s neck swell as his face reddened, and realized that Pope was effecting not to notice what she had seen. “If you have a spare syringe,” she said, smiling at an embarrassed looking Pope, “I could help speed things up.”
Pope bent to withdraw from his case another pair of surgical gloves, which he then tossed to her as he spoke. “We just cut the time to thirty minutes,” he said, returning her smile.
“Okay then,” said Doyle, his face still red but his manner under control again, “I’ll leave you both to it while I go check on the others. I won’t be long.” He strode out of the office, leaving a palpable silence behind.
“I have a brother in the CIA,” said Pope into the silence, “who has upset him, so he’s taking it out on me. Shall we begin, Signorina Orsinni?” he added with an engaging smile.
Following Pope’s surprising disclosure, which had caused her to briefly think again about her own CIA hurdle and the still unresolved problem regarding Calendar, Maria worked steadily for the next thirty minutes alongside the efficient Mister Pope. Each of the Heroin packets was carefully injected with a clear liquid substance which would, Pope informed her, effectively render their contents useless. As each doctored boxful of Heroin packets became available, an increasingly tense looking Tanzen Kimoto carried them back to the store-room.
Doyle spent the time scurrying back and forth between the dojo and what he referred to as his command vehicle; and which Pope said was a beat-up unmarked van parked outside in an alley.
“He’s an okay guy, really,” said Pope, “most of the time. But I don’t think the CIA will be on his Christmas card list this year.”
Maria made no comment on that statement, but she mentally filed it for further thought. As the syringe and transfer exercise finally ended, the DEA Captain passed on news of the reported seizure by Yo Cheng Hok’s men of Wan Cheng-Jian’s major Chinatown operations.
“It just means,” said Doyle, his affable demeanour noticeably restored, “that we have a new scumbag to focus on, but that’s what makes the DEA world go round. So, it looks like this is where we take our leave of you, Maria Orsinni.”
Maria’s hand was once more gently swallowed by Doyle’s massive fist, and she was being treated to what appeared to be a genuine smile of warmth as the deep voice with its Irish lilt quietly sounded again.
“I owe you, Italian lady, and I like to pay my debts. You have my number, so don’t hesitate to use it if you ever have need of an Irishman. Good luck with your end-game, and goodbye.”
Doyle left as Maria’s glance at her watch told her it was nine thirty in the evening. She took a deep breath with the unpleasant thought that the dojo suddenly seemed to be as quiet as a tomb; instantly regretting the metaphor. She glanced to where Kimoto stood, and saw in his eyes a reflection of her thoughts. They both knew that the referred to ‘end-game’ would shortly commence; what they couldn’t be sure about was how it would end. Maria tried to quell the thought that she had gambled with the life of Hanako Kimoto.
Maria and Kimoto took turns to use the office bathroom, and she was checking her knives when he returned. His face was unreadable as she sheathed the last knife, and then he voiced the question to which neither of them really knew the answer.
“Will Yo Cheng Hok accept what he has already taken, and consider it enough?”
“If we’re forced to use plan B,” replied Maria, “just remember that we can’t afford to put any of his people down permanently. You and your family have to go on living here”
She speaks with the voice of a true warrior, with such belief in her abilities, yet she must know her plan B, divide and conquer, would be difficult to... and then sounds from the outside vestibule closed down the thoughts of Tanzen Kimoto and he stood beside Maria Orsinni as they braced themselves to greet the Burning Hand Tong.
The dojo’s door was pushed open to reveal two colourfully dressed Chinamen; one was clothed in a brown suit with bold cream stripes, the other man’s suit material was a shiny pale green. One pair of eyes scanned the dojo, the other pair remained fixed on Maria Orsinni. The clothing had changed, but the faces were the same: Maria immediately recognized them as the duo she had temporarily disabled in the Firepit club less than six hours ago. She could also see in their hate-filled eyes, that they had neither forgotten or forgiven what they would have doubtless considered to have been a humiliating experience. Brown-suit spoke over his shoulder towards the open doorway behind him and another Chinaman appeared; this one wearing a light blue suit and carrying a briefcase. The Burning Hand’s Mister Pope, Maria silently deduced.
“Where is our promised merchandise?” asked green-suit.
“Where is my daughter?” responded Kimoto.
Maria watched as brown suit spoke over his shoulder again and the figure of Hanako appeared in the doorway, and then the woman was moved inside by two other Chinamen who brought her to a halt before taking up their position on her flanks. Each of them held Hanako in place with fingers which gripped her biceps, and both men wore black Karate Gi’s. On Hanako’s left, noted Maria, was the one she had earlier labelled ‘Scarface’.
“Hanako,” said green-suit, “will remain where she is until the merchandise has been inspected and our chemist has declared himself satisfied with its purity.”
“I’ll take him to it,” said Maria, beginning to move.
“Do not move, Italian woman,” ordered green-suit, “unless you wish Hanako to be damaged. Her father will escort the chemist.”
Without speaking, Kimoto indicated the direction to blue-suit and together they made their way into the storeroom.
“You should begin praying now, Italian woman,” said brown-suit, “because if the chemist is dissatisfied, it will not go well for you.”
“It will not go well for you,” said green-suit, “whatever the chemist says.”
Maria stood absolutely still but her thoughts were in overdrive. She had hoped and planned for Yo Cheng Hok in person; had gambled on verbally stroking the Tong leader’s ego and winning the day with words. She had gambled and she had lost, it seemed suits green and brown had appeared with their own agenda, and she was now faced with a scenario which threatened not just her own life but those of Kimoto and his daughter also. She concealed her dismay, and didn’t need Tanaka’s voice to tell her that a new mindset was urgently required.
“What is wrong with your chemist?” was suddenly being asked by Kimoto, who was standing in the storeroom’s doorway and sounding alarmed. Before anyone could respond, he turned away and disappeared back inside the storeroom.
Maria’s feet didn’t move at all but she was mentally assessing at combat speed: Plan B... One target down... four targets standing... no weapons visible... brown-suit cursing and moving towards the storeroom, count him as down once he reaches it... Fingers on the tunic top’s zip, her torso twisted slightly away from green-suit as sh
e allowed her head to turn towards the storeroom; a natural reaction to a seeming problem in that direction and outwardly harmless in its execution... and a blur of movement sent two knives flashing past green-suit to find upper arm parts of Scarface and his comrade who both collapsed with shock as the blades penetrated their Ulna nerves... green-suit came at her fast and was probably visualising her face being destroyed by his flying side kick as she suddenly wasn’t where she was supposed to be in his game plan.
Appearing to hardly move, yet doing so at a speed incalculable to the naked eye, Maria’s upper body bent and swayed just enough to allow the cheek of her face to feel the trouser material of green-suit’s attacking leg. In that same instant she delivered a paralyzing knuckle strike to that leg a split second before breaking his still moving right arm at the elbow. In those closing seconds of action she was aware of Kimoto pointing his daughter towards his office, and of newly arriving men in the dojo. She stepped away from the writhing body of green-suit to meet the approaching figure of Yo Cheng Hok as Kimoto materialised beside her and breathed in her ear the words ‘they all live’.
“Know this, Yo Cheng Hok,” began Maria, allowing the steel to be clearly heard in a voice which stopped the Tong leader in his tracks, “before you speak. We did not initiate this action, and no one has died here tonight.”
“Not yet,” said the calm sounding voice of Kimoto beside her.
Maria masked her surprise at Kimoto’s challenging interjection, along with her awareness of Yo Cheng Hok’s eyes on her unzipped tunic top.
“What has happened here?” was voiced with unconcealed anger by the Tong leader.
“Four of your five men upset me,” answered Maria.
“Upset you?... Five?” was echoed by the Tong leader as his uncomprehending look took in the visible trio still lying on the dojo floor.
“There are two more,” said Maria, pointing, “in the storeroom over there, with the Heroin. Now I know, of course,” she continued firmly, “that these injured men are members of your Tong, but did Yo Cheng Hok order them here ahead of him?”
Maria saw the Tong leader’s chest move with his indrawn breath, and watched his eyes move from her breasts before closing and opening again to meet her own steady gaze. She had counted eight men forming a semi-circle behind their leader, awaiting his command, completely ignoring their injured and groaning comrades. She recognized these eight men for the martial arts practitioners that they were; a skills-world away from the likes of suits green and brown. These waiting and deadly men would, she reckoned, consider an old Japanese man and herself to be easy meat. But she knew that Yo Cheng Hok would already have seen in her eyes that he would be the first to die here in this dojo if he gave the wrong command.
“No, I did not,” said the Tong leader.
“I thought not,” she acknowledged, pointing to Scarface and his companion as she added, “If you choose to save those two, then your men need to apply tourniquets as they kindly retrieve my knives for me.”
“I have a first aid box in my office,” said Kimoto, “which your men are welcome to use.”
The Tong leader snapped his fingers and the group of eight men split to perform his unspoken command. Kimoto led one of them to his office, two men attached themselves to Scarface and his companion, two busied themselves around green-suit, two headed for the storeroom, and one remained behind Yo Cheng Hok.
“Those who have disobeyed me,” said the Tong leader, “will of course be punished. But why have you let them live?”
“Taking the lives of any of your men wasn’t part of our deal,” replied Maria as Kimoto returned to her side.
“Yet by not doing so,” responded the Tong leader, the puzzlement heard in his voice, “you took a great risk. These are experienced men and it could have gone badly for you.”
“Unlike the woman beside me,” said the still calm voice of Kimoto directed at Yo Cheng Hok, “neither of your men will have trained in the dojo of Wan Lai Tang.”
Signalling his awareness of the Lai Tang name, the Tong leader visibly reacted to this statement and was still obviously recovering from it when Maria spoke again.
“They were not good enough,” she said simply, “to make it go badly for me, or Tanzen Kimoto. Which is why I told myself that Yo Cheng Hok wouldn’t have sent men of their poor calibre, had it been his intention to put us both down. I also told myself that he wouldn’t have dishonoured himself by having his men use Hanako Kimoto as a human shield.”
As she finished speaking, Maria saw that Scarface and his comrade had been attended to and were now being helped to stand. The black costumed duo were led to where their leader stood and held upright by hands which gripped their good arms. Green-suit was being carried the short distance which had separated him from Yo Cheng Hok, and was dropped on the floor again before the feet of his scowling leader. As if on cue, a shaken looking brown- suit was pushed through the store room doorway, still rubbing his neck. One of brown-suit’s escorts addressed Yo Cheng Hok. “We found both of them in a basket. Yamada hasn’t a mark on him, and says he thinks he just fainted. He is now testing the product.”
The Tong leader turned to Maria, and his tone was respectful when he spoke, “Yamada is my best chemist, and my sister’s husband. I’m glad you didn’t harm him.”
“A non-combatant was never in any danger from us,” replied Maria. “Your suits green and brown were the ones who led the others to their fate.”
Brought to a halt before his Tong leader, the fear stamped on brown-suit’s face was plain for all to see. Conducted then in a Chinese dialect which Maria identified as Cantonese, the ensuing verbal exchange between the four injured men and their leader was interrupted when a surprised looking Yo Cheng Hok turned to address Maria.
“Kenzai says that you did this to him while he was still in mid-air. Is this so?”
Maria merely shrugged her shoulders in reply to the question, and then watched as the interrogation was ended by Yo Cheng Hok dismissively waving the men to silence and snapping fingers which unmistakeably commanded they be removed from his sight. Briefly considering their fate, Maria watched them being taken away. Yo Cheng Hok was now regarding her with a wary expression on his face as he spoke.
“They have described everything which took place here,” he said.
“Your Kenzai and brown-suit,” replied Maria, “are good talkers, but that’s all they’re good for.”
“Earlier today,” said the Tong leader, “you shamed them in my sight, and they probably felt that they should respond to that. Now, of course, they have shamed me.”
“No doubt,” responded Maria, uncaring, “they will live to regret their mistake.”
The Tong leader’s face told Maria that suits green and brown had a short future ahead of them, but she dismissed them from her mind as Yo Cheng Hok snapped his fingers again. She watched as the bodyguard who hadn’t left the Tong leader’s back since the group of eight had split up, stepped forward and stood beside his boss. Maria saw pitiless eyes stare at her from the man’s remarkably smooth looking face. Like an evil looking child, thought Maria, her own face unreadable as she silently found her mindset and reactively prepared her body.
“This is Chan Lee,” said the Tong leader, “the most skilled of all my bodyguards.”
Maria made eye contact again with the baby-faced bodyguard as she sensed Kimoto’s almost imperceptible movement at her side. So finely were all her senses tuned now, she could hear Kimoto’s breathing matching her own and felt herself to be in complete harmony with him, instinctively knowing that the Japanese master was preparing to deal with any threat which may emanate from the Chinese bodyguard. She saw that Yo Cheng Hok was smiling as he addressed the man he had introduced as Chan Lee.
“Could she really have done what Kenzai said she did to him?”
Maria saw the eyelids blink and cover t
he reptilian eyes of Chan Lee; the split second opening she would have used to strike had she needed to; but she was already tuning out the man, knowing without doubt that Kimoto would take him on and leave her to deal with Yo Cheng Hok.
“Wan Lai Tang,” said the smooth- faced bodyguard, his voice almost a whisper, “would have trained her to do many things more difficult than defeating Kenzai.”
Maria could see that Yo Cheng Hok was unhappy with his bodyguard’s reply, but any verbal response which might have come from the Tong leader was pre-empted by blue-suit appearing in the storeroom’s doorway.
“There is a problem,” said the chemist, “There are six boxes. I have only tested the contents of one, and all of it is useless. Some destructive chemical has been added.”
Maria watched for Yo Cheng Hok’s reaction to this news, and sensed Kimoto readying himself to respond to whatever finger-snapped command was about to be issued.
“You can examine the rest later. Remove the boxes,” ordered the Tong leader, turning to Maria as he continued, “You may, or may not, have been aware of the DEA dogs tampering with what should have been mine. But in view of what has happened here before I arrived, I do not intend to press the matter. Everything else has gone to plan, as you so persuasively convinced me it would. Wan Cheng Jian has been taken by the DEA and will never hold power again. As I speak, my people are mopping up the last of the Hip Sing Tong who might have considered resistance worthwhile. As of now, Maria Orsinni, the Burning Hand Tong control Chinatown.”
“Congratulations,” said Maria, unsmiling, “So I can have my knives back now.”
Fingers snapped, and one of Cheng Hok’s men cautiously returned her knives. “So we part now,” said the Tong leader, “but do we do so as friends, I wonder.”
“We neither of us,” replied Maria, injecting the steel into her voice again and holding the eyes of Yo Cheng Hok with her own, “would benefit from becoming enemies.”