by Mel Odom
Angel nodded. Triad more accurately described the Chinese organized crime families, but after seeing the Black Wind in action last night, he knew there weren’t many who were better organized.
Louise touched Angel’s forearm. “Soo-Pheng also says these Black Wind guys are very dangerous, Angel.”
“I think so, too.”
The old woman nodded. “Just make sure you keep that in mind if you have any dealings with them.”
“I will.”
“Soo-Pheng says they have some kind of black magic powers.”
“Some of them are demons.”
“From the way he talked,” Louise said, “I thought they might be.” During her travels through Sunnydale, she’d encountered her share of demons.
“What are they doing in Sunnydale?”
“I don’t know. Soo-Pheng seemed really surprised when we talked this morning. Usually the Black Wind is never seen, and they’re always after big businesses. Most of their crimes are blackmail that allows them to make businesses do what they want. Black market shipping, paying off extortion, that kind of thing. He says they’ve gone in and taken over other triads in the past, and only when the blood hit the streets did anyone really talk about them. The kind of attacks they did last night is unusual.”
“They did it to make a statement.” Angel’s thoughts flickered to Buffy, wondering if they had come for her, then dismissing that because it made no sense to travel to the Slayer when she offered them no threat where they were. “There has to be something here they want. Unless they were chased out of Hong Kong.”
“Not according to Soo-Pheng,” Louise said. “No one could chase them from Hong Kong because they’re too strong. People are afraid of the Black Wind, Angel. You should be too.”
“I am,” Angel admitted. But the fear was more for Buffy than for himself. He also had the feeling that Louise knew more than she was telling.
“Then you should stay away from them.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can.”
“They’re after Buffy.”
“That little girl you’re so much in love with?”
Angel nodded. Louise knew, though he’d never told her about the relationship. “They tried to kill her last night. They had her picture.”
“Then she’s one of their targets.”
“Yes. I can’t let that go.” Angel looked at the old woman. “I won’t let that go.”
Louise folded the empty bagel wrapper neatly and put it into her coat pocket. “I didn’t know they had an interest in Buffy.”
Angel waited.
“I don’t know what it is they’re searching for,” Louise stated, “but Soo-Pheng says they’re going to try to take over the criminal element in Sunnydale. Perhaps use Sunnydale as a stepping-stone to bigger things. Soo-Pheng may have only been guessing at that part. But they’re searching the outlying areas, too.”
“For what?”
“Soo-Pheng doesn’t know. He heard that from a cousin who handles some of the contraband shipping along the West Coast.”
“How did the Black Wind get here?” Angel asked.
“By ship. It would be the only way to move so many people secretly. Illegals get brought in and put into sweatshops in the larger metropolitan areas all the time.”
Angel gazed out at all the freighters in the harbor. “Which ship?”
“None of these,” Louise answered. “If they’d come in on one of these I’d have known.”
“Do you know where I can find them?”
The old woman hesitated, fear showing in her blue eyes. “It will be very dangerous.”
“It already is,” Angel said softly.
“There’s a warehouse at the north end of the docks where contraband goods are sometimes temporarily stored.” She gave him the address. “I’ve heard someone new has moved in there. It could be them.”
“I appreciate it, Louise.” Angel took her hand and pressed money into it, and was gone before she could protest. He thrust his hands deeply into his pockets, banking the anger that surged within him, letting the demon that still existed within him gnaw at the restraints. For once, the mayhem and destruction they both desired were on the same wavelength.
Chapter 14
“HI,”WILLOW SAID, TAKING HER SEAT IN COMPUTER class next to Jia Li. She quickly shuffled her books, book bag, and purse out of the way. “I looked for you this morning.” Jia Li’s eyes were puffy and red from lack of sleep, but she looked elegant as always in an ankle-length jade eyelet skirt and a black handkerchief-hem tank. She wore her hair up in a bun. “I got here late this morning.”
The rest of the class talked hurriedly around them, swapping stories about things they’d seen themselves, or heard about, or had seen on television regarding the gang attacks last night. The stories were already bordering on the wildly fantastic, and Willow knew with certainty that they would only grow in the telling.
“Is everything okay?” Willow powered up her computer and slipped her work CD into the drive.
“I don’t know. My mother and father didn’t get Lok home till early this morning. They’re going to have to retain a lawyer to represent him. He’s going to be formally charged.” Jia Li’s voice quavered.
“Everything will be okay.”
“No,” Jia Li said quietly, “it won’t be. I saw Lok this morning. He scared my sister and brothers. He was talking out of his head, Willow. Talking about the guei and the vengeance they had to have on those who are responsible for their deaths.”
“Like the man he attacked last night.”
“I don’t know. Hardly anything of what he is saying is making sense.”
“What do your parents think?”
Jia Li shook her head. “I’ve never seen them so lost. My parents have always known what to do, even when we first moved to Sunnydale. They bought out the business they wanted, then renamed it and are making a success of it. That is what their lives are like. But this only reminds me of Lok as he was before. When my grandfather had to take Lok to live with him. Only my grandfather isn’t here anymore.” A tear ran down her cheek.
Willow quickly dug into her purse and handed over a tissue.
“Thank you.”
More students entered through the door, the last refugees before the final bell.
“I can’t stay after school and study like we’d planned. I have to hurry home to be with my brothers and sister so my parents can make the appointment with the lawyer.” Jia Li was silent for a moment, looking at the computer screen. “Lok will be there, and I don’t want to be there with him.” Fear shone in her eyes.
“You don’t have to be there alone,” Willow said. “How about some company? We could study there. I mean, if you don’t mind the way I just invited myself over.”
Jia Li only hesitated for a moment. “I would appreciate that. You’re a good friend, Willow.”
The final bell rang, only slowing the conversations around them a little. Willow turned her attention to the computer screen, bringing up her assignment for review. However, in the depths of the screen, she got a momentary image of the shambling corpse burying the pick in Lok’s skull again. She flinched as the melon-splitting sound echoed in her head.
“Are you all right?” Jia Li asked.
Willow blinked, lost for a moment in the vision and the hollow whisper of words that remained just beyond her hearing. Then she focused on her friend. “Sure. It was just a shiver. They always have the AC turned up really high in computer lab.” But she couldn’t help thinking that inviting herself back over to Jia Li’s house was probably not the smartest move she could make.
Angel stood up as tall as he could in the sewer and pushed the manhole cover up and over. The sewer systems throughout Sunnydale made daylight travel possible in most instances.
The sewer water ran through a channel cut through the center of the huge system. Angel stood on the edge of it, aware of the rats watching him from the shadows. As alive as his senses were,
he could feel their hunger and anger. Being hungry and angry seemed to be a rat’s whole life.
He paused after he had the manhole cover moved enough, watching and listening intently. The warehouse roof was constructed of beams and crossbeams and fabricated out of corrugated metal covered with pitch and pebbles, one of the older buildings down at the docks. Dim light glowed through the multipaned windows. The harbor sounds echoed inside the cavernous building. The open and broken windows let in the brine smell of the ocean and the sharp scent of pine that made up most of the crates and pallets. Diesel and oil fumes, both new and old, clung to the warehouse as well.
And there was the definite stench of blood, some of it fresh.
Cautiously, Angel gripped the edge of the manhole and pulled himself up till he could see. The warehouse was less than half full. Stacks of crates occupied the floor with no real organization. Broken boards and empty boxes littered the spaces in between along with straw, Styrofoam pellets, and bubble pouches used as packing.
Angel climbed through the manhole and got to his feet. Startled cooing sounded overhead. He glanced up to see a flock of pigeons along a beam in the corner of the building. They settled down quickly.
Moving quietly, Angel kept the back wall to his right and made his way around the warehouse. A few missing windowpanes allowed direct sunlight into the warehouse along the east side but he easily avoided those. He made his way through the crates, memorizing names to check out later, hoping some of them might offer leads that could be followed up on.
Gravel crunched under tires outside the cargo bay doors.
Angel ducked behind a stack of crates as the bay door rose up on a chain hoist.
A black Camaro rumbled into the building and stopped. A half-dozen Asian youths trailed the vehicle in. They still wore dark clothing, but not the green and white striping in their hair.
Okay, so they do war paint, Angel thought. Without the distinctive hair coloring, they almost looked like anyone else—except they had a predator’s habitual scan going, their heads always moving, eyes always alert, bodies evenly balanced for quick movement.
They spoke in Chinese, their voices too low to be overheard. The car doors opened. The driver and a man in the passenger seat got out, both of them holding weapons. The guy on the passenger side reached into the backseat and roughly pulled out a man dressed in black Dockers, a dark gray sports jacket and a black turtleneck. He wore a blindfold and his hands were bound behind him. The Black Wind member tripped him, sending him crashing to the concrete floor.
“Please,” the man whispered desperately. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me. You don’t have to hurt me.”
“That is very good, Mr. Collins,” one of the gang members said. “We wouldn’t want to have to hurt you. We need you alive. If it’s convenient for us.” He gestured to the other men.
Two straight-backed chairs were brought over from a stack against the nearby wall and placed facing each other. The gang member sat in one as Collins was placed in the other.
“Mr. Collins, you may call me Gao.” The gang member reached forward and stripped the blindfold from Collins’s eyes. He crossed his knees calmly, as if they were having an everyday conversation.
Collins blinked frantically. “I don’t know anyone named Gao.”
The gang member nodded. “Then you still do not know anyone named Gao. I only said that you could call me by that name.”
Collins started to stand. “You can’t do this to me.”
Gao slammed a hand against Collins’s chest and knocked the man back into the chair. Effortlessly, he closed his fist and hit Collins in the face with a short jab. Blood sprayed from the prisoner’s lips. “Stay seated or I will have your legs broken. Your ability to walk is a luxury for you and not at all a necessity for me.”
Blood dribbled down Collins’s chin as he nodded. Panicked tears rolled down his cheeks. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
“You’re an attorney here in Sunnydale,” Gao said. “A very wealthy one, judging from your bank accounts and your residence. But you derive most of your income from business that doesn’t show up on your books or the papers you file with your country’s Internal Revenue Service.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gao slapped the man so fast that even Angel almost didn’t see the motion.
Collins screamed in pain, but one of the gang members standing around him quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. The gang member held a sharp knife against the lawyer’s throat.
Gao leaned forward easily and spoke softly. “We must speak quietly, Mr. Collins. If we were to be discovered here, I’d have your throat slit, then your face stripped from your skull and your hands cut off to make identification more difficult. Do I make myself clear?”
Collins nodded.
“My associate is going to remove his hand from your mouth. What we do next is up to you. Do you understand?”
The gang member removed his hand from Collins’s mouth.
“Yes,” Collins whispered. “I understand. Please. You don’t have to kill me.”
“No, and I don’t want to kill you, either,” Gao agreed. “You need to understand that. Your security is in your hands. When we are done, you can walk out of this building or we’ll take you out in pieces. I would rather you lived. It would be hard to find someone with your connections to replace you.”
Collins took a panicky breath, then exhaled. Blood bubbled from his mouth.
Angel glanced around, not wanting to be party to whatever took place next. But he also knew if he was discovered there was a chance they’d kill the lawyer first thing.
“Your out-of-sight business includes procuring certain goods for a specialized clientele.” Gao took out a pack of cigarettes, shook one out, then tapped it against the back of his hand. He stuck the cigarette into his mouth and lit it.
The sharp smell of cloves from the cigarette tickled Angel’s nose, overriding the scent of blood.
“We want your client list, Mr. Collins,” Gao said. “And we’re prepared to let you continue your job as middleman.”
“I can’t do that,” Collins replied. “My suppliers would—”
Gao lifted a hand in front of the attorney’s face. Collins drew back as the eyelid in the palm opened to reveal the orb within.
“Your suppliers will do nothing to you,” Gao commented. “Once they understand that you belong to us. And they will understand that.”
“Okay,” Collins said, attention riveted on the eye in Gao’s palm. “When are you going to let me go?”
“When it is time.”
Abruptly, the pigeons in the upper corner of the warehouse left their perch. Angel gazed in their direction and spotted the guard on the catwalk above. Angel shifted, sliding behind the stack of crates as the man watched the flying pigeons.
Around the corner now, Angel watched as the pigeon flock flew across the warehouse to the other corner over Gao’s head.
In a blur of movement, Gao focused on the birds. He threw his cigarette away as his head suddenly morphed, allowing his mouth to open nearly a foot across. A thick, saliva-covered black lizard’s tongue flicked out with lightning speed and stuck to one of the pigeons.
Gao’s tongue reeled the squawking, frightened bird into his mouth with a snap of movement. Only a few feathers escaped devouring. The gang member chewed noisily, crunching bones, then swallowed, turning his face back to its more human aspect.
“Oh, my God!” Collins whimpered. “That was disgusting!” Then he realized he’d spoken out loud and leaned back in his chair.
Gao smiled. “I take no offense at your judgment, Mr. Collins. You don’t know enough about me to even begin.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew it out, expelling two small pigeon feathers as well. “I, however, hold your future, your very life, in my hands. And as I ask you questions, I’ll know if you’re lying to me.” The eye in his palm blinked.
The two small pigeon feathers dri
fted through the air and stuck to Collins’s jacket.
“Do you believe me?” Gao asked.
“Yes,” Collins answered without hesitation.
Gao’s mouth flared open again. The long, black lizard’s tongue flicked out, seeming to barely touch the attorney’s face. But when the tongue flicked back into Gao’s mouth, a two-inch patch of skin was missing from the man’s cheek.
Blood streamed down Collins’s face. He opened his mouth to scream but Gao punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. Collins doubled over and fell from the chair to his knees.
Gao leaned down and whispered mockingly in the attorney’s ear. “I’ll know when you lie, Mr. Collins. Even when you’re telling me what you think I want to hear.” He held the palm eyeball out only inches from Collins’s own eyes.
Collins sobbed silently as blood dripped from his face onto the scarred and stained concrete.
Angel leaned against the stack of crates and tried to figure out his next move. If he was lucky, and very quiet, he could make the manhole and a clean getaway without being discovered.
But he couldn’t leave Collins behind even if the man was involved in every criminal activity in Sunnydale.
Knowing he was going to regret it—if he lived long enough—Angel glanced into a nearby crate. The lid was slightly ajar, a crowbar lying across it. He picked up the crowbar and peered inside the crate. Computer memory chips filled the interior, but the box beneath it was marked VODKA. Another nearby crate was marked SAFETY FLARES. It was open.
You gotta love flammable products. Vampires feared fire; most demons did, too.
Angel took the computer chips down and hooked his fingers under the lid on the case of vodka. He pulled, willing the staples not to shriek as they slid free.
Once he had the lid off, he glanced up to check the guard’s progress on the catwalk above. The gang member was still circling, his attention riveted on the conversation Gao was having with the prisoner.
