The Weak Shall Die: Complete Collection (Four Volume Set)

by Taylor Michaels

  "John Thompson?" the man said.

  "Yes. Hello. Do I know you?" he said, with a lilt to his voice and his most disarming smile. "Have we met before? I'm sorry, but I don't remember. I really have a problem remembering faces. Especially here, where everybody looks alike. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything. I hope you didn't find that insulting. You didn't, did you? I didn't mean it."

  "I am Inspector Chan," the man said, in perfect English.

  That was a bad sign. Lower level officials were not well-trained in English. They all had a strong accent if they spoke English at all. Only the upper level functionaries spoke such good English. And upper level people, especially the police, had more self-defense training. Not good.

  One of the regular attendees at his parties was a police officer, Sergeant Ho from the local precinct. John thought it good that the police should be allowed to keep an eye on his activities. Not a close eye, but a guided eye that saw everything innocent and nothing otherwise.

  "We would like to speak with you at the police station. Some of your recent internet posts …"

  "Certainly. Sure. Of course. No problem. I'm on a break from my job. I left some papers in my apartment and I need them for a meeting with Mr. Wu at the computer chip factory." John turned toward the door and then turned back. "If I go to that meeting without my presentation, he will be extremely upset. I don't want to make Mr. Wu upset. You know what he's like."

  John knew that Mr. Wu was one of the most influential people in this small town. Any mention of his name would cause a distraction. "Possibly, we could go to the police station after the meeting with Mr. Wu," he said, again smiling, entering the door and climbing the first few stairs.

  The ruse had worked. The mention of Mr. Wu was enough to make the inspector hesitate, a few seconds. A critical few seconds. One of the first rules taught in summer camp was 'Make it private.' If it became necessary to do something -- out of the ordinary -- minimize the number of observers. Then, strike as fast as lightning with the force of a tornado. No pulled punches. No second chances. No mister nice-guy. The first blow was more important than all the rest combined. His life now depended on it. Go away or go to jail -- and certain death. If he didn't get away now, he would be interned with the plague and would die. And don't wait for your opponent to strike first. Marquis of Queensberry rules don't apply. The fighter with the most rules loses. That rule always applies.

  Inspector Chan followed him into the building and mistakenly allowed the outer door to close. Nobody else was in the foyer or on the stairway as he reached up and grabbed John's left hand. "We would prefer to have the meeting now, if you ..."

  John spun around quickly, bent his right leg, pointed his foot toward the Inspector's chest and kicked, hard. He had learned this maneuver in camp when he was fifteen and had practiced on a dummy regularly. He was a little surprised when the man's chest produced an audible 'crack' which could also be felt with his foot. The practice dummy never did that.

  The Inspector immediately halted with the oddest look on his face. Surprise certainly, but that wasn't all. John could see hurt in the Inspector's face. Not just physical pain. The Inspector in his last seconds realized he had made a fatal mistake. He had underestimated his foe. A too-often fatal mistake in this business. Also, he had played by too many rules and he had been nice. Nice was always a mistake.

  John's instructors must have known what they were teaching. Two more kicks, one to the head and another to the chest and the inspector was a lifeless lump on the floor. Two steps up the stairs provided a great opportunity for a single death-dealing blow. The second kick broke the man's neck and insured quiet and the third was for insurance.

  John hated what he had just done, but calculating punches to disable and not to kill required hours of daily practice. Spies didn't normally require that skill, regardless of what the movies said. In this case, if the Inspector lived and escaped, he would send out a BOLO alert and John would be captured before he reached the city limits. The authorities made a special effort to apprehend anyone who killed or injured a police officer.

  Grabbing the Inspector's ankles, John dragged him into the broom closet and used the inspector's suit coat to mop a small smear of blood from the floor. John searched the body, retrieving a gun and a wallet, then ran up the stairs, two at a time. John's apartment, had many rooms for the private activities of his guests and, for that reason, it occupied the entire fourth floor.

  Once in his bedroom, he checked the Inspector's wallet and threw away everything but the few bills inside, then put on his black sports coat and shoved the gun in his coat pocket. He snatched his small bug-out bag, slamming the door behind him and ran back down the stairs. He hesitated before opening the outer door to check the floor inside the entrance, making sure there were no signs of a struggle. Before he could leave, his landlady opened her apartment door.

  "John, what have you done?"

  Her English was better than average and the Embassy had recommended her, largely for that reason, he thought. He hoped she had not seen his encounter with the officer and more importantly, he hoped that she had not opened the broom closet door. He had always given her extra money, beyond what she required for the vast space he rented. Paying forward for the day, today, when he needed some extra service.

  "Nothing unusual. Same stuff."

  "I do not think so, young man. You left me a terrible mess to clean up."

  "I did? I'm sorry. Should I pay you something extra?" John said, fumbling in his pocket.

  She stood with her arms crossed, apparently not asking for money, and then looked across the foyer to the closet. "Are you leaving?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry. It's going to be a bad time ahead. You can have everything in my rooms. Thanks for helping me."

  "I just spoke to Mister Smith. He said to tell you to 'Be careful. Watch your back. And -- good luck.' "

  "Thanks. Tell him, to do the same. And you do the same."

  So, his landlady was working for the company. That's why the Embassy recommended her. That's why she never complained about the noise. She was part of it. He smiled, but smiling was difficult as he knew she would soon be in great pain and then dead. She had been surprisingly nice. He did feel bad about her, but he also felt bad about the billions of others who were about to die. The question was, would he also soon be in great pain and then dead as well?

  If other policemen were waiting outside, it would all be over quickly. No amount of martial arts would help him and the policeman's gun in his pocket would only prove he had killed the Inspector. He put one hand into the pocket containing the Inspector's gun and took a firm grip, finger on the cold trigger. If he were going to die, he would die like a man. Go out with a flash and not a whimper. A storm of bullets was better than the virus any day. With the other hand, he held his small bug-out bag and pushed open the door.

  Outside, he scanned the area quickly. Several people were walking, but no police, none that he was sure of, but also no taxis. He slowly and cautiously walked the short distance to the intersection and looked again. It was usually not necessary to wait long. Taxi drivers generally favored foreigners as they figured foreigners were easier to cheat. They tended to frequent the areas where foreigners lived for that reason.

  Before turning right, he looked up and down the boulevard. Still no taxis. Never when it rained and never when you were running for your life. He smiled at the policeman on the corner and kept walking. A hotel was located down the street a few blocks. They were the longest blocks he had ever walked. He watched each passing car, expecting each to pull over and four policemen to jump out in a barrage of gunfire.

  Finally, he approached the hotel. As usual, a taxi queue was formed outside. A man and woman walked out of the hotel and stepped into the first taxi. He walked to the second taxi and spoke the name of a business on the south side of town. The driver didn't respond. He then uttered the name of the closest major intersection and the driver nodded.

  He paid the driver twice
the normal fare to take him to the intersection, near the south edge of town. Once there, he directed the driver to an abandoned building. John went in and picked up a small suitcase with most of the cash he had put aside, a change of clothing, some water, firearms he had illegally obtained and a small stash of drugs and medicines -- his real bug-out bag.

  He always kept a BOB, several in most cases, each along a critical escape route. But this would be the first time he had to use one. Maybe also the last, if he failed. Back in the taxi, he told the driver to keep heading south. If Cho didn't show up, he was in major trouble. His hands were beginning to sweat so he rubbed them on the knees of his trousers. Leaving China by himself would be difficult, if not impossible. Plan B was simply to kill the taxi driver and head for the coast. Not a good plan and likely to fail.

  Chapter 5 - Ming Cho

  Cho was tall for a Chinese, five seven, had long, straight, black hair, a round, thoroughly Chinese face and was attractive in a disarming, girl-next-door way. At only 23, she was far wiser than anyone expected as both of her parents were involved in complicated businesses. Cho learned hypnosis from her father because some of his myriad illegal businesses required that talent.

  Cho knew how to procure many things, most especially, young women, drugs of all kinds, brand-name alcohol and tobacco. She knew how to shoot a gun and how to figure the dosage of her many drugs to make people at ease and talkative without suspicion or memory.

  When Ming Cho received the phone call from John, she was not at all surprised. What did surprise her was the emotion. John was quick tempered, spoke quickly in short sentences and his voice was a note higher. Obviously, he was upset, worried, out of breath, and in a hurry. Desperate and panicking. Not like John. He had always been calm, easy going and collected. Life for John was a turtle on oiled glass. Slow, smooth and easy. No bumps. No hills. No mountains to cross. Everything was organized, planned and totally under control -- always. Even in bed, there was no ripping-off of clothes, no screams in the night or other signs of high passion. He was always in control of himself and of everything going on around him, until now.

  John's normal lack of fervor didn't mean he had no emotions. He seemed to care deeply for her and she appreciated that. And it didn't mean she didn't enjoy their encounters, because she did. In addition, she enjoyed her life much more since they first met at one of his early parties. She heard about him, as had everyone in this small town, and she sought him out. It was a good decision. One that had certainly made her life better.

  She ate regularly, lived comfortably and John provided enough money to carry her through dry spells in her businesses. Also, she had not needed to threaten anyone with her gun in those three years. Maybe once, but that didn't count. Just a misunderstanding. With John's help, she had expanded and upgraded her main business to a better clientele, with better prices and more profits. She had done well. Her mother was proud of her and Cho was happy.

  John always had money for her and he never asked why she needed it. It was clear that he needed her more than he needed money and he enjoyed being with her more than he enjoyed being with anyone else. He told her that often and she could see it in his eyes and in his smile whenever he caught sight of her across the room or in a restaurant. She liked that. She had never felt important before. Never felt that someone would be miserable if she weren't there. Often, she felt desired, especially sexually, that was common, but never important. This was different and much, much better. She could count on John and now he was counting on her. She couldn't fail him.

  She thought it was odd that John never tried to control her life when they were not together. But, she liked that, too. He told her ahead of time about his parties and told her what was to be done and to whom. She usually had one of her 'girls' handle intimate matters, assuming only a supervisory role herself. John never told her to do that, but she thought he would feel closer to her if he believed she wasn't one of the girls.

  Cho's previous boyfriends had a variety of occupations from drug dealers to forgers to pimps. They also maintained poorly-paying legal jobs as cover, to avoid suspicion. All of her boyfriends had been on the wrong side of the law without remorse or concern. John was also on the wrong side of many Chinese laws and probably a number of US laws as well, although he claimed to be a patriot, fighting for what was right.

  Her former boyfriends suffered a similar clash of right and wrong, morality and sin. They generally believed they had been denied a better life by the system or by the freak chance of birth. Therefore, taking that life or property from those who had never earned it was not improper in any way.

  Her parents did not have a good marriage, except in the beginning, of course. Maybe, that was why she never thought about marriage or any other quasi-permanent relationship. Life was what it was. If it was good, then she was happy. When it turned bad, she did what she had to do to make it good again. That usually meant a change of companions, locations or maybe a change of businesses or workers.

  Cho didn't believe in sentimentality. Just do whatever was necessary to make things better. The virus was such a case. She would have to leave what she had known for her whole life and do something different. She would learn what she needed to. She would do what she had to and life would go on. No reason to be sentimental and worry about dying. If she died, then she died. If John died, then she would find a new companion. Life would go on -- or it wouldn't. That was all that mattered.

  Cho's father had left, many years ago. That was the kind way of telling the story. In truth, he was not a good father for a seventeen-year-old girl, especially with his knowledge of hypnotism. After the second episode, her mother shot him. They wrapped his body in a plastic sheet and wrapped that in a piece of chain Cho found at a construction site and then in an old worn-out carpet and finally with some string. She borrowed a car from her boyfriend to transport the body to a rice field in the country. He asked many questions, but when she pulled her gun, he stopped asking questions and handed her the keys. Another misunderstanding. After that, he became much nicer and never questioned her requests, however odd.

  Mama originally worked in a silk factory tending the machines that unwound cocoons to make silk thread. Cho visited the factory from time to time and found the whole process fascinating. It was totally amazing that thousands of insignificant little worms could spend days producing a tiny fiber, wrapping it into a cocoon. Then, people with strange and almost magical machines could unwind the fiber from the cocoon and make it into the most beautiful dress she had ever seen.

  Mama was attractive and personable. It was no surprise that the male management of the silk factory found her presence valuable. She organized many of the workers, almost all female, into a loose-knit organization dedicated to providing companionship at an affordable price. The men at the factory worked hard under difficult conditions and appreciated kindness.

  Handling the organization was the business Mama taught her. As time passed, the day-to-day scheduling and accounting tasks were taken over by Cho. After a year or so, Cho thought it reasonable that she put together her own organization of young ladies and a few men from her acquaintances at school and in the neighborhood. Her 'girls' considered her fair as she only took a thirty percent cut instead of the typical fifty to seventy percent and she worked with her 'girls' to set fair prices, based on demand. She always tried to be logical, fair and competitive. She learned that from John.

  Cho also worked with local apartment building owners to utilize empty properties to vary the locations for the assignations, rather than renting her own building and having her patrons face the stigma attached to going to such a place. Having legitimate apartments for her 'girls' not only increased demand but also allowed her to have more upscale clients and charge premium prices. That was also something John had taught her. Provide a premium product at an attractive price. Economics one-oh-one, he called it.

  One of Cho's other talents, the ability to handle a pistol, was fostered by her forger boyfriend, Yang
Dong. Mama had encouraged her to learn to handle firearms. Mama had learned at an early age, and was a good shot. But Cho didn't inherit her mother's hand-eye coordination and money was never available for sufficient bullets for practice.

  Dong was the best passport forger in the area, but occasionally, even he made a mistake. Once he misspelled United States as Untied States, an understandable error, one that most people would overlook and possibly even forgive. But, his customer went to jail and vowed revenge through his cousins. That day, Dong decided to convert his profits to hardware and became a gun dealer, as an additional sideline.

  Dong was so upset with the thought of being the object of revenge that he also taught Cho to shoot. It wasn't easy and for several months, Dong's profits were spent almost entirely on bullets.

  In the end, Cho became a decent shot and acted as his bodyguard for the next two years, saving Dong's life more than once. Men were always surprised when Dong's attractive companion, wearing a skintight short skirt pulled up that skirt and produced a gun from a furry holster between her legs. Now, unless she was helping at one of John's parties, she wore pants and an ankle holster, but she still always carried her gun.

  At first, Cho wasn't sure what she thought about an end of the world event. Everyone in town knew that Bug City was making some evil diseases, although they claimed to be finding cures for ordinary diseases. The children of the Bug City employees believed their parents were trying to create a more horrifying form of death. But even they thought such death was intended for America. That's why John was here watching them. To find out when. The end of the world was supposed to be somewhere else, some time else, definitely not here and definitely not now.

  As soon as the call from John was finished, Cho began calling her legion of trusted friends and relatives. She had already devised several escape plans, but none were good enough for such an urgent and grave situation. Now, she needed something fast and certain.