The Deaths of Tao (31 page)

“Whoever designed these stations must not be functioning on all cylinders,” Faust tapped his head with a finger. “I was at the Formosa Boulevard Station yesterday. They had these glass murals on the ceiling. One of them was some white tree nymph stabbing a black monster. Kind of like
Alice in Wonderland
meets Salvatore Dali on acid.”

Roen grinned. “I don’t care if he’s on crack. This sure beats the New York’s ant farm subways.”

I prefer the Moscow Metro Stations. There is something poetic about underground cathedral domes.
 

“Bah, it’s the same patterns over and over again.”

Patterns are fun.
 

“Patterns cause seizures.”

The team reached the top of the escalator and parted ways as if total strangers. Each man had a job to do. It was Roen and Faust’s job to contact the local Bamboo Union, the Dragon division, replenish their ammo stores, and inquire about Dylan. The rest of the guys were on surveillance, mapping the harbor and surrounding factories. Grant was on food and hygiene duty: they were out of toothpaste.

What they did know was that the Punai Corporation was based inland on the mainland and had thirteen buildings – four refineries and nine warehouses – in a prime strip of real estate just south of the second harbor entrance. In the old days, they could just call up satellite imagery or bribe the port officials. Now, it was all leg work.

“I miss being at the top of the food chain. What was it like being the Chinese emperor?”

Being emperor sucks.
 

“Why do you say that? You get to boss everyone around. It’s good to be king.”

It is too much work and responsibility. Not to mention there is always someone trying to assassinate you. The best job in the world is the third in succession.
 

“All the power and respect, none of the work?”

Exactly. When I was in Zhu, life was terrible. Every day, we would get inundated with ridiculous requests. No one could make a decision for themselves.
 

“Well, Zhu was a frigging tyrant. That’s what happens when you consolidate power to just you.”

Times were different back then. You give a guy too much power and they raise an army and lay siege to your house.
 

“Yeah, but as the younger brother to the crown prince, aren’t you worried that your older brother will throw you off the parapet or lock you in the Tower of London?

During the reign of Christian V, I hid from the Genjix by living in the second heir to the crown. Tensions were high between the brothers as Frederick, the crown prince, was a bit of an insecure control freak. I made young Charles tell his older brother that he had no desire for the crown whatsoever. Once Frederick believed him, Charles was free to do whatever he wanted for the rest of his life.
 

“He must have had a lot of free time on his hands. What form of debauchery did you encourage him into?”

He hunted Genjix in Denmark. Had to stop when he was accused of being a serial killer. Frederick had to save Charles from the executioner.
 

“It’s good to be the serial killing brother of the king.”

The two found the Dragon’s base of operations behind a knick-knack shop that sold thousands of useless trinkets on the edge of the harbor near the National Sun Yat Sen University. The tiny storefront was much larger inside than it seemed out front. They were led to the back and passed through a wall of beaded curtains into a maze of dark corridors and small side rooms. Several groups of thugs lounged around, their wary eyes watching Roen and Faust’s every move. A few minutes and two levels down later, Roen was hopelessly turned around.

I know how to get back.
 

“Haven’t seen anyone worth breaking a sweat over. Most of them I can take with one hand tied behind my back.”

They will swarm. You did leave your gun at the entrance.
 

“We’re low on bullets anyway.”

They were finally led to a small dimly lit room. Six men sat at a round table beneath a floodlight shining down from the ceiling. Wads of crinkled cash, two pistols, and several pieces of jewelry were piled in the center. The men looked up from their card game once and then ignored Roen and Faust for the next ten minutes. At first, Roen assumed these gangsters were playing poker. It took him a few minutes to realize the game was pinochle.

“I thought only grandmothers play pinochle. And what’s with these guys and making us wait all the time?”

We did come to them, after all.
 

One of the gangsters looked up and gestured for them to approach. Again, it was the one facing the door they came in from. “You’re the one Da Ge sent?” he asked in passable English.

“We need supplies,” Roen took out a sheet of paper and placed it on the table.

The leader, Roen had nicknamed him Sloppy Eater for the half a dozen stains on his cutoff white shirt, glanced it over and then handed the note off. “You a friend of Da Ge Han, I give you good deal. Two hundred thousand.”

Roen blanched at the number. Unless he was hunting werewolves and needed silver bullets, there was no way ammo cost five thousand stinky tofu.

Let it go. We are on an island where firearms are illegal.
 

“Someone must have written ‘sucker’ on my forehead or something.”

“We also need harbor identifications,” Roen said. “For Punai Corp.”

The room erupted in low mutters as the mobsters exchanged uneasy looks. They definitely hit a nerve bringing up Punai.

“What you want with Punai?” Sloppy Eater said. “Da Ge Han said my boys don’t touch them. It will be expensive. Fifty thousand for two to get past security.”

“We need eight,” Faust replied.

“Five hundred thousand for eight.”

Roen made a choking noise like he just swallowed a golf ball. “That doesn’t even add up!” he stammered. “How could two cost fifty and eight cost five hundred? If anything, it should be a bulk discount.”

Sloppy Eater’s face darkened, and Roen hear the distinct click of safeties being switched off.

“Steal one and no one will miss. Steal eight and people get suspicious. Cause more problems,” he growled.

That makes sense. Just buy them and be done with it.
 

Roen reluctantly paid the extortion and silently mourned the dwindling pile of money he had just acquired a few days earlier. At this rate, he’d have to ask Lin for more money in a week. They waited around for an hour and watched Taiwanese soap operas while Sloppy Eater’s men got their identification cards together. At the end, nearly a million Taiwanese dollars lighter, they got what they came for: three crates of ammunition and the fake IDs they needed to get into Punai.

“Do not trace these back to us, or you will have trouble with the Dragons,” Sloppy Eater shook his finger.

Roen nodded. “Understood. My boys just want to poke around the refinery and the warehouses.”

“These IDs work for the office building and refinery only. Warehouses use different locks. We cannot get those,” Sloppy Eater added as they were ushered toward the exit.

“Wait a minute!” Roen said. “We just paid good money. You should have told us this earlier!”

Sloppy Eater glared at him. “Everyone knows warehouse should be kept safer. Else workers will steal everything.”

Roen wished he had a clever retort. Instead, he just scowled and stomped away. As they were walking out, Faust looked back and asked. “By the way, we’re looking for someone. Face burned, real ugly. Aussie. Kind of big like an ogre. Have you seen him?”

Sloppy Eater gave a surprised start and shook his head emphatically. “No such person.”

They know or at least heard something.
 

“We could really use some help in locating him,” Faust added. “We will pay handsomely.”

Roen nudged Faust in the ribs. “Stop throwing money at them. You want to go back to instant noodles?”

Be careful! Sloppy Eater just exchanged glances with three others. Four more are approaching from the back, weapons out. Two batons, a tonfa, two bats, and three metal pipes. No guns.
 

“Why are you looking for this Dylan?” Sloppy Eater asked.

They know where he is!
 

“I didn’t mention his...” Roen frowned.

He noticed two men walk up to either side of him. Things were about to go down in here. Ramez must have just told Faust as well. Suddenly, he tensed in a not-so-subtle fashion. Out of the corner of his eyes, Roen saw a shadow move. He lashed out reflexively, swinging the ammo crate in his hand like a baseball bat and struck a mobster in the face.

The room suddenly got very crowded.

Three to your left. Two right. More pouring in from the back entrance.
 

The gangsters mobbed them.

Roen was barely able to get his hands up when a machete cut into his forearms. He was lucky the Kevlar was thick. He lashed out, grabbing the kid and throwing him with a hip toss. Faust meanwhile took on several mobsters at a time. He had knocked three of them down already when someone clocked him with a baton. Then more Dragons converged on them.

There are too many! Take the exit behind you, second right, up the stairs.
 

“What about Faust?”

Nothing we can do for him.
 

“No way! I’m not leaving him with these punks!”

Roen barreled into the two standing over Faust, shoulder checking one and elbowing the other. He bent down, grabbed Faust by the collar, and dragged him to his feet.

“Come on, man,” he shouted in Faust’s ear. “These guys couldn’t have hit you that hard. Ramez, wake his ass up!”

Three of the toughs converged on him. Two were smart enough to stay out of his reach. The third one, the dummy, got too close. Roen plucked the baseball bat out of his hand and smacked him on the temple. He was about to finish the kid off when Tao intervened.

Do not kill him!
 

Roen paused in mid-swing. “Why? These odds aren’t bad enough yet?”

Think about it. Not a gun drawn. They are trying to take you alive. If you start killing them, they will change their minds. As long as there are not any casualties, they might not draw a gun. If they do, you have zero chance of survival.
 

Roen scanned the dozen or so guys in the room. Tao was right. There wasn’t a gun to be seen. Sure, there were several baseball bats, lead pipes, and knives. Hell, he even saw a cricket bat, but no guns.

One of the two standing in front of him swung a tonfa in his hand. Roen parried with the heavy end of the bat and let the blow glance to the side. Then he lunged forward with the handle and stuck the guy in the throat. He collapsed.

“Let’s hope he is still alive. Maybe I can get him a Band-Aid.”

No need to get touchy. Take the door behind you.
 

A trickle of blood ran down Faust’s forehead. Roen dragged him backward, swinging the bat at whoever got close. The gangsters gave him more respect after he took down four of theirs in a span of twenty seconds. He reached the back wall and grappled for the doorknob.

They entered a long, thin storage room with shelves stocked with liquor. Roen slammed the door shut and tried to catch this breath. He cursed. They were in a bad spot. It was a dead end. He had hoped for another exit, but it was obviously too much to ask for.

Faust was regaining his senses. Roen put him down next to the metal door. It was sturdy commercial door, but it had no lock. He would have to guard it the entire time until they came up with an escape plan. Hopefully, it would buy them enough time to figure a way out of this mess.

“Why did they attack us? Was this a trap all along?”

I do not believe so. They were not aggressive until Faust mentioned Dylan. Perhaps the Genjix have an arrangement with these triads down south.
 

Roen’s heart sank. If that was true, then those Dragon guys would be sending for the Genjix right now. Then the two Quasing would be screwed as well. The door knob turned slowly and Roen charged just as it opened. He stuck his bat through the opening and smashed someone’s face. He slammed the door shut again.

“Next guy that tries that is getting his face rearranged!” he screamed.

Then he looked around the room desperately for another opening. A vent, a sewage hole, anything. Unfortunately, the room really was a dead end. Roen exhaled and leaned against the door. Their only chance was to buy some time in here until Faust regained his senses. Roen would need him if they were going to fight their way out. Or better yet, maybe if they were missing long enough, the rest of the guys would come looking for them. Both plans seemed farfetched, but it wasn’t like Tao was providing options.

Negotiate.
 

“I’m stuck in their liquor closet. What exactly do I have to offer?”

To not go down fighting. They already saw what you could do. I am sure the triad do not relish having more of their men injured.
 

“Something tells me the bosses here don’t care much about the welfare of their men, but I guess it’s worth a try.”

Roen stood up and shouted at the door. “Hey, let’s talk this over. Can I talk to your boss? We can work something out.”

Someone on the other side shouted something. Tao translated it as “Fuck you.”

So much for that. Roen sat back down against the door and waited. If they were going to be unreasonable, so be it. He could wait them out. Not like he had much choice anyway. Eventually, one of these pricks would have to either talk to him or try to take the room by force. Roen was a patient man; he would be ready.

 

Twelve hours later, Roen was about ready to throw a fit. He paced the room and muttered obscenities. He thought at the very worst they would wait an hour or so. Now, half a day later with nothing to drink but hard liquor and plum wine, Roen’s patience had run out. He was hungry, thirsty, and completely hammered. And to top things off, it seemed the door locked on the other side! Now they really were trapped.