by Mel Odom
“Who’s the client?” he asked in a more civil tone.
“Mr. Johnson.”
“One of many Mr. Johnsons,” I said, not liking the fact we were being kept in the dark.
Kindly Cheng grinned. “The Johnson family is rather large, it seems. Our client for this run has grown tired of one particular thorn in his side: Cheung-Sing ‘Rooster’ Lo. Lo is a Red Pole for one of the small triads here in Hong Kong, the 289s. Or the ‘Easy Money’ gang, if you prefer.”
I’d actually heard of the 289s. They usually liked to prey on the Yokogawa Corporation in Japan and its holdings around the world. Yokogawa specialized in producing medical supplies for DocWagon, products in high demand by the Easy Money gangers.
“Despite their small stature,” Kindly Cheng went on, “Lo’s illegal activities have managed to damage the client’s profits. Mr. Johnson would like you to help him show Lo the error of his ways.”
An image of a high-end restaurant formed on the commlink’s screen.
“Lo takes an evening every few months to dine at the Shangri-La Restaurant in Aberdeen, which is why the schedule is so important. That night is tonight. He stays on the move. If you aren’t aware, the Shangri-La is an elite establishment, serving primarily corporate clientele from Wuxing, Incorporated. Because of this, it’s not unusual for diners to bring bodyguards or assistants with them. In Lo’s case, he brings a particularly brutish enforcer known as The Talon, and undoubted feels well-protected.”
The restaurant image faded away, replaced by a hulking behemoth of an ork with a scar splitting one side of his hard face.
“You’re going to prove just how wrong Lo is in this regard,” Kindly Cheng said. “You are to kidnap Rooster Lo. So long as he is alive and in relatively good health, all options are on the table. While keeping the run quiet would make things easier for Mr. Johnson, no one will shed too many tears over a few dead triad thugs.”
I took that all in for a moment. Managing a hostile prisoner in enemy territory wasn’t a pleasant proposition.
“The client has arranged an exit via boat,” Kindly Cheng said. “So long as you can get Lo from the interior to the restaurant’s dock, the client will handle everything else.”
“Having the water so close means we’re limited on escape routes,” Duncan said. “In case this boat captain doesn’t come through.”
Kindly Cheng ignored the protest. “Despite being a Red Pole, Lo is a tactician, not a fighter. Don’t expect him to put up much of a fight. The Talon, on the other hand, is as nasty as they come. Be careful about how you confront him, or things may go badly.”
“You’re not giving us much time to prepare,” I said. “That means things may go badly.”
Kindly Cheng sneered at me. “This run pays primo nuyen, my sweet. We are not going to turn it down. Not if you want my help with your missing father.”
Before I could point out that maybe she wanted our help with Josephine Tsang, she broke the connection. I looked at Duncan. “What do you think?”
He frowned. “We still need her. She’s got a lead on Raymond. I don’t want to lose that.”
“All right.”
“Besides, getting to crack triad skulls instead of chasing after soap opera stars is more my style. I need to cleanse my palate after that last run.”
Back at the Bolthole, we brought Gobbet and Is0bel up to speed. I was thinking that with the 289s involved, it might be a good time to bring Gaichu into the mix, but the ghoul wasn’t around to take the meet. I wondered what he was off doing, then reconsidered that. Maybe I didn’t want to know.
Is0bel pulled down as much info from the BBS as she could, tagging up with runners they knew who moonlit as bodyguards who’d been in the restaurant. A street sam named Zekellios gave us a general layout, but didn’t know the upper floor. An elf named Adarion covered the second floor, however. And a decker named Levic Stolls provided the sec system blueprints. Primed and ready, we headed to Aberdeen on the MTR.
The Shangri-La restaurant sat on the docks, partially out over the water. Waves churned by boats and ships further out in the harbor lapped against the pilings as we approached the gaudy, neon-lit establishment. A considerable amount of foot traffic surrounded us, a sizeable portion of it headed for the restaurant.
Parquet flooring polished to a high sheen spilled like a wooden tide throughout the large foyer. A huge troll in an armored maître d’s uniform stood like a sentry in front of an entrance made more narrow by stanchions sporting golden ropes. A cornucopia of spices flooded my nose. I didn’t see Lo or The Talon seated at any of the tables or the bar.
“Welcome to the Shangri-La,” the troll said in a clipped British accent. “We strive to provide our patrons with an exquisite dining experience. If you have any questions, or require special accommodations, don’t hesitate to speak with our staff.”
Duncan nodded to the barely filled bar area. “Looks like we’ve got our pick of tables.”
The troll’s accent turned even more stuffy. “I’m sorry, but this is not a seat-yourself establishment. If you’d like to choose where you sit, I suggest you make a reservation for one of the private rooms upstairs.”
“Thanks,” I said as I noticed Duncan bristling. I pulled on his arm and stepped in front of him. “Perhaps you could get us seated.” I slipped him some folded nuyen.
“Of course, sir.” He spoke briefly on his commlink, and a waitress joined us.
“Welcome to the Shangri-La, sir,” she greeted. “I’ll seat you in the lounge for the moment, if that’s all right.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’m also hoping to find an acquaintance of mine. I hear he sometimes eats here.”
“I might know him, but we have a lot of guests.”
Noting her reluctance, I also crossed her palm with some nuyen. There were few servers in the world who wouldn’t sell what they knew. They usually got treated like dirt in most establishments, high-end or not.
“His name is Mr. Lo. He has a reservation here tonight,” I said.
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t know him.”
I guessed Lo traveled under the radar when he hit up the Shangri-La for dinner, but there was no way The Talon could do the same. “I’ll bet a hardworking waitress like yourself is good with faces.” I gave her a few more folded notes. “You’d certainly remember this man. He travels with a big ork who’s got a nasty scar on his cheek.” I traced it across my face.
Her eyes widened. “I might know the ork. If he’s who I’m thinking of, he only comes around a couple times a year. I’ve never served him, but I’ve heard he gets real pushy with the other waiters.”
“Pushy? Sounds exactly like the guy I’m looking for.”
“He’s allergic to shellfish, I think. We get so many orders, sometimes mistakes are made.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t just say that! I can assure you our service is second to none.”
“Tell me where my friend’s eating, and I won’t mention your little indiscretion to a soul,” I assured her.
“If I could, I would. We have two-dozen private dining rooms. I don’t work those, but I can tell you he’s not out here.” She paused. “Now, excuse me. I need to place these orders. I hope you find your friend.” She turned and walked away.
“There’s a guests’ computer at the bar,” Is0bel said. “Give me a few minutes with that and I might be able to turn up Lo’s location. I’ve got some wiz sniffer programs that work quick.”
I nodded and we headed to the bar. All around us, men and women sat at tables with armored fashionwear and concealed weapons. Violence might not have been on the menu, but it was everywhere. One wrong step would plunge us into a firefight.
Chapter 55
Rooster Lo
True to her word, Is0bel worked miracles in short order—fitting in a restaurant, I supposed.
“Got it,” the decker said, smiling. “Second floor. Room 3. Says there’s a VIP party of five.”
&
nbsp; “You’re sure?” Duncan asked.
“There’s a special note that says one of the diners is allergic to shellfish.”
“Sounds like our guy,” Duncan admitted.
I thought for a moment, gazing across the bar at the kitchen beyond where white-suited restaurant staff labored while an older man in a chef’s hat barked orders with the efficiency and volume of a military commander. “Has the order been filled?”
Is0bel shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Might be time for a word with the chef,” I said. I looked at Is0bel. “Why don’t you see if that diner’s food can accidentally be cross-contaminated?”
“Thinking about taking out The Talon before we engage Lo?” Duncan asked.
“Thinking about cutting down the odds. We’re supposed to stay low-key on this run.”
“How am I going to get the chef to accidentally get the order wrong?” Is0bel asked.
“Offer him a bribe.”
“And,” Gobbet said, “tell him The Talon is cheating on you with your younger sister.” She smiled. “He looks like the fatherly type.”
Is0bel nodded and walked into the kitchen. The conversation that ensued held all of our attention. At first the chef seemed reluctant and almost combative, then Is0bel cried for a little bit—which surprised me.
“Oh, she’s good,” Gobbet whispered. “If she wasn’t such a great decker, she could have been a street hustler.”
After the tears, nuyen changed hands, then Is0bel wiped her eyes, smiled, thanked the chef, and returned to us.
“Okay,” she said, “the fix is in. Their order’s going up in a few minutes.”
We waited and sipped our drinks at the bar. After servers took trays of food through the door to the stairs, it wasn’t long before one of them came running back to the kitchen.
I could only just hear his panicked voice as he spoke. “Chef! We have a problem. A big problem.”
“Cut the drama, cork mage,” the chef replied belligerently. “We’re working here.” But the nervous looks he gave over his shoulder said he knew exactly what that big trouble was.
“Our second floor guest is pissed. His head of security’s spewing up prawns and looking for someone to blame. Better brace yourselves for a mouthful of fists.”
At that moment, The Talon banged through the door. Evidently his allergy to shellfish was pretty pronounced. His face was swollen up like a balloon, his eyes almost closed. He strode toward the kitchen.
“Move,” I said, and headed for the door The Talon had just come through.
On the other side, a staircase led up to the second floor. I pulled my pistol and headed up, closely followed by the others. At the top of the staircase, I followed the hallway, checking doors till I came to number 3. Easing around the corner, I peered in.
Buffet tables laden with Asian delicacies occupied the center of the room. Lo sat at a table at the back. Three men sat in chairs around him. Two massive dragon statues stood against the walls. The unpleasant odors of seafood, spices, and vomit lingered in the air.
“Okay,” I said to my teammates in a low voice, “let’s do this.” I followed my pistol around the corner and stepped into the room, then raised my voice. “Keep your hands where I can see them and nobody gets hurt!”
The men froze, and Duncan and I swept forward, staying clear of Gobbet and Is0bel’s shooting lanes in case this went sideways.
“Who are you?” Lo demanded. “What do you want?”
“We’re kidnapping you, idiot,” Duncan snarled. He secured Lo’s men with zip ties, then did the same to Lo. When he was satisfied the man was secured, we yanked our prisoner to his feet.
“Listen, Gun Show,” Gobbet said, “we may have Lo, but these stiffs were probably just a handful of his guards. He could have more downstairs. We can’t leave the same way we came in.”
Duncan shook Lo and spoke in his cop’s voice. “Tell me where the back door to this place is, and I’ll let you keep your teeth.”
“It’s just outside this room,” Lo said. “To the right, But it’s locked. I have a key in my pocket.” He nodded to his jacket.
I took the key out and we headed back to the hallway. We entered another hallway and reached a security door. The key let us through with no problems.
A few minutes later, we stood on a boardwalk over the harbor water at the rear of the restaurant. Boat motors growled in the darkness, running lights marked the vessels, and sail rigging pinged against masts. The salt scent cleared the spices from my nose.
“Do you see a boat?” I asked, and immediately wondered if something had gone wrong at Mr. Johnson’s end.
“No,” Duncan growled, and blistered the air with curses.
My commlink chirped for attention. When I checked, it was the channel we’d been given for the boat captain. I exchanged passwords with him.
“My name’s Pei-Lon. I’m your getaway driver. We have details to discuss, but let’s keep it brief. Time’s ticking.”
“We’re the people just ahead of the guns,” I pointed out. “Talk fast.”
“I’m at the loading dock across the bridge from the restaurant’s main entrance. Big old schooner. Can’t miss me. But neither will the HKPF, who I’ve just learned are on their way here in response to a security call.”
“We can handle a few HKPF officers,” I said, and I hoped that was true. Most of all, I didn’t want the guy getting scared and pulling out early.
“One last thing,” Pei-Lon said. “I may be the pilot, but this ain’t my rig. The boathouse door is locked and I don’t know the code. You may have to break in. Good luck and get moving.”
The commlink clicked dead.
I cursed, and told the others as we went through the darkness around the restaurant.
Bright lights hung over the tables out in front. Several obvious gangers lounged with drinks and dawdled over dinners. The bridge was located about halfway down the open-air seating area and spanned a narrow canal filled with dark water. At the other end of it, a boathouse stood swathed in darkness, only its face in sharp relief.
Before I could stop him, Lo stepped forward and shouted, “Men! Help me!”
Chapter 56
Battle on the Bridge
Lo yelped as Duncan grabbed his collar and yanked him back.
Taking cover behind the building’s edge, I waited for the gangers to make a move. They didn’t look too interested in a confrontation. Then one noticed us next to him.
“Hey!” one shouted. “It’s them! It’s those runners they’re offering the big bounty for!”
They went for their weapons. Evidently Lo didn’t carry a lot of weight with them, but the possibility of a bounty recalibrated things.
“I got this,” Is0bel said, and stepped forward with her small grenade launcher, which she’d hidden under her coat. I let her take the point, and she fired a grenade into the center of the group.
The resulting explosion scattered the gangers. I fired into them, picking off strays and providing cover. “Get Lo across the bridge!”
Duncan got moving, half-carrying, half-dragging our prisoner across the bridge. A couple gangers took cover and started taking potshots at the two men. Rounds ricocheted off the bridge’s metal railing and bounced off Duncan’s armor.
I opened up on full-auto as Gobbet raised a sudden blast of wind that hurled tables and chairs before it, stripping away the cover and turning it all into lethal projectiles.
“Go!” I waved to Gobbet and Is0bel as I slapped a fresh magazine home.
They ran and I protected our six, chopping out three-round bursts to discourage anyone tempted to take up the chase.
“Door’s locked!” Is0bel yelled. “I see a computer junction at the back corner! I can get in through that!” She dropped to the boardwalk in front of the terminal and got to work.
Dodging behind a stack of crates, Duncan shoved Lo to the ground and put a big foot on the ganger’s head. “You try anything, I’m gonna snap your neck like a t
wig.”
More gangers sprinted out of the restaurant, and I got the feeling we were about to get fragged. One unlimbered a rocket launcher, but she fired on the fly and the warhead sailed into the bay behind us. When it exploded, water rained down on us.
Gobbet spoke and held out her hands. Immediately, a drenched figure took shape in the falling water and advanced on the gangers, closing in on the one with the rocket launcher. I kept firing, driving the ganger to cover and pinning her down.
In seconds, the water spirit was taking heavy fire, but it didn’t stop till it reached the ganger with the rocket launcher. Lifting its prey over its head, the spirit enveloped the ganger’s face in a globule of water, drowning her.
Finally unable to maintain corporal form, the water spirit splashed over the boardwalk and the limp corpse dropped into the canal.
At the front of the boathouse, the cast-iron door suddenly opened, and Is0bel rejoined us.
“Got it!” she cried excitedly, putting her deck away. She readied her grenade launcher and plopped another one into the biggest group of gangers.
When it detonated, though, a white cloud filled the boardwalk. The gangers coughed and retreated, tears streaming down their face. As I watched, the cloud drifted slowly back toward us.
“Run!” Is0bel shouted, and followed her own advice.
I grabbed one of Lo’s arms and Duncan took the other. Together, we hauled the ganger with us toward the door. Just before she ducked into the boathouse, Is0bel fired another HE round into the remaining gangers.
Then we were into the boathouse. Heavy-caliber bullets rattled against the structure, punctuated by a grenade blast that ripped the cast-iron door partially free of its hinges.
Ahead of us, the schooner sat pulling at its moorings, a greyhound ready to run. A man I took to be the captain screamed at us. “Hurry! Hurry!”
We scrambled toward the ship, unleashing carnage in our wake. Bullets and grenades scattered cargo—machine parts and other goods—into the air. Flammable liquids burst into flames and the growing inferno danced madly.
