The Last Assassin

by Barry Eisler

  I stopped and looked at him. Why the hell hadn't I thought of that?

  'You're right,' I said. 'I don't know what's wrong with me.'

  'You've just got a lot on your mind, that's all.'

  'And if we're using your car, who cares if he has urine all over him, anyway?'

  Dox frowned. 'You know, now that I'm thinking about it, maybe the dumpster wasn't such a bad notion after all.'

  We found a twenty-four-hour diner and went inside. We sat away from other people and ordered coffee. I was still too on edge to eat anything.

  'Let me see what he was carrying,' Dox said.

  I pulled out the knife and slid it to him under a napkin.

  'Damn, son, that's a double-edge Cold Steel Arc Angel. That boy knew his hardware. You going to keep it?'

  We'd been over this kind of thing in Bangkok, not with entirely satisfactory results. Dox was a trophy taker and I wasn't.

  'I was going to get rid of it,' I said.

  He made a face of exaggerated sadness. 'That strikes me as a shame.'

  I rolled my eyes and extended a hand palm up in a 'help yourself gesture. Dox gave me one of his irrepressible grins, rubbed the knife down with the napkin, and put it in his pocket.

  'Don't forget to scrub it,' I told him. 'Alcohol, then bleach.'

  'Yeah, yeah,' he said. 'Although I think your Mr Careful image might need a little polishing after tonight's outing.'

  I let it go. I looked at my watch. It was just past three. The sun would be up in about three hours.

  I realized that getting rid of Wong's body wouldn't buy me much time. Presumably his boss, Chan, knew where he was going tonight. Dox had seen them talking right before Wong headed to Midori's apartment. So Chan would assume that whatever happened to Wong had happened while he was watching the apartment. The place and timing in turn would implicate me. Chan would report this to Yamaoto. I didn't think Yamaoto would attack Midori and the baby directly, but he would probably do something to increase the pressure on them, as a way of drawing me out. And if Midori had any hint that my sudden presence had brought Yamaoto and company back into her life, whatever hopes I harbored of being with her and with Koichiro would instantly be snuffed out.

  There had to be a way out of this. There had to be.

  I thought about what I knew. Chan was the gang's captain. Wong reported to Chan. It was a conservative assumption that Chan reported, directly or indirectly, to Yamaoto. That meant Chan was the link between Wong's disappearance and Yamaoto's more active involvement.

  Meaning, if something were to happen to Chan, too, no one would know where or when Wong had gone missing. Hell, if I handled things right, no one would even know what had happened to Wong. In fact, they might just think…

  'You know what?' I said, a plan starting to take shape. 'I'm going to need that Balisong after all.'

  'Why?'

  I wanted to tell him, but I knew if I did he'd want to help. And I'd put him at enough risk already.

  'I'll fill you in later,' I said. 'But we don't have much time now. How soon can you get your car?'

  He shrugged. 'I valet parked it at the hotel, and they put it in some local garage somewhere. So probably a half hour, forty-five minutes.'

  'Good. Go get it, and stay mobile around East Houston. I'll call you shortly.'

  He looked at me. 'What are you planning on doing, man?'

  'Don't worry about it. I'll tell you after.'

  'You're fixing to take out Mr Chan, aren't you?'

  I sighed. 'Maybe.'

  'Yeah, devious minds think alike. But that's not going to make things worse?'

  'It could. But we know from having seen them together that there's some kind of bad blood between Wong and Chan. Other people must know about it, too — it wasn't as though they were doing a lot to hide it. And Wong's got a reputation for being quick to use that Balisong.'

  Dox grinned. 'This one, you mean,' he said, taking it out of his pocket.

  'Exactly. There's an opportunity for some strategic deception here, and I want to take advantage of it.'

  'So the plan is to do Chan with Wong's knife, make it look like they had a fight. Then Wong's missing, people figure he's in hiding after what he did.'

  'Exactly.'

  'Crude, but effective. Are you sure you want to do this all by yourself, though? That'd be the second time tonight, and the first one didn't go all that well, if you don't mind my pointing it out.'

  'Yeah, you've mentioned it. I appreciate your honesty.'

  'It's one of my charm points, it's true.'

  'I'm just going to take a look at that noodle place. At this hour, I don't even know if Chan will still be there. Depending on what I find, we'll figure out what to do next.'

  'Yeah, but…'

  'Look, I need your car to move Wong's body regardless. So you get the car and while you're doing that, I'll just check out the restaurant.'

  'You're not going to do anything without me?'

  'Have I ever?'

  He laughed. 'I lost sight of old Wong tonight for all of ten seconds. When I turned the corner, there he was, already dead. So no, you've never done anything without me.'

  'The knife,' I reminded him.

  He wrapped it in a napkin and slid it across the table.

  'All right,' I said. 'Let's do it.'

  9

  Dox went to get his car and I caught a cab to the northern edge of Chinatown. The streets were quiet. I walked to Columbus Park and looked in the restaurant. What I saw there was classic good news/bad news. The good news was, Chan was there. The bad news was, he was playing cards with two other hard-looking Chinese men. Probably mid-level gang members.

  I watched and waited, shivering in the cold. At a little before four o'clock, the men got up. Okay.

  My phone buzzed. I took it out and opened it. 'Yeah.'

  'Got the car and I'm in the neighborhood. What's your status?'

  'Watching and waiting.'

  'He in there?'

  'Yeah, with two other guys. But I think they're getting ready to leave.'

  'Why don't I swing by? I've got my rifle right here with me. From the park, I can reach out and touch all three.'

  'No, I told you, a shooting's no good.'

  'Look, man, you've got three guys to deal with there. You need some kind of backup, a plan B. You're parachuting without a reserve, partner.'

  The men walked toward the door.

  'They're coming out,' I said. 'So it's too late to stage something from the park, anyway. I'm going to stick with Chan. Just stay in the car, stay mobile.'

  'But…'

  I closed the phone and took out the knife. The three men reached the door.

  There's a horrible intimacy to all forms of face-to-face killing. Firearms, impact weapons, bare hands… they all carry a cost. But a knife is the worst. Partly it's the blood. Partly it's the sounds a man makes when he's dying of knife wounds. Partly it's the almost sexual act of penetration. I know soldiers who've cut men's throats in war and who can no longer change their own engine oil as a result. It's the feel of it on their hands.

  I would have done it another way if another way had existed. Christ, the thought of Dox dropping the three of them from a hundred yards out was practically seductive. But if I could just get close to Chan, alone…

  The men came through the door. Chan turned and locked it, then pulled down a graffiti-covered corrugated metal gate and locked that, too. They all headed north on Mulberry. I paralleled them from inside the park.

  At the corner of Bayard, the two men continued north. Chan went right.

  I took a deep breath and let it out. Okay.

  I emerged from the park and started closing in on Chan. I glanced left. The two men were moving away, their backs to me. I crossed Mulberry. Twenty feet. Ten.

  The quickest, surest, and, from behind him, cleanest way would have been to cut his throat. But I didn't want this to look military or otherwise professional. I wanted it to look like someth
ing a hotheaded gangbanger had done in the grip of resentment and rage.

  Five feet. I moved noiselessly toe-heel on the sidewalk.

  Chan stopped and started to reach into his coat pocket. I knew he hadn't heard me, so I doubted he was going for a weapon. More likely a smoke. Although at this point it made no difference either way.

  I clapped my left hand over his mouth and pulled him back onto his heels. My right hand was already coming forward, the Balisong in a hammer grip. I plunged the blade in and out of his right side, again and again and again, hitting his liver probably five times in two seconds. I made sure to stay below his ribs and above his pelvis. A Balisong is at its best for slashing, not stabbing, and if I hit bone my hand might slip forward right over the blade. Then I came around under his zyphoid process and stabbed upward and to the left to lacerate his right ventricle.

  I spun him around and slashed his face. He got his arms up but I didn't care, I was just trying to make the attack look personal. Then I pushed him away, and he spilled to the ground. The attack had been so sudden, and the pain likely so shocking, that he hadn't made a sound. From the wounds I had given him I knew he'd be unconscious from blood loss inside twenty seconds and dead in not much more than that. Even a paramedic team right around the corner couldn't save him now.

  I continued around him, heading toward Bowery. I folded up the Balisong and dropped it in my coat pocket. It was covered in blood and so was I. Not a surprise and nothing I could do about it at the moment.

  I ducked into an alley just west of Bowery, pulled out the phone, and called Dox. My hands were shaking.

  He picked up instantly. 'What's going on?'

  'Pick me up at Bayard and Bowery. Northwest corner.'

  'Be there in less than a minute.'

  'I'm a little messy.'

  'Damn it, I knew you were going to do something by yourself. All right, I'll put some newspaper down.'

  I looked at my clothes and thought, Better be the Sunday fucking Times.

  'What are you driving?' I asked.

  'Dodge Ram Quad Cab. Black.'

  'Just slow down when you get to the corner. You won't see me at first.'

  'Roger that. I'm turning on Bowery from Canal now. You should spot me in a second.'

  I peeked out from the alley. There he was.

  'I see you,' I said. 'I'm hanging up.'

  I clicked off and walked out to Bowery. The passenger door opened and I reached it just as Dox was tossing a thick wool blanket onto the seat. We opened it enough to cover the seat and floor and I got in. Dox glanced at me and took off.

  'Yeah, you are a mess,' he said. 'Good thing I come prepared. That blanket there has seen its share of bodily fluids over the years, mine and a variety of lucky ladies', but not any blood before that I know of.'

  'I'll get you one just like it. There's a Salvation Army place north of Delancey.'

  He chuckled, cool as ever. 'Where to?'

  'The dumpster. If it's clear, I'm going to get rid of Wong.'

  'You leave the knife near Chan's body just now?'

  'No. That would be too obvious. Besides, I've handled it too much. It's contaminated.'

  'Guess that means I won't be keeping it.'

  'You're damn right that's what it means.'

  'All right, all right, just checking.'

  We headed back into the Village. I had been cold before, but now I was sweating. There were no police, and Waverly was deserted. Dox pulled up in front of the dumpster. I climbed inside and managed to hold Wong up against the side long enough for Dox to reach down from above and take hold of one of his wrists. We hauled him out, laid him down in the back seat of the pickup, and drove off.

  'What are you carrying these days?' I asked him.

  'You mean knife-wise?'

  'Yeah.'

  'Shoot, partner, you know I've got more blades than a combine. I've still got that Fred Perrin La Griffe we acquired in Bangkok, and…'

  'I mean what's your primary. Right now.'

  'Right this very second that would be an Emerson CQC-12 Comrade. Hell of a knife. You could cut through a car door with it if you needed to. Here.'

  He reached down, eased the blade out of his pocket, and handed it to me. I opened it. Yeah, this would do. And then some.

  Bodies that have been thrown into rivers resurface because gases produced by putrefying bacteria can turn the digestive tract and other areas into balloons. If you don't want the body to float, you have to puncture the balloons so they can't fill. The problem is, it's not just the stomach you're worried about. The phenomenon can occur in the limbs, trunk, face, and other areas, too. Preventing it entirely is therefore a grisly task.

  We found a suitably dark stretch along the Hudson River piers south of the Holland Tunnel. Dox pulled off the West Side Highway, cut the lights, and pulled in behind an empty playground. The river was right next to us.

  We dragged Wong out and dumped him on the ground. Dox started to lift him.

  'No,' I said. 'I'll take care of it. You drive out of here and swing past every five to ten minutes. When I'm done I'll be waiting.'

  'Come on, man, let me give you a hand. It'll go quicker.'

  'I don't want the car here. It'll draw attention. Besides, I've put you at enough risk as it is. I'll be fine. Just go.'

  'All right. I'll be back in five, and five after that.'

  I nodded. Dox drove off. I hauled Wong into a fireman's carry and lugged him to the end of the pier, my breath fogging in the chill air. The body felt heavy as hell and I realized how tired I was.

  I set him down as close as possible to the edge, took out Dox's knife, and started doing what was necessary. There were going to be some stains on the planks when I was done, no doubt. But dead bodies, lacking a beating heart, bleed a lot less than live ones. Besides, it looked like the city was in for another spell of rain. That would clean things up. And who was going to pay any attention to a dark spot on a Hudson River dock anyway?

  I worked. I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but my mind kept offering up images from Midori's apartment. My son in my arms. Midori's expression as she handed him to me. I looked down at what I was doing and the contrast made me feel sick. The hope and wondrous sense of possibility I'd felt just hours earlier were receding with each stab of the knife. Just finish this. Just get through.

  The whole thing couldn't have taken longer than a minute, but it seemed like more. When I was done, I pocketed the knife and paused, kneeling, to catch my breath. I leaned my head back and breathed the cold air and tried not to think at all.

  I heard a car coming south on the access road paralleling the highway. I looked over and saw the outline of police flashers eighty yards away. A spotlight was trained over the water.

  Oh, shit. Without another thought, I rolled Wong into the river and vaulted in after him.

  I hung on to the edge of the pier with my fingertips, but even so I was dangling past my waist in freezing water. The cold hit my testicles like a blow and I struggled not to gasp.

  I heard the car coming closer, closer. It seemed to be taking forever. Were they slowing? Looking for something? At something?

  I looked down. Wong was already gone, sunk beneath the surface.

  I listened but couldn't hear anything. Had they stopped? The spotlight lit up the pier and I was sure they had. I pictured two cops coming toward me with guns drawn. There was nothing I could do but hang there and wait.

  Finally, the light moved on. I heard their tires moving past. I felt confused and couldn't tell how much time had gone by. I counted. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. When I reached thirty, I pulled myself back onto the pier. I dragged myself forward a few feet and lay there, exhausted. I couldn't feel my legs. If anyone came now I was doomed.

  But they were gone. After a minute, I sat up. I sucked wind and tried to massage some life back into my useless limbs. I was shivering and my teeth were chattering like an electric typewriter. I realized I was moaning.

&nb
sp; I heard another car coming. This time I recognized the lights and grille of Dox's pickup. I stood awkwardly and started stumbling toward him.

  He got out. The next thing I knew he had clapped an enormous arm across my back and was practically levitating me to the truck. He threw me into the passenger seat and a moment later we were back on the highway.

  'What the hell happened?' he asked.

  'C-Cops,' I said, through convulsively chattering teeth. 'Had to get in the water.'

  'Ah, Jesus, we've got to warm you up. You're bluer than old Wong back there. Can you get those pants off?'

  'Yeah.' I fumbled at the belt buckle but my fingers felt thick and useless.

  Dox turned the heat on full blast and angled the vents onto me. He drove and eventually I managed to get all the wet clothes off. I rolled them up around my shoes and tossed the bundle into the back. My skin had goose bumps the size of ski moguls. The heat blasting onto my naked thighs was a godsend.

  Dox glanced over. 'Son, you call that thing a penis? I don't know what fine ladies like Delilah and Midori find interesting in you, I really don't.'

  'You know…'

  'Yeah, yeah, I know, it was the cold water. That's what they all say.'

  I might have laughed, but my teeth were still chattering too hard.

  Dox, like any sensible-minded person who travels prepared for the worst, had a change of clothes in the truck. He also had water, food, a tent and sleeping bag, a medical kit, and about a thousand rounds of ammunition. The clothes were too big on me, but that would be a lot less noticeable than returning to the hotel naked.

  We dumped everything I'd been wearing, the blanket, and the tainted knives in a variety of sewers and dumpsters around town. When we were done, I realized I was famished. We stopped at a diner and I wolfed down a tureen of chicken soup and a mountainous pastrami sandwich. All the twenty-four-hour places in New York were certainly handy if you had a job that kept you out at night.

  By the time Dox dropped me off near the Ritz, the sun was coming up and I was flat-out exhausted. I told him I'd call him later in the day, after I'd slept and could think clearly.