“Come on; we need to hurry. Surely the noise will have alerted more men,” Kang said as he pulled the knife out of the dead man’s neck. We hurried as fast as we could. I kept waiting for more men to appear, wondering if I would have to use the other half of the hammer. We made a right and a left.
“There, up ahead.” Kang pointed at a door and we ran toward it. He yanked on the knob but it was locked. “Damn!”
“Move,” I said. “This knob looks pretty old.”
I hammered away at it. After the fourth swing, it broke off. I hacked at the area where the latch held the door in its frame. Two strikes and the old wood split apart. Kang backed up and kicked the door off its hinges, revealing a storage room.
We made our way past shelves of dry food, large cans of soy sauce, plastic containers of seasonings, jugs of cooking oil, and more. Toward the back, we saw a wooden ladder leading up to a pair of metal doors. Kang grabbed the hammer from my hand and struck the doors repeatedly. I thought for sure more goons would show up any minute.
But then the metal doors creaked, and a beat later, they opened. Staring down at us were three very confused cooks.
66
For the second time in one month, I found myself in the hospital, except this time I was forced to spend the night for observation. The toxicity test confirmed traces of xylazine in our systems. My levels were higher than what they found in Kang and in Monte’s remains.
“They probably injected the same amount in all of you, but with your weight and size, the drug had a much more aggressive affect on your body,” the doctor had told me earlier. “You’re lucky you didn’t die. That stuff is meant to knock out a horse, not humans.”
Over to my left, lying in another bed, was Kang. He was out cold but in stable condition. Reilly had ordered that we be put in the same room and an officer be stationed outside for our safety and to keep us from leaving. We both had IVs stuck in our arms to replenish our fluids, the hospital’s way of keeping a leash on us—they didn’t want us bolting prematurely either. I don’t blame them. I wanted out of that sterile room with its fluorescent lighting. I kept the lights off and used the small table lamps instead.
I watched the subtle rise and fall of Kang’s chest and listened to his gentle breaths. He seemed peaceful in his bed. It was hard to imagine that, hours ago, he had been a raging ball of testosterone, battling enemies to see to my safety. Talk about a partner having your back.
When I told the paramedic that I didn’t need to go to the hospital, Kang insisted. He told me how I continued to flow in and out of my catatonic state. One second, I would be right behind him, following him down the hall; the next second, he would look back and find me standing still and swaying. I didn’t believe him. I thought he was joking, but he insisted it was true. I had no recollection of it.
On the way to the hospital, I remember telling him about the room with the half-naked women and the other one with the three men who attacked us. “I took one of them out.”
“Yes, you did,” he answered in a neutral tone. “But what you’re not remembering is the group of men who came up on us in that hallway and attacked you from behind, knocking you to the ground.”
My brow narrowed.
“You don’t remember that, do you?”
It wasn’t until the doctor confirmed what Kang had said that I bought into his story. “It’s a known side effect with addicts who use xylazine. They tend to go in and out of consciousness even though they’re awake. It probably happened to all three of you but your effects simply lasted longer.”
I had to wonder what else had happened that I couldn’t remember.
Once we were alone in our hospital room, I interrogated Kang for all the details. He started by filling me in on what took place from the moment he regained full consciousness until we appeared in the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant. According to Kang, there was one other thing I didn’t recall.
“I threw myself at you?”
“See, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you would get embarrassed.”
I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not embarrassed, because I know it didn’t happen.”
“Do you? You heard what the doc said earlier.”
“You’re messing with me.”
“Don’t worry. It didn’t bother me. I have that effect on women, especially when I rescue them.”
I pressed my lips tightly together as my face turned various shades of red. He had officially embarrassed me.
Kang looked at me from his bed. “It’s okay. I don’t mind being your hero,” he said before laughing and rolling over to his side.
I didn’t want to encourage him, but I couldn’t keep myself from laughing. As I lay quietly, I started looking at Kang differently. I knew he was still the same jokey guy I had worked with for the last month, but somehow, seeing him through the lens of an action hero changed things for me. Suddenly, he was a strong, take-charge guy who defended me from evil men and ensured my safety. He had become my knight in shining armor. I mean, what kind of gal wouldn’t want a guy like that coming to her rescue? I couldn’t help but feel like I had developed, how would I say this, a mild crush on the guy. Me and Kang? Nah. I tried to repress the feelings, but they lingered.
As I lay there trying to understand my newfound feelings, the door to our room squeaked open, and in walked Agent House.
“Hey there, Special Agent.”
I smiled at my friend, happy that she had come to see me. “What are you talking about?”
“Rumor has it they’re promoting you.”
I waved off House’s remark. “I’m not interested. More responsibility means more work. I already have plenty to deal with.”
House removed a Thermos of hot water from her bag and placed it on the table next to me along with a familiar little tin.
“You didn’t.”
“I did,” she said as she poured some hot water into a cup. “Swung by your house, and your Po Po gave me some of your tea. Speaking of, she hasn’t told the kids yet about what really happened. They think you’re at work. Do you know what you’re going to say?”
The kids were always the toughest part about my job. I thought it would be easier as they grew older. It’s not. Maybe when they’re eighteen I can tell them the whole story. “Hmmm, I’m not sure. The truth I guess.”
House squeezed my hand gently and smiled before looking over at Kang. “How’s he doing?”
“Fine. He’s sleeping.”
“You got lucky with him. I hear he’s some sort of Kung Fu master and that he dropped a guy with one finger.”
“Boy, the rumor mill is in full churn, huh?”
“Oh, yeah, and everyone is loving it. Wanna hear more?”
“No, thanks. I’ve had my fill of drama.”
A devilish smile grew on House’s face as she leaned toward me, a giggle escaping her lips. “I watched you from outside the window before coming in,” she said. “You were staring at him.”
“Shhh!” I said, my voice barely audible. “He might be listening.”
“So it is true; you did call him your hero,” she singsonged.
“It’s not, and I didn’t.” My cheeks burned, and I could barely make eye contact with her.
“Why are you so embarrassed?” she continued in a hushed tone. “He’s a good-looking guy.”
“It’s not like that. Our relationship is completely professional.”
“Relationships change.”
“This one doesn’t.”
“Why not? The case is pretty much over.”
“Where does it stand?”
“Good question. Quai Chan and his goons, had they survived, would have faced a long list of charges ranging from murder to kidnapping and assaulting a federal agent.”
“What about the tunnels?”
“A search of the tunnels garnered us a few more members from the local Triad gang, and we confiscated a large stash of marijuana and illegal fireworks.”
“And the gi
rls?”
“They’re from China—underage and trafficked into the country. We turned them over to ICE’s Victim Assistance Program. Other than that, just bodies left from your rampage.”
“Mine? Try Hercules’.” I motioned toward Kang with my head.
“Nonetheless, Forensics has a long day ahead of them.”
“Kang mentioned a guy named Jing Woo.”
“Boy, you do need a briefing.” House looked down at her watch before lowering her voice. “In three hours, Reilly plans on hitting Jing. We got a tip that he holds court at a tong over on Waverly Avenue. Reilly’s dropping the hammer, using two full tactical teams. I feel sorry for anybody in the building when they strike.”
“I feel out of the loop.”
“You should be. You’re in a hospital. Look, not a lot of people know about the Jing hit, not even SFPD. Reilly didn’t want anything leaked. There is enough incriminating evidence in those tunnels to tie to Jing, app aside. I’m sure there’s more to be found at Jing’s place. It’s about time we cleaned house in Chinatown. SFPD has let that place police itself way too long.”
House motioned over to Kang with her head. “Isn’t there some festival in Chinatown this weekend?” The playfulness in her voice had returned.
“I think so.”
“Ask if he’s going. Tell him you are. You guys can hang out, it won’t feel like a real date, and you can kind of see how it feels without any pressure.”
I stole a look at Kang before turning back to House with a big grin on my face.
“See? I knew you liked him,” she said, laughing.
“That’s a really good idea.”
“What’s a good idea?” Kang said, interrupting our planning session.
67
I froze, and my heart leaped out of my chest and hid somewhere under the bed. How long had he been listening? I whacked House on the arm, urging her to say something. She shook her head violently. Suddenly, the talkative one had rigor mortis of the mouth.
He rolled over to face us.
“You’re up,” I managed with as much normalcy as I could muster. “Uh, I was telling Tracy about that festival in Chinatown.”
“Oh, yeah, the music festival. I plan on going.”
“Maybe we can meet up.”
“Yeah, that would be great—granted, if they let us out of here. Text me when you two get there.”
“I can’t go,” Tracy blurted sharply. “I already have plans. Sorry, but Abby, you should go. It sounds fun.”
Man, the acting in this Girl Likes Boy skit is so bad. No way he buys off on it.
“Okay. Abby, looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Okay, he did.
Just as I was about to suggest a time, the devil appeared, and it had a squeaky voice.
“Kyle!”
Into our room walked a thin, tall, high-heeled, Gucci-purse-carrying, pearl-necklace-and-jade-bracelet wearing, plum-lipstick-pouting, hand-towel-as-a-skirt-sashaying, fair-skinned, Asian beauty with a stuffed teddy bear holding a “Get Well Soon!” balloon.
She shuffled in with tiny steps as she shimmied her braless breasts under what had to be the sheerest blouse ever invented in the history of mankind. “I’m so sad to see you here,” she whined as her eyelashes batted hard and long enough to produce sustainable wind energy. “How’s my wovey dovey? Is my waby feewing better?”
She then made kissing sounds and had the bear kiss Kang all over his face. And damn it if he wasn’t eating the act up. Kang was in La La Land, laughing and giggling with that woman as she snuggled up to him. It wasn’t until House cleared her throat that the two broke apart from their over-the-top, puke-inducing public display of affection.
Kang lifted his arm, pointing past this woman. “Suzi, this is Agent Tracy House and Agent Abby Kane. Abby is my partner on the Cotton Candy case.”
Suzi turned to us and flashed a plastic smile that lasted one-point-three seconds before flatlining. She extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Suzi Zhang, Kyle’s girlfriend.”
68
Jing Woo never saw it coming.
That’s what happens to a man who lives above everyone: he believes he’s untouchable. Even moments before his door was blown open, Jing ruled as if he were an aristocrat with faithful subjects. Not in a million days or nights would he ever have thought the end would come the way it did. But it had.
The reign of the most powerful man in all of Chinatown had ended. But that’s not all Jing was known for. He was also Chinatown’s biggest private contributor of monetary donations and a highly respected community organizer, at least from a distance. He was responsible for a dozen or so after-school programs for Chinese children, improvements to Portsmouth Square, numerous Chinese cultural expansion events, and an array of beautifying projects all throughout the Chinatown area. He had even helped subsidize the Chinatown Community Development Center, whose primary responsibility was providing affordable housing to Chinese immigrants. For all intents and purposes, Jing Woo was a hero in the community.
But it was a mask of illusion, because all of this good came at a steep price.
Fear was how Jing Woo ruled. And his grasp on Chinatown was tight and impenetrable, even by SFPD. He made millions though the trafficking of opium, firearms, women, and even fireworks. He ran the massage parlors as well as the underground Mahjong games. Every business in Chinatown paid tribute, or they had no business being in business.
For years, Jing saw yearly increases in revenue; there was nothing he couldn’t smuggle in or out of Chinatown. For every dollar he invested into the community, he made one thousand back. It was a no-brainer to be the people’s Robin Hood. Who would want to take down the people’s hero?
Jing Woo soon found out.
69
As promised, the hospital discharged Kang and me the following day with orders to take the next couple of days off. I was all for it, especially after hearing about the Jing Woo raid. All the key players were dead. We would have preferred to see them have their day in court and spend the rest of their lives in prison, but the dead thing worked for us.
My family was my only focus when I returned home. I even pulled Ryan and Lucy out of school and awarded them a four-day weekend, which they loved. We had a grand time. We ordered movies on-demand, ate bowls of popcorn, and played multiple rounds of Go Fish.
A few months earlier, I’d signed Lucy up for dance classes to help her get over her shyness. It worked. She put on four five-minute shows for the family, complete with costume changes. We also helped Po Po with the cooking, which she tried to stop even though we knew she appreciated it. When we picnicked in Washington Square, we borrowed one of the dogs from Fanelli’s Deli, Fino, my favorite, and took her with us. Ryan and I continued our discussions on Bruce Lee and martial arts in general. I brought in two masseuses for the family. It was the only time the house remained quiet.
And of course, we resumed Dim Sum Sunday. Po Po was able to see her friends again, Ryan got, not one, but two boxes of snappers, and Lucy was pleased with her new stash of Hello Kitty stickers. Everybody was happy, and I was emotionally content.
With Operation Family Time in progress, I never did make it to the Chinatown festival to meet up with Kang. I was over it. My feelings were the result of what I had originally thought them to be in the hospital—a super hero crush—a common phenomenon associated with people who are rescued by someone of the opposite sex. Plus, at the hospital, it was clear to me how much Kang liked his new toy and the teddy bear she had brought.
By the time Sunday night arrived, we were all beat. Po Po and the kids had gone to bed early, leaving me alone to enjoy a relaxing soak in a bathtub I don’t use nearly enough. Afterward, I headed up to my office to check my email; I had stayed offline for four days thanks to a missing cell phone I had yet to replace. A quick peek couldn’t hurt.
I didn’t see anything that couldn’t wait until Monday morning, until I saw the email from Kang that contained photos from the staged crime scene. I ha
dn’t realized he had emailed them while we were still there.
Curious, I clicked on the email and was surprised at how well the photos had come out, considering my experience with Kang’s photography at Treasure Island. Seeing the pictures reminded me that we never did upload them to find out what would happen next.
As usual, my curiosity got the best of me. I still had the Carlsons’ hard drive loaded on my laptop, so I booted it up and clicked on the game. After the familiar intro played out and the headers and map appeared, I clicked on the fifth Attraction, and the paper scroll unraveled, revealing how far we had gotten. The cursor blinked in the empty field titled upload.
Well, why not? The worst that could happen is nothing, right?
I selected two pictures and hit the upload button. A few seconds later, the swirling circle disappeared and the phrase, “Upload complete. Thank you,” replaced it.
Hmmm, interesting.
From what we had learned so far, each time the Carlsons completed a task, it unlocked the next Attraction. So what happens when all the Attractions are completed?
A second later, a chime sounded and the word “Congratulations” floated across the screen, followed by a note. “You have successfully completed the chase in San Francisco. Click the plane ticket for your next challenge.”
I clicked on the animated plane ticket, and it swooshed back and forth across the screen, erasing everything before disappearing. A new map of the world then appeared. This time, there was a new trajectory line connecting San Francisco with Bangkok, Thailand. Also, the five San Francisco Attractions were gone and replaced with five Bangkok Attractions.
I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. The game was continuing. San Francisco was just another stop. Then my eyes spotted the word, “Leaderboard.” I had never seen it before. I clicked on it and watched the Attraction heading minimize, and in its place, a leaderboard appeared. There were twenty-five teams on the board. A large arrow pointed at the fourth position, Team Carlson.
[Anthology] Abby & Sei Thriller Starter Page 22