Lion (16 page)

“I will,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” Hok said. “I’ll show you out.”

We followed Hok back into the room with all of the drawers, and she opened a seemingly random one. She pulled out one of Uncle Tí’s stoppered vials containing gray powder. Hok handed the vial to me, and I shoved it into one of my cargo pants pockets.

“Take great care with that,” Hok said, “especially in Chinatown.”

I nodded. “Thanks again.”

“My pleasure,” Hok replied.

The four of us bowed to Hok, and she returned the formal goodbye. We hurried down the low, narrow stairway and into the side street. When we approached the guys who were standing around earlier, they parted for us to pass without issue. I glanced up at the row of third-floor balconies and saw Hok’s shadow staring down at us.

When we got to Grant Avenue, I called Peter, but he didn’t answer.

“That’s strange,” I said.

“He probably left the van and did not hear it ring,” Hú Dié said. “Chinatown can get quite loud.”

“Let’s go check,” Jake said. “If Peter’s not there, we’ll go peek in some restaurant windows.”

“Peek in windows?” I said. “Spoken like a true sneaky jackal.”

Jake grinned.

We soon arrived at the van, but Peter wasn’t there. He was probably eating somewhere nearby, most likely within sight of the van. Our bikes were still locked to the back, and this didn’t look like the best neighborhood.

We walked over to the nearest restaurant, a small place with whole roasted ducks and chickens hanging in the window. We peered inside, but Peter wasn’t there. The place next door had pictures of desserts plastered along the front windows and across the glass door, as well as images of smoothies and boba “bubble” tea.

“Maybe he just grabbed something to drink,” I said, pointing to the pictures.

We peeked through the windows of that restaurant, too, but Peter wasn’t there, either.

The next restaurant was across an alley. As we stepped off the curb, we avoided some kind of sludge that appeared to be thickened frying oil. It was slick and disgusting … and rutted with a pair of skinny parallel tire tracks. Several sets of footprints flanked the tracks.

“Peter’s wheelchair!” I said.

“Call him again,” Phoenix suggested.

I redialed Peter’s number, and we immediately heard a faint ringtone at the far end of the dark alley. The ringtone abruptly stopped, and someone barked an order in Chinese. My cell phone display changed to
CALL ENDED
.

The four of us glanced at one another, and we headed into the blackness.

As we slunk
down the dark alley, Jake whispered, “That sounded like Chinese. What did the guy say?”

“He said, ‘Put him in the truck,’ ” Hú Dié replied. “We should hurry.”

I struggled for traction over the gelatinous frying oil that coated the pavement. I felt like a hockey player without skates. Jake stumbled beside me, and Phoenix grabbed his arm, steadying him.

An engine started, and we ducked behind a Dumpster. Brake lights flickered; we could make out a plain white panel van.

The vehicle didn’t have side windows, but there were two glass rear windows reinforced with metal mesh. A light was on inside the van, and an Asian guy with skinny tattooed arms was struggling to lift something. He shifted out of view, and Peter’s head flopped by the windows for a split
second. He was unconscious and being pulled out of his wheelchair.

“Peter!” I shouted, and we sprinted after the van.

The light clicked off, the driver gunned the engine, and the van peeled onto the street. By the time we reached the end of the alley, the van was already picking up speed, and even though the traffic was heavy, it was immediately obvious that we wouldn’t catch the van on foot. A motorcycle zoomed past, riding
between
two lanes of slower traffic. It gave me an idea.

“Guys!” I shouted. “The bikes! We can split lanes here!”

“Good thinking!” Hú Dié said.

“Jake,” I said, “keep an eye on that van. Try to get the license plate number. We’ll get your gear.”

“Ten-four,” Jake said.

Phoenix, Hú Dié, and I ran back to Peter’s van. I saw the security bar clamped down on the bike frames, and I frowned. “I forgot about the lock. Peter has the key.”

“Locks are like laws,” Hú Dié said. “Eventually, somebody is going to break them.”

She grabbed the rack with both hands and placed one foot on the bumper. She twisted her torso powerfully to one side, tearing the hitch-mounted rack free with a hair-raising
screech
.

“Locks are like laws, huh?” Phoenix said.

“Shut up, Phoenix,” Hú Dié replied. “Help me break this bar off. Ryan, watch out for trouble.”

No trouble came. Hú Dié and Phoenix had the security bar off in seconds. She was as skilled at taking things apart as she was at putting them together.

“Jake!” Hú Dié shouted. “Come on!”

He reached us quickly, looking excited. “Traffic is barely moving. I think we can catch them!” We jumped onto our bikes.

Pedaling was awkward at first because I wasn’t wearing riding shoes with clips. My feet kept slipping off of the pedal shafts, but I soon got the hang of it.

I picked a line between two lanes of stop-and-go traffic and began to hammer forward. The others followed me in our tightest peloton yet. I could just make out the panel van in the glare of the taillights ahead.

Car horns began to honk, and Jake yelled out, “If you’re jealous, go buy yourself a bike!”

The car exhaust was thick around us, and it made me a little light-headed. I was wearing cargo shorts, and warm, toxic air breezed over my skin each time I passed a muffler pipe pointed in my direction. I felt the rumble of trucks in my chest, and the whine of sports car engines buzzed in my ears as impatient drivers revved their vehicles when we blew past.

One idiot swerved in front of me, but I slowed and made it around him, as did Jake and then Phoenix.

Hú Dié, however, was last in our peloton. I glanced back to see the idiot swerve farther before stopping just a couple of feet from an idling car in the next lane. Hú Dié slowed to a crawl and rose out of her seat on one leg. She wouldn’t make it through the slot with both legs astride her bike. She cocked her free leg up and back over her seat and wove through the slot, her free pedal shaft scratching a gouge in the idiot’s chrome bumper. I turned my attention
back to the road and smiled as the idiot started to shout behind us.

Hú Dié caught up with us, and we began to pick up speed.

“Sick moves, girl!” Jake shouted.

“That is how we do it back in Kaifeng!” Hú Dié shouted back.

We hurried on.

We were only four or five cars behind the white van when traffic began to open up. The van and all the vehicles around us started to accelerate.

So did I.

I felt a surge of energy burst forth from my
dan tien
, and I let my legs rip. I rode like a maniac for at least half a mile before glancing down at the electronic display attached to my handlebars. It was difficult to read with all of the headlights zipping past, but I soon made it out: thirty-eight miles per hour.

Even though I was flying, I was no longer keeping pace with traffic, and it was getting downright dangerous. I glanced back to find that the others were barely visible behind me. One of them signaled for me to slow.

I tapped my brakes and watched in disappointment as the white van began to pull away into the night. I slowed further, and my muscles began to tighten, including my
dan tien
. The van was very far ahead now, and I was about to give up hope, when in the distance it turned onto a side street.

I glanced around and noticed that the sidewalks here
were clear of people. Between gaps in the buildings, I saw lights glistening off of San Francisco Bay and realized we must be in an industrial district near the wharf.

There was a break in traffic, and I cut across to the sidewalk. I continued on at a moderate pace as the others cut over and joined me. My lungs were on fire and my muscles continued to cramp, but I wasn’t about to quit.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” Phoenix huffed.

“Me either,” I said, struggling to catch my own breath. “But Peter needs us. The van turned down this street. Let’s keep going.”

I turned and saw that, mercifully, it was a long downhill run all the way to the waterfront. Brake lights flashed at the very end of the street, and I made out the white panel van turning left.

We coasted downhill, and my speedometer began to climb:

Forty miles per hour …

Forty-five miles per hour …

Even though I was exhausted and angry and my body was cramping terribly, I’d never felt such an exhilarating rush in my life.

I tickled my brakes as I neared the end of the street, and my arms and hands began to seize up. I guessed it was some kind of dragon bone fallout from having pushed so hard. I reached the end of the street and turned left with the others directly behind me. I continued to struggle for breath, but Phoenix and Hú Dié appeared to have gotten a
second wind. They both shot past me, heading for the van, which had turned into the parking lot of a large waterfront building about a quarter mile up the road.

Jake pulled beside me.

“What’s going on with you?” he huffed. “I’ve never seen anybody ride so fast like you did in that traffic!”

“I think it was the dragon bone,” I huffed back. “It’s like it wanted me to catch those guys and fight them or something.”

“You might get your chance.”

“We’ll see. I’m cramping up tighter than a snare drum.”

“Draft off of me,” Jake said, and he pulled forward.

I locked onto his rear tire. As we neared, I saw that the building looked like some kind of warehouse. It was two stories tall and had large metal doors that looked like loading bays. Security flood lamps lighted up the entire perimeter.

The van stopped in front of the building, and Phoenix and Hú Dié raced up to it. Phoenix circled around to the driver’s side, while Hú Dié approached the passenger side. They jumped off of their bikes and waited. No one got out.

The occupants must have seen us. What were they up to?

A full minute passed with no one exiting, and Hú Dié ran out of patience. She circled around to the back of the panel van, raised both arms, and slammed a hammer fist into each of the rear windows. They shattered into harmless safety glass pellets. The reinforcing metal mesh tore free of one window, and Hú Dié cocked an arm back again.

The barrel of a pistol poked out of the window.

“Gun!” she shouted.

Phoenix snaked around to the back of the van, hugging his body close to it. Then he let loose a front kick, and the pistol sailed into the night air. One of the van’s rear doors burst open, and Phoenix grabbed somebody by the collar with both hands.

Jake and I reached the van as Phoenix yanked a skinny Asian man out of the vehicle. The guy had panthers tattooed up and down his arms. He tried to scramble to his feet, but Phoenix dropped a wicked elbow into the side of his head.

He folded like a wet sock.

A pair of huge, hairy hands shot out of the van, locking around Phoenix’s neck. Phoenix cried out, but his shout was cut short, along with his air supply. He tried to push himself away, but his attacker’s grip was too strong. Harsh light from the security flood lamps lit up burly forearms covered with silverback gorilla tattoos.

As I leaped off my bike, Hú Dié wailed like a banshee and jumped up, grabbing the top of the van’s rear door frame. She tucked her legs into her chest before thrusting them into the van’s interior. Phoenix was jerked powerfully backward, his body colliding with the van’s closed door, before his attacker’s grip released.

Someone unleashed a primal growl inside the van as Hú Dié swung back out into the parking lot. I grabbed Phoenix and dragged him away from the vehicle. He clambered to his feet, and I turned to see Hú Dié drop into a low Horse Stance.

The other rear door flew open, and a mountain of a man
emerged from the back of the van. He was Asian, easily stood six and a half feet tall, and probably weighed three hundred pounds.

“Phoenix!” Hú Dié shouted without taking her eyes off of the giant. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Double Flying Tiger—your way?” Hú Dié said.

“Go!” Phoenix said, and he ran at the man.

Hú Dié leaped into the air toward the gorilla-guy’s head, lashing out with her right leg, while Phoenix sank low as if preparing to jump. The man raised both arms, slamming one mighty fist into Hú Dié’s leg while keeping the other close to his face to protect it from Phoenix’s airborne attack.

But Phoenix
didn’t
jump. Instead, he drove both his fists up under the man’s rib cage. Air rushed out of the giant’s lungs with hurricane force and he buckled forward, knocking Phoenix out of the way, as Hú Dié crashed to the ground to one side.

I stepped up to the guy and dropped into a Horse Stance. My hands had cramped into rough approximations of tiger-claw fists, so I pulled both hands in to the sides of my chest like Hú Dié had taught me; then I thrust them forward with every ounce of strength I had left.