[Anthology] Abby & Sei Thriller Starter

by Ty Hutchinson

  Monte’s legs relaxed and dropped back to the ground. Kang suddenly knew why he was so calm. Tiny, red streams began to pour down the side of his neck. Quai then tapped Monte’s head with the blade, and Kang watched it fall from its perch and hit the floor with a thud—a clean cut.

  62

  Back in the square, the command center for the fake crime scene had quickly been repurposed for a real crime. House and Reilly gathered around a small map of Chinatown.

  “What makes you so sure they’re still in Chinatown?” Reilly asked.

  “The game is played in the city, and a lot of it ties back to Chinatown. I can’t say for sure, but if we have to go on a hunch, that’s a pretty good one. Clearly, their cover was blown. How? When? Most likely back at Treasure Island. Plus, all the crimes took place in the city, with the exception of the Taylor girl found on Mount Tamalpais.”

  “Okay, I’m biting, but let me ask you one thing: why didn’t they make a move on our decoys at Treasure Island? Why wait?”

  “I think what happened speaks as your answer. Even we didn’t know they were missing since three thirty this morning. Whoever is behind this is smart and calculating. They bided their time, and it paid off.”

  “Still, it makes no sense to abduct an FBI agent, a detective with the SFPD, a civilian and hold them as potential hostages. What did they have to gain? They could have disabled the app, rendering it useless instead,” Reilly pointed out.

  “That’s what worries me,” House said. She rested her hands on her hips. “That seems like the best solution, but we’re not necessarily dealing with sound individuals here. The app was the only live connection we had to whomever was behind it. There’s more to it and we’re not seeing it.”

  “You think they’re…”

  “What, dead?” House shrugged and picked at her fingernails—a nervous habit. “Well, I can’t see them wanting any sort of exchange out of it. My best guess is that they wanted to find out what Abby and Kyle knew about the app.”

  House squinted in the sun that had started to poke through the clouds. She and Reilly both knew what that meant. Either they would be performing a rescue operation or a recovery. And they were running out of time for a rescue.

  House’s phone rang.

  “House here. I see… Yes... And the effects?... Was that all? ...Okay.”

  Reilly eyed House, looking for an answer.

  “That was the lab. They found traces of xylazine on the dart. It’s a horse tranquillizer, but drug addicts use it to get high. It turns people into walking zombies, barely mobile and semi-conscious. A large dose can kill a person.”

  “How long does it last?”

  “Two to three hours, maybe longer. Depends on the dosage.”

  “That bought us some time. They can’t question them in that state.”

  “Since they were able to stage the crime scene, they were probably apprehended shortly after. Maybe at four?”

  Reilly nodded. “Sounds about right. They could have been in a position to talk by seven this morning.” He looked down at this watch. “It’s eight thirty. They might still be alive.”

  “Sir, I think we’re better off concentrating all our efforts within the Chinatown area. It’s our best chance.”

  Reilly took a moment to think over House’s suggestion. “Okay. Redirect every man we have available and the SFPD to Chinatown, but leave Highway Patrol at the road blocks.”

  “Got it,” she said before taking off.

  Reilly let out a soft breath. Man, I hope you’re right.

  63

  Quai and his men left shortly after decapitating Monte. The stale air in the room quickly acquired a metallic overture. A pool of blood surrounded his chair, some of it inching its way closer to Kang’s left foot.

  By then, Abby could talk, though sometimes incoherently. She didn’t look to have complete control of her body, and fell in and out of her catatonic state, but at least she was experiencing periods of normalcy. However, she did seem to be aware of their situation, as Kang had done his best to explain to her what had happened.

  With Quai gone, he made gains on loosening the knot, ignoring the burn from the rope that rubbed his wrists raw. He was close to freeing his hands.

  Once again, Kang heard shuffling outside the door and a key inside the lock. He knew who to expect. The door swung open, and Quai stood there, alone.

  Dumb move, asshole. Kang was a stone. His body language implied nothing and his facial expression remained flat.

  Quai shook his head as he slowly walked toward Kang. “Your friend here talked too much and met his fate. What do you think will happen to you for not answering me?”

  Kang couldn’t resist. “You and Chinatown are not above the law.”

  The man pointed at his chest in wonderment. “I see you many times in Chinatown. Why you don’t come for me if I am not above the law?”

  He knows me from before? How?

  “You’re wondering how I know you? I know everything that happens here.”

  Keep deflecting the conversation. Buy yourself time, Kang told himself. “I didn’t know you were such a big fan.” Kang flashed a smile, his words pleasant. “When this is all done, I’ll send you an autographed photo.”

  Quai threw his head back and let out a bellowing laugh. When he regained his composure, he pointed at Kang. “You a very funny man. It’s good to have a sense of humor, even in a situation like this.”

  Right then, the door opened, and another man entered, pushing a metal cart that had a number of surgical and carpentry tools on it.

  “I wondered when you would resort to the old cliché of using torture,” Kang mocked. “I mean, don’t all evil men do this, failing to get what they want from their captors through thoughtful discussion? It’s like a bad action movie taking place right before my eyes.”

  Again, the small man allowed himself to succumb to laughter—a staccato shrill this time that started on a high note and ended with a few coughs. The man with the cart joined in, nervous at first, wanting to be sure his boss found the joke funny. He then positioned the cart between Kang and Abby.

  “Ah, your agent friend is coherent.”

  Kang looked to his left and saw Abby staring at the man. She blinked a lot but she looked to have her senses back. Maybe she had shaken off the remaining effects of the drug.

  “We almost killed her up at the park. She’s much smaller than I had anticipated,” he said, shaking his head. He walked over to Abby. “I thought she was the leader, but it turns out you are the one who does the talking.”

  Kang smiled. You don’t know Abby.

  Quai stared into Abby’s eyes. “Anybody home? Hello?” He turned back to Kang. “I think we lost her again.”

  Abby’s eyes were half closed, and Kang’s hopes faded a bit. He feared she might never recover. “Leave her alone.”

  The man smiled at Kang before turning back to Abby. He reached for the top button on her blouse and unbuttoned it. He continued with the second, and then the third. The smile on his face grew as he pushed the material back, revealing a lacy, black bra. He slipped the strap off her shoulder and pushed her bra down, exposing her left breast. He groped it with his hand, pulling and pinching her nipple. “Now why would I want to leave her alone when I am free to play with her?”

  “You bastard!” Kang spat.

  “What? What are you going to do? Nothing. I can fuck her, and all you will do is call me names.” He then yanked the other side of her bra down and fondled both breasts. Her head swayed slightly from side to side. Her eyes were barely open. Moans slipped out from between her lips. He looked back at Kang. “I think she likes it.” Abby let out a louder moan, gaining Quai’s attention once more. He leaned in close, inches from Abby’s face.

  Big mistake.

  64

  Quick and unexpected always favors the instigator.

  When Quai turned back to face Abby, the Black Mantis got more than a cheap thrill. Abby’s forehead slammed into the bridg
e of his nose, pulverizing the fragile bone. It was the thump that could be heard clear across the room. Quai pulled his head back and wailed in agony. Kang saw a glimpse of what was left of his nose after Abby’s forehead had destroyed it. Quai grasped at his face. Blood poured from between his fingers. He stumbled backward until his back hit the wall.

  Kang seized the opportunity and yanked his right hand free from the rope. Still in a seated position, he grabbed an ice pick from the metal cart and drove it into the chest of the guard caught looking at Quai—a man without orders. Kang didn’t wait for a reaction and moved to free himself. He planted both feet on the ground and pushed back, straightening his body. The loud crack of wood splintering pierced the quiet room as the chair collapsed below his weight. Kang grabbed the rope, which was still tied around his waist and part of the chair, and shimmied the debris down his legs as he worked to get it to his feet.

  With his man down, Quai shook off the effects of Abby’s head-butt and moved toward Kang. Quai struck with multiple blows aimed at the tall man’s chest. The first fist hit its mark, but Kang was able to deflect the other blows. Still, Quai continued his flurry of strikes to various parts of Kang’s upper torso and head. Free of the rope, Kang looked for an opportunity to retaliate.

  Quai dropped down for a leg sweep, but Kang timed a jump and delivered a kick straight to Quai’s head, sending him onto his back. Quai flipped back to his feet and assumed a defensive stance. Even with his face painted red and his broken nose forcing him to breathe from his mouth, Quai smiled. “You learn Kung Fu at the academy?”

  He then shifted his body weight to his rear leg, leaving his front leg flexed forward with the toe resting lightly on the floor. He brought both hands up to a guard position, and his fists assumed a hook formation. Kang knew this style of Kung Fu—the Northern Praying Mantis: fast and continuous strikes focused on vital parts of the body.

  Watch out for the elbow, Kang told himself. He raised his arms out in front, moving the full weight of his body to his rear leg and leaving his forward leg gently resting on its heel. Kang’s favorite style was Hei Hu Quan or Black Tiger Fist—perhaps the best match for his opponent.

  Kang tightened both fists. A beat later, he attacked, delivering five tiger palms that penetrated Quai’s defense five times.

  On the sixth, Quai hooked outwards with his left hand, deflecting Kang’s last right-handed punch, and created a turning force that opened up Kang’s entire right side to an easy attack. He struck Kang hard in the temple, nearly missing his target: the right eye.

  Kang’s momentum still had his body turning, so he embraced it and followed through, spinning completely around and delivering a reverse kick to the head of his opponent without much effect.

  Kang moved into a bow stance and delivered more tiger palm strikes to stop Quai from advancing. Kang then circled his arms over his head in a wide arc and delivered a double claw attack to the left side of Quai’s rib cage. Quai backed up, but Kang continued his approach and circled over his head again, delivering a claw attack to Quai’s right rib cage on the right side. Both strikes had the force to crack bones—his intention.

  I had my father to thank for that move. “Your head can do more damage than your fist, Abby. It’s the unexpected punch,” he would always say. My reminiscing didn’t last long. An epic brawl had erupted in front of me.

  I was surprised to see that Kang was so well trained in martial arts. He battled the bloody mess I had created with a velocity I could barely keep up with: straight punches, forearm blocks, high kicks, it was if I were watching a late-night Kung Fu movie. I lost track of who connected and who got blocked until the man with no nose made a sweeping leg attack. Kang had anticipated a high kick and dropped down. He took a foot to the windpipe and immediately fell to one knee, making a throaty noise.

  I struggled to free myself, but the bindings that held my hands were too tight. I was helpless as I watched his opponent move in for the kill.

  Kang took a knee to his face that snapped his head back, followed by an arc of red and then his body.

  Our captor stopped his advancement and laughed. “Your Kung Fu does not match your ego.”

  I had to do something. This guy was about to finish off my partner and my only hope of getting out of there alive. So I did the one thing I knew would get that man to focus on me; I opened my mouth.

  “Hey, Shrimp Boy. Why don’t you pick on someone closer to your size?” Like me.

  65

  Fresh blood leaked from the man’s nose, but it seemingly had no effect on him. I could see the muscles along his jaw line ripple with rage as his eyes settled on me. Calling him out was about as far as I had thought my plan through. Now what? I was out of ideas and out of time.

  “Kyle,” I yelled, as I struggled in my seated position, “now would be a good time to recover.”

  He moved toward me, forceful breaths spraying red from his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot. His body movement was stiff and ready to explode on me.

  Then, like a rail-thin beacon of hope, Kang rose up behind him, blood smeared across his face. He reached around my attacker’s neck with his left arm. There were strands of rope still knotted around Kang’s wrist. He grabbed the other end of the rope with his right hand and yanked back, lifting the man off the ground. He dangled a good foot or so above the floor as Kang leaned farther back, pulling on the rope and driving it deeper into our attacker’s neck. His legs flailed around, and his hands pulled on the rope as he choked. But I saw that the dying man had one last move—his only move. I yelled out to Kang, “Watch out for his head!”

  Kang moved his head to the side in time to avoid a backward head-butt.

  The man continued to struggle, and the rope cut deeper, allowing no air to enter, no sound to escape. The taut stretching of his pants from his air kicks was all I could hear. And then he stopped moving. Kang held his grip a few seconds longer before letting him drop to the ground with a soft thump.

  Kang then bent at the waist and rested his palms on his knees. He greedily sucked in air like an intake valve before he slowly looked up at me. His mouth hung open, and blood coated the inside of his lips and tongue.

  “This looks familiar,” I said.

  Kang stood up and untied me from the chair. That’s when I noticed the headless man still strapped into his chair. “Don’t tell me that’s Monte.”

  Kang nodded before bending down and searching the man he had choked.

  “Who is that?”

  “His name is Quai Chan. He’s the enforcer for Jing Woo, the man that runs Chinatown.” Kang stood up empty-handed.

  “The last thing I remembered was telling Monte to get back in the van.”

  “I think they hit us with tranquillizer darts.” Kang moved Abby’s hair, revealing the dried blood. “They caught you in the neck.”

  I reached up and felt my neck, now aware of a slight throbbing in the area. Kang lifted his shirt and showed me where the dart had struck him. I fixed my bra and quickly buttoned my blouse back up.

  “I have no idea what they used, but be glad it didn’t end up killing us.” He looked at the metal cart and picked up a long dagger. “Grab something. We’ll need help getting out of here.”

  I chose a hammer. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

  “We’re still in Chinatown. The red brick is the giveaway. We might be underground, in a basement perhaps. I’ve heard rumors of an underground network of tunnels.”

  “Tunnels? Under Chinatown?”

  “Come on,” he motioned. “Let’s move.”

  He put his head against the wooden door and listened. “Sounds quiet.” He cracked the door a few inches and peeked out before opening it all the way. We exited the room and entered a hallway. The walls and floor were cement, and there were bulbs lighting every few feet.

  “Looks like the rumors are true. Which way?” I asked. Both directions looked identical.

  Kang shrugged. “Hell if I know. The grade in this direction seems to angl
e up.” He pointed. “Maybe this is the way out.”

  We walked ten or fifteen feet, Kang leading the way, before a doorway on the left side of the hall came into view. He placed his ear against the door and listened but heard nothing. He turned the doorknob slowly. It was unlocked. He quietly pushed it open to reveal another small room, except the floor was covered with mattresses, and there were seven or eight girls sleeping in various states of undress. At least they looked asleep. Kang closed the door. “We’ll have to send help for them later.”

  We continued down the dimly lit hall until we came upon another door on the right. Before opening it, Kang took the same precautions as before. This time, it didn’t work. Inside the room were three goons packaging marijuana into small bags. They sprang from their seats and came at us. Kang tried to shut the door, but the pull from the other direction was too great and his hand slipped off the knob. Within seconds, the three men had attacked us in the hall. Kang plunged his knife into the neck of the first guy out of the room and tossed the gurgling man off to the side, ready to defend against the second.

  The third man slipped by and came right at me with his arm cocked, ready to explode. I ducked, causing him to miss, but his momentum sent his body into me, knocking me to the ground. He tripped, landing a few feet away. I flipped over to my knees and stood up quicker than he did. Not necessarily wanting to kill this guy, I spun the tool around and punched the handle into his chest. Oomph! He doubled over. I followed with an elbow to the back of his head and sent him to the ground unconscious. I turned in time to see Kang slam his guy into the wall face first, twice. He stopped moving and fell to the floor.

  I looked at the guy with the knife sticking out of his neck. I still couldn’t believe that Kang was responsible for that and the dead body in the holding room. Killing a man in hand-to-hand combat is about as up close and personal as it gets.