Rise: Luthecker, #2

by Keith Domingue

  Alex and the others watched with curiosity as Winn carefully wrapped the rope around his waist then wrists. Then he began to swing the hammers, slowly at first, wrapping and unwrapping the rope around his midsection, neck, shoulders, his body always moving in a circular fashion, allowing the rope and hammers tied to each end to build speed and momentum until they were a barely-visible blur in the candlelight. With the hammers in full motion, Winn added jumps, spins, kicks, and punches, using his extended limbs to redirect the momentum of the hammers in any direction he chose.

  Alex studied Winn’s movements carefully. He noted that the kicks and punches, leaps and turns were indeed all moves that he had seen before, moves that they as a group had mastered, either empty handed or with their Kali sticks. He watched as Winn forced the rope to flow around his body; the hammers increased speed and momentum directly proportional to the distance they were from the martial arts master.

  The students watched Winn as he abruptly torqued his body hard to the left, and a half-kilogram ball of lead whipped out from his waist and shoulders, striking the concrete wall of the subway station in the blink of an eye, much like a cobra, the sound echoing through the terminal like a rifle shot. The hammer recoiled back just as quickly, and Winn caught it, never taking his eyes off the hole the hammer left in the concrete wall, which was six inches in diameter and the same distance deep.

  “Damn,” Yaw reacted in awe. “I want next.”

  Winn smiled knowingly at Yaw as he coiled the rope around his forearm. “Step into the center of the circle.”

  Yaw carefully stepped over the outer ring of candles and stood in the center of the circle, where his instructor had stood only seconds before. He watched with a bit of confusion on his face as Winn approached his equipment bag, putting away the meteor hammer and rope and pulling free a water bottle and a four meter length of rope with two small bowls tied at each end. Winn carefully placed the bowls on the floor in front of Yaw and filled them with water from the bottle. He then handed the middle of the rope to Yaw.

  “What’s this?”

  “Meteor water before meteor hammer,” Winn answered. He stepped beyond the circle of candles, leaving Yaw by himself.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Not spill the water.”

  Chris and Joey laughed. Alex was stone faced, studying the rope, the bowl, and Winn’s reactions. Nikki had her eyes locked on Alex.

  “Remember; many boats, one river. You are the river.”

  Yaw carefully set down the rope. He closed his eyes, recalling a series of Wing Chun movements that he had practiced countless times. Yaw took a ready stance. He then began to move, an elegant dance of techniques, his body whipping through the air in a series of kicks and punches. When the rehearsed pattern of movements was complete, he slowly picked up the rope that connected the two bowls of water and began to repeat the same series of movements he had just completed while empty-handed.

  The bowls of water spun smoothly as Yaw quickly adapted to the motions and momentum of the rope and water-filled bowls, and soon, they were spinning with remarkable precision, considering his lack of experience with the training weapon.

  Yaw smiled when he found the rhythm of the rope. Then he turned too abruptly for the momentum of the rope, causing one of the bowl’s to recoil toward him, quick and coming at his head. All sense of rhythm and timing were lost, and Yaw put up his hand to block the fast approaching bowl. Water splashed across his face and body.

  Chris and Joey Nguyen burst out laughing.

  “Shut up, punks. This shit ain’t easy. Let’s see you try it.”

  “That actually was very good, Yaw. With most, what you completed may take several months of practice,” Winn said as he took the rope from Yaw and handed his drenched student a towel.

  “Who’s next?”

  Alex slowly raised his hand.

  Winn nodded, Alex stepped into the circle, and Winn handed him the meteor bowl rope.

  “No,” Alex said.“Give me the real one.”

  “Alex, until practiced, it’s quite dangerous.”

  “Give me the real one.”

  “Alex!“ Nikki called out in protest, but Alex waved her quiet, never taking his eyes from Winn’s.

  “You are sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Winn coiled up the meteor and bowl rope, went back to his equipment bag, and pulled free the meteor and hammer combination. He handed it to Alex and stepped outside of the circle of candles.

  The old terminal station went silent as the students watched Alex.

  Alex took each of the egg-shaped metal hammers in his hand, feeling them for weight and dimension. He coiled one end of the rope around his left forearm and began spinning the other end in a circle with his right hand. He kept his eyes locked on the hammer as it spun, mesmerized, almost hypnotized by its circular motion. He made it spin faster and faster, until the hammer was a barely-visible blur. Then Alex’s eyes began to flutter, almost REM-like in their movement, the same eye movement he used when reading people, now applied to the motion of the hammer, literally calculating the physics of its motion. The effect for Alex made it appear, in his eyes, as if time were slowing down, and, despite the speed of the spinning hammer, he could clearly see in detail what others would see as a blur of motion. Then Alex began to move.

  Nikki, Yaw, Chris, and Joey’s jaws collectively dropped as they watched Alex explode into action, moving with much the same techniques Master Winn had displayed, but with twice the speed and force.

  The two hammers howled through the air with deadly velocity as Alex twisted through a series of jumps, kicks, and punches—actions that were almost blurry..

  Then, like a bolt of lightning, a hammer shot straight toward the wall, the metal ball striking the concrete right next to where Winn had thrown the hammer, but this time it sounded like a thunderclap.

  The hammer recoiled viciously toward Alex’s head.

  Alex ducked, and the hammer barely nicked the top of his head, but it was still enough to knock him to the ground. He lay unmoving before Winn and Yaw rushed to his side, Nikki, Chris, and Joey trailing.

  “I’m okay,” Alex said as he slowly sat up, rubbing his head. He checked his fingers and found blood on them. “That was close,” Alex added, smiling as he got to his feet.

  “My man, how did you do that?” Yaw asked.

  “Check out the wall,” Chris added.

  “Holy shit…” Joey reacted as they examined a large hole in the concrete that dwarfed the original. This one had larger cracks, floor to ceiling, spider-webbing from the epicenter.

  “Wow,” Alex reacted as he looked over to Winn.

  “Very good. Very, very good,” Winn said, beaming. “But you must be patient.”

  Alex looked to Nikki. “You want to try next?”

  “No. Are you sure you’re okay?” Nikki answered, concern in her voice.

  “Yes. It’s just a scratch. I’m fine.” Alex began to move toward her when Chris called out. “Yo. Incoming.”

  They turned to see a pair of bobbing flashlights headed in their direction.

  “Don’t stress, we’re friendlies; it’s Dino,” Rodriguez called out as he watched the group react defensively.

  Dino and officer Coleman approached.

  “Nice set up,” Dino said, as he looked over the circle of candles.

  “We thought we heard a gunshot,” Coleman added.

  “No guns,” Winn answered.

  “You people are damn tough to find,” Coleman said.

  “That’s ‘cause we don’t want to be found,” Yaw said.

  “Yeah, well, Camilla says don’t be late for dinner,” Coleman told him.

  “Why are you here?” Yaw finally asked.

  “There’s some shit going on that I think you might want to know about,” Coleman explained.

  “Such as?” Yaw raised his brow.

  “Streets have gone spooky quiet,” Dino Rodriguez said, taking up the story. “The
kind of calm that means a storm is coming. We’ve also had several run-ins with private security hovering just outside the Block, watching your every move. Most of them have been Russians.”

  “We know. Sounds like they want to make another run at their stolen merchandise. Nothing we haven’t handled before,” Yaw said.

  “My gut tells me it’s more than that this time,” Rodriguez said and then looked at Winn.“You guys know about Lucas Parks.”

  “We do,” Winn replied.

  “Look, if he’s out, and he’s chosen to stay in Los Angeles, you can bet it’s because something bigger is going on.” Rodriguez looked over the small group. “The street lord of your Block, Mr. Rooker, is missing. And from the looks of it, he didn’t exactly go voluntarily. So my guess, you all took something from Parks, and he’s going to shut it all down. The fact that he hasn’t done it all ready means to me that something bigger is going on.”

  Winn’s group of students looked at one another, but no one said a word.

  Rodriguez got the clear sense that they were hiding something. He immediately looked at Winn. “I can’t help you if you’re not straight with me, old man. Do you have any idea what he might be after?”

  10

  Rooker

  “I told you, I don’t know shit.” Rooker said, spitting blood from the multiple cuts in his mouth onto the floor to make his point. His jaw and cheekbones were swollen and throbbing, and several of his teeth had been knocked loose. His legs started to give way, but Anthony Logan and John Mitchell Jr., David Two-Good’s subordinates, each had an arm and held the blood-covered Rooker on his feet.

  Two-Good punched Rooker in the face again. His knuckles hit above the cheekbone this time, and Two-Good felt Rooker’s eye socket break against the impact. The contact was bone on bone, and Two-Good shook the sting from his hand before standing back and turning to Parks, looking for an indication of what to do next.

  “That’s enough.” Parks watched with curiosity as Rooker’s eye slowly swelled shut, the skin around the broken socket turning purple. “Let him go.”

  Logan and Mitchell Jr. let go of Rooker’s arms, and he immediately collapsed to the floor.

  “Explain to me again who this Winn Germaine character is, other than he’s the guy who stole twelve bodies from me and is going to pay for it. What’s his connection to Alex Luthecker and Nikki Ellis?” Parks asked.

  The face-down Rooker slowly turned over on the concrete floor to face Parks, who purposefully towered over him. Rooker moved to sit up.

  Parks pushed him back down with his boot.“You’re good where you are. Now answer my question.”

  “I told you; Winn’s an old school player who changed his ways. I don’t know who this Luthecker cat is. I met him once when he made a delivery to me.”

  “The original Vietnamese money for Safe Block, which is now my Block.” Parks turned to Logan and nodded. Rooker watched as Logan handed Parks a twelve-gauge shotgun. Rooker instinctively took one last look around the damp and empty basement where he knew it would all end for him. It finally hit Rooker, and his body went slack with the realization that he would die here tonight.

  “I know that they are out of the country; this Nicole Ellis and Alex Luthecker. When are they coming back?” Parks asked, interrupting Rooker’s final thoughts.

  “I don’t know,” Rooker responded, coughing up more blood.

  “What names are they traveling under?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But they’re coming back to the Block?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he speak to you? Luthecker? When you met him that one time? When he gave you the money that made you think you could steal from me? Did he do or say anything to you that you thought was…strange?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Did he…predict your future?”

  Rooker smiled a bloody-toothed smile. “Yeah. He looked into a crystal ball and told me that when I met you, I was going to tell you to go fuck yourself.”

  Parks smirked, and then cracked the double barrel over his forearm. Parks kept his eyes on Rooker as he carefully loaded two shells. “Did he tell you how you were going to die?”

  “No. But I have a feeling you will.”

  “Get him on his feet.”

  Logan and Mitchell Jr. each grabbed an arm of Rooker, hoisted him upright, and held him until he could stand on his own.

  “I’m sure you know, Mr. Rooker, that among warring tribes, the manner of death is the message.”

  “Everyone dies. And you’re not gonna win. Not against Luthecker. I know those things, too. Now get it over with.”

  Two-Good turned away and held his breath as Mitchell Jr. and Logan spun Rooker around and stepped back.

  Without hesitation, Parks placed the barrel of the shotgun against the back of Rooker’s head and pulled the trigger. The sound and concussion from the shotgun blast caused the small basement windows to rattle and all but Parks to flinch.

  Rooker’s body, now nearly headless, dropped to the floor.

  Logan looked at the far wall, now painted with blood and bits of skull, and put a hand to his mouth, holding back a sudden urge to vomit.

  Parks turned to a nervous Two-Good. “Tell our Russian partners to let me know the second Alex Luthecker and Nicole Ellis arrive. And once we have the two terrorists tell them to kill everyone who is left. I want to send a clear message: there is no Safe Block from me.”

  11

  Howe

  “The board of directors is a little upset that you’ve chosen to release this monster,” Phil Stoppard said to James Howe.

  “I know what I’m doing,” Howe replied. “It’s the most efficient and hands-off way to get Luthecker. And we own Parks. If I want him back in his cage, he goes back in his cage.”

  “He should have never been let out of his cage to begin with. So far, he’s brutally murdered two people.”

  “Two people who mean nothing.”

  “The men in the ivory towers want to know what the hell you’re thinking.”

  Howe turned away from the window of his office in the Coalition Properties West building and looked at Stoppard. Stoppard was middle management, a simple messenger, and with his Oliver Peoples glasses, Emporio Armani suit, and look of outrage on a superior’s behalf, he had all the boorish indicators of someone who was trying to escape that dead end reality.

  “I’m not a soldier like the previous individual who occupied this office,” Howe finally replied. “I’m an accountant. I make sure the debits and credits on the balance sheet match. I clean up after messes. And Richard Brown and The Coalition left a big one.”

  “The Coalition board isn’t interested in philosophical perspectives. They want their asset Alex Luthecker, and they’re terrified of Lucas Parks.”

  “They’re terrified of both.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “No.”

  “What’s to keep Parks from slaughtering Luthecker outright, and the girl? Or simply disappearing?”

  “He doesn’t think like that. He’s smarter than you. He’s smarter than the Coalition board. Do you believe he kills people without a reason? Do you actually think he needs money?”

  Stoppard was smart enough not to answer.

  “When he tracks them down, and he will, he won’t kill Luthecker. Or the girl. He won’t kill them because he’s curious. And he won’t disappear because I have something he wants.

  “And what’s that?”

  “Legitimacy. A seat at the table.”

  “So, what do I tell the board?”

  “That in the end the balance sheet will be balanced.”

  The look on Howe’s face indicated that it was the end of the conversation, and the Coalition head stared a now sheepish Stoppard out of his office.

  After Stoppard was gone, Howe went back to his window. He found the angular horizon of the downtown Los Angeles city skyline beautiful if not somewhat hypnotic, a pe
aceful distraction from the variables he had introduced to his task of finding Alex Luthecker and Nicole Ellis.

  Parks was a risk, no question. But in Howe’s mind, Alex Luthecker was the bigger risk. The difference between the two was that Howe understood Parks. In the end, Parks was just a businessman.

  It was Howe’s grasp of economics and the impossible array of corporate tax codes of not only the United States, but of most major industrialized nations, that had led to a great deal of Coalition Properties’ massive profits over the last decade. Howe knew the players in Washington. And he knew how the economic math worked better than the mathematicians themselves. He didn’t have a constant war-footing mindset and knew how to build consensus when he had to. It was the reason why he, and not another soldier, now sat at the head of Coalition Properties.

  Which also explained why Parks intrigued him. The global marketplace was changing at an alarming rate, and those who followed the current rules and structure would soon find themselves naturally selected out of existence. The relentless push for no regulation and the complete destruction of labor as a force in order to maximize short-term profit had proven successful. But that ideology, when combined with the Internet, had the unintended consequence of completely dissolving market borders between nation-states, which in turn had allowed Parks, and men like him, to capture more and more of the legitimate marketplace with illegitimate products. Patents, copyrights, environmental regulations, drug laws, human rights violations, these were all anachronisms to New Order Gangsters. They were obstacles that this new market force was not encumbered by in any way. And now these groups were capitalized well enough to buy small countries. They were building armies. And Howe knew it wouldn’t be long before New Order Gangsters gained enough power and control in the global marketplace that they would be seen as respectable “New Order Businessmen.” And Howe, like the heads of many legitimate corporate entities, were beginning to realize that they wanted in.