by Tom Stern
Kelley supposed it didn’t.
The sea wolves dragged themselves up from below. Every man had a slap on the shoulder for Kelley, these hardened men of the sea openly thanking him for saving their lives. He carried them through every storm.
The port authorities approached the docking freighter. Their hijacked tanker still waited nearby to pull in.
Kelley told Tsung: “The cops and the Coast Guard are gonna be on our ass in a hot minute. They might be from Rasa. Or they might be from Cuchulain. I can’t afford to wager one way or the other. I need you to take care of things while I get out of here.”
“What should I tell them about the Yurei?”
“Mistaken identity.”
“What should I tell them about the tanker?”
“Don’t tell them anything. Let Rasa work it out.”
“Are you sure he’s going to help us?”
“Sure enough to find out, one way or the other.”
Kelley shook his good hand. There was an air of finality to it. “See you in hell, Tsung.” Kelley headed back up to the deck.
Dao Jia stood in his way. “I think I know what you’re going to do.”
“Probably. You know me about as well as anybody.”
“No one will ever know you, Kelley.”
Kelley repaid her observation with a half-smile.
Dao Jia asked, “Aren’t you going to take a weapon?”
“Won’t do me any good, where I’m going.”
“I want to come with you,” she said.
Kelley didn’t answer her. He tore the tarp off one of the speed boats. It had been damaged in the storm, the boat’s fiberglass hull cracked down the middle. He checked another. This one was fine.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yep.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
Kelley moved to get into the speed boat. Dao Jia grabbed him. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”
Kelley reached up with both hands. Touched her face. Held her gaze. He said: “Throw my ashes in the sea, where they belong.”
Dao Jia understood the truth of Kelley’s path. Her fingertips brushed his wrists. She held on for one brief moment. A thousand conversations took place between them.
And she let go.
Kelley climbed into the speed boat. Dao Jia put her hand on the launch mechanism. She hesitated. She said, “What happens if you make it back?”
“Buy me a drink at your bar!”
Dao Jia laughed. She launched the boat.
Kelley dropped from her sight. The boat splashed against the water below. Kelley glanced up at the now-distant railing. She didn’t bend over the railing to look.
Kelley fired up the engine and tore away.
A heart beat later, dozens of rolling police lights sped up the dock towards the Yurei. Kelley knew Tsung and Dao Jia could take care of themselves, no matter what happened. He hoped Rasa would be able to put in a good word for them if things turned south.
Kelley vanished into the gloom hanging over the sea.
…
Kelley landed a mile south of the port. He ditched the boat. There were still grenades and an RPG launcher in the storage compartment. He hid them under a cluster of shore rocks. But he didn’t spend more than a few seconds on it. He had shit to do. Kelley was racing the clock.
Kelley returned to Kuala Lumpur in the same way he arrived: with nothing but his jeans and boots, the shirt on his back, a few bills in his wallet, a collection of scars and his two fuckin’ mitts.
Outside the love of a good woman, it was all Kelley ever needed.
…
Kelley found a cab. He gave the driver the address. They drove. The city moved past Kelley. He watched it go with an empty mind. Tires hissing through puddles. Wavering reflections of neon signs floated on the wet streets. People with umbrellas in their hands strolled, enjoying the break in the heat. People without umbrellas held whatever they could over their heads and ran from one piece of cover to the next.
Kelley reflected on everything that had brought him to this moment. Brody’s ear on the bar. King Pirate. Anastasia. Kelley was content. If his life ended tonight, his ghost would have no regrets.
It was the only way to live.
Kelley looked out the front windshield, peering through the rain-streaked glass to make out street signs. He sat back, satisfied. Halfway there.
Rasa called the satellite phone. “Where are you?”
“On my way over.”
“To where?”
“You know.”
“Kelley – let me handle it!”
“No.”
“Then I’ll arrest you. I’ll arrest all of you tonight. Right now!”
“I’ll get there before you,” Kelley said. “Don’t worry, Rasa. You’ll have plenty of time to pick up the pieces.”
“Kelley!”
He hung up. Looked out the window, saw the street signs. They were making good time.
…
The cab came to a stop in front of the International Chamber of Commerce building at 27 Jalan Sultan Ismail Road. Kelley gave the driver all of the money in his wallet and sent him on his way.
Kelley stood on the street. Letting the rain patter against his head and skin. Staring up at the steel. It glowed with reflected lightning flashes.
There was another glow. The office on the thirty-fifth floor was lit. Someone was home.
Kelley crossed the street.
…
In the lobby. The guards regarded Kelley with high suspicion, even after they’d searched him twice. Gone was the beautiful receptionist. In her place sat Min, the tall and muscular guard with a proclivity for sandalwood-scented cologne.
Min called up to the IPC. The other guards gathered around Kelley in a knot, getting ready to hustle him out the door when the word came. Kelley stood calmly, fixing his eyes in a neutral space. They out-numbered him five-to-one. Kelley thought that, without weapons, he stood a better-than-equal chance. But he didn’t want to give them a reason. Not when he was so close. Because he had a feeling that he was expected.
Kelley was right.
Min listened carefully. Eyes widening in slow and steady surprise. Cutting looks at Kelley. Min went so far as to make the unheard-of gesture of asking to hear his instructions repeated. He heard the same thing.
Like the rest of his senses, Kelley’s ears were sharp. Even when it was across the room and coming out of a phone, Kelley recognized the voice that had kept him company too many nights out at sea. That voice had haunted his dreams. And now it was telling Min to quit wasting time and send Kelley up. He was an expected guest.
Min put down the phone. He motioned to Kelley: follow. Kelley went through the metal detector. It remained silent. Kelley had nothing to hide.
Min brought Kelley to the elevators, where Kelley had ridden up to the first steady office job he’d worked in years. Why had he subjected himself to that bullshit? Ah, yes – revenge. And love.
…
The elevator doors closed inches from Kelley’s face. He saw his own reflection in the polished steel. He could see Min, too. The stern, dark-brown face floating over his massive, blue-uniformed body. The electric motor hummed. Floors passed, each with a quiet ding.
In the reflection, Kelley saw Min ease a hand to the haft of the tonfa club in his utility belt.
Min tried to whip it out with an iajutsu-type strike at Kelley’s head. He never got that far. Kelley was already moving, spinning. Kelley slapped a hand over Min’s wrist. Freezing the motion in mid-strike, trapping Min’s club in its sheath.
In the same breath, Kelley kicked his stance up to the balls of his feet, giving himself the altitude he needed to head-butt Min. Kelley’s forehead thrust upward, impacting Min’s delicate facial bones. His nose snapped. Cheekbones broke. Kelley knew he’d have a headache for a week, but he didn’t care.
Min’s blood splashed Kelley’s face. It got in his eyes, stinging him with its salty stic
kiness. Kelley involuntarily blinked, wiping at the shit in his eyes.
Both men recovered. Min swept an arm the size of a car tire around to trap Kelley’s neck in a killing embrace. Kelley smoothly ducked it. Shot a fist into Min’s groin. The bigger man doubled. Kelley brought his knee up to his solar plexus, struck downward and broke Min’s knee.
Kelley was a violent man. He’d been in hundreds of fights against men bigger and smaller, tougher and weaker. The one basic truth he’d discovered is, no matter how much muscle and fat and skill man has, he’s still trapped in a human body that has the same vulnerabilities as anyone else. Joints. Nose. Crotch. Throat.
Kelley was a big man, but not so intimidating that he could avoid most confrontation on sight alone. He always had to fight. Or maybe he just wanted to fight. But Min was so huge, the guard had gotten used to being the scariest guy in the room. He wasn’t used to actually fighting. He was soft.
In the tight confines of that elevator, Kelley took the motherfucker apart.
By the time the elevator reached the thirty-fifth floor, it was cloaked with the mingled stench of sandalwood cologne, sweat and blood. And shit. Kelley beat Min so bad that the guard shit himself.
Min slumped in the corner of the elevator. Kelley used Min’s uniform shirt to wipe the blood off his boots. Min wasn’t in a position to mind by that time.
There was a little ding. The doors opened. Kelley tapped “L,” so the elevator would carry what remained of Min back down to his security guard friends. He’d need them to call an ambulance.
The doors closed. The elevator vanished. Kelley pushed through the first door and stepped into the offices of the IPC.
…
Sanjya Gupta was sitting at the front desk. Kelley came walking in.
“Mister Kelley,” he began. “Cuchulain is waiting for you. He asked me to show you right – “
Kelley laid him out with one punch. Sanjay hit the floor like a piece of lumber. Face smashed. Out cold.
“Call back at nine,” Kelley growled. He ducked behind the desk. Found he buttons that unlocked the various doors leading to the IPC’s inner chambers. He hit them all. Every door in the place unlocked in quick succession, the office filling with a rapid snick-snick-snick.
Kelley looked around. Saw it: the hidden camera Cuchulain used to watch everyone coming in and out of IPC. He gave it the finger and pushed through the inner door.
…
Han waited for Kelley behind the second door.
His fat, solid frame filled the hallway. Han’s Buddha-wide face curdled at the sight of Kelley. “Don’t try anything. The police are already on the way.”
Kelley didn’t break stride. He headed down the hall, right for Han as he said, “I know, you worthless sonofabitch. I called them. And they’re coming to arrest you and everyone else in this dump.”
Han’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to respond. Kelley didn’t think Han would have done that if he’d known that Kelley had stolen the pepper spray canister off Min’s utility belt. Three feet away, Kelley held the little can up and hit the button and sprayed that shit right into Han’s nose and mouth.
Han grabbed his face and collapsed in a heap. People who have never caught a whiff of pepper spray or tear gas do not have the slightest idea of how terrible a chemical agent can be, especially at high concentration. They’re non-lethal weapons because they won’t kill you – you’ll just wish you were dead.
Han writhed in agony. The fat man whimpered and howled. Struggling to breathe, though every breath was torture. He cursed Kelley through swollen, drooling lips.
Kelley tried not to laugh. He wasn’t entirely successful. He dropped the pepper spray on the floor next to Han. He didn’t need it anymore. Han would be out for as long as it took for Kelley to complete his errand.
Kelley continued into the inner sanctum.
…
Kelley went through the third door.
He was heading for Cuchulain’s hidden office. Kelley passed the opaque glass walls encasing the conference room.
And that’s when Cuchulain appeared from around the corner. Kelley stopped at the sight of him.
“Good to see yeh again, lad,” Cuchulain said. Then he raised the .45-caliber Israeli-made Desert Eagle hand cannon and fired.
The shot went off like dynamite in the enclosed office space. Kelley threw himself backwards. The bullet missed him by millimeters. He felt the breeze of its passing on the tender skin stretched across his Adam’s apple. The powerful shot blasted into the glass conference room wall. It shattered in a sheet. Broken, frosted glass tumbled like a waterfall to the floor.
Kelley slid behind a desk. He kept moving. He knew that no cover would protect him against the Desert Eagle.
Kelley was right. A quarter-second later, Cuchulain sent a round through the desk. It pounded straight through the thin metal to gouge into the carpeted floor where Kelley had crouched an eye-blink before.
There was no protection but speed. Kelley ran. Cuchulain followed him with two more shots. Firing one-handed, a feat only someone with incredible upper-body strength could pull off. Both shots missed. The bullets crashed through the IPC office, leaving destruction in straight-line paths.
From the corner of his eye, Kelley saw why Cuchulain’s aim was so shitty: he had the Desert Eagle in one hand, and a nearly-empty bottle of whiskey in the other. Cuchulain had a heroic tolerance to alcohol. He wondered how many bottles had come before the one he now held.
Kelley dodged behind a wall. A round exploded through the dry wall over his shoulder, dousing Kelley’s face in white dust. Kelley kept moving.
“Would’ja just fuckin’ die!” Cuchulain roared. He swigged the rest of the whiskey down. It was the good stuff. He smacked his big, red lips. Savoring it. Tossed the bottle aside. Gripped the hand cannon in both massive paws, aimed and fired at Kelley.
It almost caught him. An inch to the left or the right, and the huge bullet would have sprayed Kelley’s guts all over the wall. But a combination of a wiry frame and Irish luck saved Kelley’s ass. An inter-office window burst into a million pieces behind him. It could have been Kelley’s skull. But it wasn’t.
And now it was Kelley’s turn. Because he’d trained on the Desert Eagle, and he was well aware that it was a standard six-shot revolver. Cuchulain was out of ammunition.
A fact that the big Irishman didn’t seem to realize until it was too late. Kelley charged across the office at him. Cuchulain tried to aim. The gun site drunkenly wavering. He squeezed the trigger. If there was a bullet in the chamber, it would have punched straight through Kelley’s heart. There was no bullet. The gun complained with a dry click. Cuchulain frowned.
Kelley never stopped. Powered by sheer momentum, Kelley leapt onto a desk. In the farthest back of his mind Kelley realized it was, in fact, his old desk from when he worked here. No matter. Kelley planted one wet boot on the desk and launched himself at Cuchulain with the other leading the way.
The edge of Kelley’s kick boot landed square in Cuchulain’s throat. It was a powerful blow to a critical spot. Again, Kelley proved the truth. Cuchulain was a huge man with an ungodly refusal to feel pain. But he was still just human. Like an Olympic pole-vaulter, Kelley threw his entire body into that kick. He hit Cuchulain like a missile. The big man went down.
He fell backwards onto the broken conference room glass. Deadly spears slammed through his arms. Blood sprayed from his flesh like roses blooming in time-lapse.
Kelley didn’t give Cuchulain a moment. He kept moving forward. Brought a knee against Cuchulain’s throat. Dug a thumb up under his fleshy jaw to paralyze his brain. Slammed a scarred fist into his teeth to choke Cuchulain on his own blood.
A civilized part of Kelley wanted to let up on Cuchulain. To give him the chance to explain: why the ruse with King Pirate? Why lure him into the life of a privateer? Why kill Brody?
Kelley would have asked those questions if he was physically able. He was far beyond driven. The berse
rker rage colored his vision. Red. His hands worked of their own accord. Kelley was no longer in control.
But he was not so far gone that he wasn’t able to stop himself when Anastasia appeared with a gun in her hand.
“Get off him, Kelley.”
It was a service pistol, the same kind of .45 they’d both carried as side arms on the Atlas raid, a lifetime ago.
Kelley froze. With intense inner effort, he mastered himself. Kelley backed off Cuchulain. His eyes were fixed on Anastasia. And her gun.
Despite all of that, Kelley wasn’t surprised to see her. It was her voice he had heard over the lobby phone, telling Min to send him up.
“Anastasia – “
“What am I doing here?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Cuchulain said you were coming to kill him.”
“He – he wasn’t the man I went out to kill. At least, not at first.”
“But you were going to kill him, anyway.”
Kelley didn’t say anything. That was all the answer she needed.
Anastasia asked, “Because he ordered the death of your friend, Brody?”
“Yes!”
“And that’s all the reason you need to kill someone.”
“Brody was,” Kelley began. He worked to form the thought. “I don’t have many friends in this world. I have to take care of the ones I have. And revenge the ones I can’t. Otherwise. Otherwise, I don’t know what I’m any good for. I don’t know why I’m here.”
“So you’ll drown Kuala Lumpur in blood to solve your existential crisis,” Anastasia asked. Her voice cool, as distant as a police interrogator’s. “Is that the real reason? Or are you just looking for handy excuses to justify your blood lust? Are you wrapping yourself in this noble flag as a way to hide your own murderous tendencies from the world? From yourself? Are you an animal in hero’s clothing? What if it’s true, Kelley? What if you’re nothing but a killer?”
Kelley loved this woman because there was no hiding from her. People despise the ones they can lie to. It’s a sign of weakness. And that went double for spouses. But, in the glare of her perfect understanding, Kelley was caught in the sun. Helpless. With no choice but to surrender to it. And if that sick, complex emotional reaction wasn’t love, then what the fuck else could it be?
