Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella)

by Ty Hutchinson

  Chapter 87

  San Francisco, California

  A pesky little cunt. That’s what Chief Inspector Leslie Choi had become to The Voice.

  With her insistent poking around the neighborhood, often a little too close to the nest, she continued to force The Voice to lay low. Nobody was going to force him to lay low again. Not now. Not ever.

  It was bad enough Chinatown’s favorite hero, Detective Kyle Kang, was on the case. Now she’s helping. It was all too much. And to top it all off, he––the Chinatown Chop Chef––still had to play the role of loveable Mr. Fu. Addressing customers as they entered the restaurant made him sick to his stomach.

  To pass the time, he invented a fun little game. It was called Who Do I Want to Kill? If a customer had the kill-me-now look, the equivalent of a stupid look, he would smile and point at them with his spatula and shout, “You lucky one.” Of course the customers played along, they were happy to be considered the lucky ones.

  The Voice considered killing his staff at least a dozen times but resisted the temptation. For how much longer? Who knew? Who cared? As far as he was concerned, only one thing needed to happen. Leslie needed to die.

  Then the phone rang and suddenly things were looking upbeat for the chopaholic. As luck would have it, Darby called with a wonderful proposition for Mr. Fu. Not in a million years could The Voice have planned this outcome.

  Chapter 88

  Kowloon Peninsula, Hong Kong

  As soon as The Voice entered the baggage claim area at Hong Kong International Airport, he spotted the idiot waving his arms. He put his head down and pretended not to see Darby. The last thing The Voice wanted right now was to humor Darby with this stupid Mr. Fu character. Killing was at the top of the trip itinerary. Someone was going to die––maybe Darby. But not just yet. The Voice wasn’t about to kill his meal ticket. He still needed Darby’s help, unfortunately. The Voice ultimately saw this trip as way to feed his appetite, and Darby was paying for this rampage.

  Darby greeted The Voice like a bellhop, immediately grabbing his bag and making unnecessary conversation in hopes of increasing the tip. The only tip he had for Darby was to watch out for the bloodshed. The Voice kept his eyes steady and away from Darby. He found it to be the only thing preventing him from severing Darby’s thick head from his shoulders.

  He hated how positive Darby could be, so full of hope. He didn’t understand. Darby wasn’t rich, he had no girlfriend except for the cop lady, and his only friend was a six-foot-one-inch Jewish/Asian monstrosity.

  The ride to the hotel was a testament to patience. It took everything The Voice had to block out the endless blabbering. Darby went on and on about his excitement and how much fun they could have and how their hotel rooms are next door to each other and they can eat dinner at the night market tonight, and a whole slew of other blah, blah, blah.

  The Voice stared out the window while his thoughts pummeled Darby. Shut up. Shut up. I’ll kill you if you don’t shut the fuck up.

  Chapter 89

  Mr. Fu and I arrived at the Temple Night Market around a quarter to eight. The crowds were out in full force, chomping, gnawing, and slurping everything in sight. The people-watching alone is reason enough to come. There was a healthy mix of locals and tourists meandering through the food stalls enjoying the tasty delicacies on offer.

  We ran into a group of squealing girls representing the Muskego High School volleyball team and watched them snap hundreds of photos of each other eating deep-fried scorpions. Mr. Fu moved past the volleyball team to the front of the food stall and purchased a bag of the tiny, fried devils for himself. No fear. Probably grew up on the little critters. By the time I reached him, he had already shoveled a hand full of them into his mouth and ordered two small mystery drinks.

  “Does the hot oil kill the poison?”

  Mr. Fu turned to me, a stinger hung from the left corner of his mouth while he crunched away. He waved off my remark and handed me a cup. “Drink.”

  “What is this?” I asked hoping it wasn’t what I thought it was. This stall also specialized in big jars of clear liquid with giant cobras coiled up inside, poised as if ready to strike. I didn’t see anybody else tossing back this scary concoction. Mr. Fu urged me again.

  “Increase sexual performance.”

  “I don’t need to increase it.”

  “Drink it.”

  “What does it taste like?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why should I––”

  “Drink the damn thing,” Mr. Fu snarled.

  That was unexpected. I asked a simple question and got the third degree. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t irritated Mr. Fu before. I have multiple times at the restaurant. But never had I experienced a reaction like this. It wasn’t the yelling that caught me off guard. It was the tone. It was different, like another person was speaking to me.

  I picked up the little paper cup and chucked it down. My face contorted while I swallowed. The Chinese call this wine. I expected wine, not the equivalent of moonshine. Potent. Nasty. Kind of badass, though––drinking cobra whiskey.

  Mr. Fu laughed at me and then ordered two more. By the time I downed my fourth shot, I felt tough and no longer gagged on the liquid that tasted like lighter fluid. I was enjoying myself, even though Mr. Fu wasn’t saying a whole lot. He was too busy people watching. Like a hawk he followed individuals through the crowd. Such a strange man.

  Now was as good as any time to press Mr. Fu about his past. We were liquored up and I hoped his mouth loosened up because tomorrow I planned on introducing him to a big part of his past. “Mr. Fu, you got any family or friends still living in Hong Kong you might want to visit?”

  “No family, everybody dead.”

  “No one, not even an old buddy?”

  I was hoping he might offer up Li Li.

  “No. Long time now. Not sure. No contact for many years.”

  “So maybe some people you know might still be here in Hong Kong.”

  “Maybe,” Mr. Fu said. He tilted the bag of scorpions up to his mouth like he was finishing a bag of potato chips.

  “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you suddenly ran into someone you knew?”

  Mr. Fu turned to me with a confused look on his face. His eyes were more squinty than normal. “What you mean?”

  “What if you ran into someone you knew while you were here?”

  “Who I run into?”

  “I’m just saying, Mr. Fu.”

  Mr. Fu stretched his arms out and yawned. “What we do tomorrow?”

  “How about visiting a massage parlor?”

  Chapter 90

  The kink in my neck from the extra firm bed and pillow woke me promptly at eight the next morning. I gently twisted my head from side to side, wondering how effective a soapy massage would be.

  I drew back the blackout curtains and stared out at the city. The dense buildings were already awake. The morning rush in Hong Kong was intense. Even a New Yorker ran the risk of getting swallowed in the hustle. Down below on the street I saw police activity, and a lot of it. An alleyway had been cordoned off but from where my room was, I could only see a foot or so inside of it.

  Suddenly thoughts of a dead Mr. Fu lying in the alley flooded my mind. Not that there was any reason why he would be down there. Or dead. But I felt responsible for the cranky cook and I needed to calm my nerves. I threw on a robe and went next door to check on him.

  •••

  The Voice stood by the window watching the activity below. He couldn’t see much from his window. He could see that the police were focused on the alleyway. He watched as various uniformed officers talked to a few bystanders. Near the entrance of the alley were a couple of men in suits. The detectives came to solve the crime. Good luck.

  Again someone knocked.

  The Voice walked over to the door, still holding the blood-crusted cleaver in his hand. He peeked through the peephole and looked straight at Darby.

  Darby knocked ag
ain but The Voice remained still and very quiet. He continued to watch Darby through the peephole. The idiot stood there, lacking confidence and mumbling to himself. Then Darby put his hands up against the door, and The Voice re-gripped the cleaver in his hand. Darby slowly pressed the side of his head against the door. The Voice, only a mere two and half inches away, remained quiet. Parts of his left arm remained covered with blood splatter. He slowed his breathing but his heart pounded loudly in his chest. He watched Darby, looking for a sign. Nothing.

  Darby pulled his head away from the door. But then he looked back straight at the peephole. The Voice had his eye pressed tightly against the other side of it. Darby squinted and then pressed an eye forward. The Voice tightened his grip on the cleaver and slowly moved his other hand to the door handle and grabbed it ever so gently.

  •••

  Suddenly the door to Mr. Fu’s room opened, and I nearly fell right in. A split second later, Mr. Fu’s head appeared from behind the door. He had a scowl on his face. Not a happy camper from what I could tell.

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I saw enough of his shoulder and arm to be surprised again by how muscular he was. But that’s not what surprised me. Various drops of blood on his arm were what did it.

  “Is that blood on your arm?”

  Mr. Fu pulled his arm back behind remaining quiet.

  “Is something wrong? Maybe I should take a look.”

  I pressed forward on the door but it wouldn’t budge. It was as if the door were right up against a wall. Not even a slight give. I pushed harder but still Mr. Fu and the door held their ground. And then the sound of a metal object slowly raked itself across the door starting from the bottom to the top. I wasn’t going to even ask what that was because by now Mr. Fu was acting way too weird for this time of the day.

  I didn’t bother to mention the ruckus on the street below, nor my wild imagination. Mr. Fu continued to stare at me and said nothing. His behavior was strange. It wasn’t like him to be this reclusive. In fact, he’d been distant ever since I told him about my first visit to Hong Kong. I decided not to press the issue.

  “Why don’t we meet downstairs in an hour? We’ll get some breakfast.”

  “Okay,” he finally spoke. Then he shut the door in my face.

  Chapter 91

  When I got back to my room, I called Li Li. I didn’t know what kind of business her massage parlor did in the morning but the less people, probably the better.

  “Shi, Shi.”

  “Hello, Li Li? This is Darby Stansfield.”

  “No Li Li. Wait…”

  I could hear rustling on the other end and then the sounds of footsteps moving quickly away from the phone. A few seconds later a slow shuffle approached the phone.

  “Hello!”

  “Li Li, it’s Darby.”

  “Darby, why you call so early?”

  “I’m sorry, but I wanted to see if you would be around the parlor today, say around eleven? I have a friend who wants to stop by.”

  “We open twenty-four hours. He come by anytime he like.”

  “Well, I wanted to say hi. Also, I have an answer to your message.”

  There was a moment of silence on the phone. I suspected Li Li was busy comprehending what I told her. In a positive way, I hoped.

  “So soon?” she said apprehensively.

  “Don’t worry, Li Li. It’s good news.”

  “Yes, I’ll be here.”

  “Great. We’ll see you then.”

  Chapter 92

  Mr. Fu and I left the hotel a little after ten, his mood warming a bit as we walked through the Mong Kok. The air was already filled with the fluctuating bells of Cantonese as shoppers haggled over everything from socks to jade bracelets.

  We stopped for a quick breakfast at a tiny dim sum restaurant. I had my usual, pork shumai and steamed pot stickers, while Mr. Fu settled for a bowl of congee. Mr. Fu buried his head into the soupy rice concoction and what little conversation we had this morning completely disappeared.

  Like pulling teeth, this guy. Geesh.

  After speaking with Li Li this morning, it was clear in my head, I needed to give the two of them their privacy when they met.

  A little after eleven thirty my cell phone rang. It was Chu. Of course I knew that since I told him to call me and hang up. I would explain later.

  “Yes, this is Darby. Oh, yes, yes Mr. Woo. Yes, of course…uh-huh. Uh-huh. …Hmmmm. Well, yes, if it’s important, I can reschedule. Yes. Okay, see you soon.”

  “Who that?” Apparently the phone call had snapped Mr. Fu out of let’s-ignore-each-other land.

  “That was Chan Woo, the CEO of the company I’m doing business with here in Hong Kong. He asked if I could stop by immediately. They’re having problems with a new system we implemented last week.”

  Mr. Fu nodded his head and grunted.

  “But you go on ahead and get a massage. I’ve already arranged everything. I’ve got you down for a full hour. I’ll come back here and meet you.”

  “What if meeting is long?”

  My plan was to stop by the restaurant and check on the gang while Mr. Fu and Li Li got reacquainted. There was a chance I might get detained. “If I’m not here after you’re done, let’s meet near Temple Street. We can grab a late lunch.”

  Mr. Fu nodded again.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Long time since I been here. Many memories.”

  Well it’s about to get a lot more memorable. I gave Mr. Fu a pat on the back and told him to have fun.

  Chapter 93

  The Crimson Dragon was an old friend he had not seen in twenty-five years––nor did he think he ever would again. The outside was different from what The Voice remembered. The white with blue trim was a different color for the building. A small sign hung above the entrance.

  The Voice knew exactly what Darby was up too when he suggested he come and visit. It was all so clear when he suggested a massage. He had found Li Li. The Voice wasn’t surprised by Darby’s revelation. He was thrilled. A reunion with Li Li…he couldn’t ask for anything more. Why? Because he hated that bitch.

  As much as Mr. Fu loved Li Li, The Voice, the other side of Mr. Fu, despised her. He was only too happy to do what should have been done twenty-five years ago: kill her.

  The Voice entered the building and was greeted by a young lady. Mei-Lien was Li Li’s most trusted girl and often handled much of Li Li’s business. Her hair was pulled back into a bun secured by two decorative chopsticks. She was dressed in a sheer pink top and a black skirt.

  “Hello.” Mei-Lien said.

  The Voice promptly told the girl he was here to see Li Li. Arrangements were made by a Darby Stansfield. She knew exactly what he was talking about and asked about the other gentlemen.

  “It was my understanding Mr. Stansfield would be joining as well.”

  “No,” The Voice said and he asked for Li Li again.

  Mei-Lien insisted gently and said he would be pleased with her service. The young girl took Mr. Fu by the hand and led him to a room. Li Li no longer serviced customers, and hadn’t in over twenty-five years. The plan was for Mei-Lien to take care of Darby’s friend while Li Li and Darby talked.

  A few minutes later Li Li came out of the room expecting to see Darby, but the waiting area was empty. She quickly became irritated. She had spent the entire morning mentally preparing for this. Not knowing the response to her message was unbearable. She returned to the back room and poured herself a cup of tea while she contemplated the situation. Staring into the teacup Li Li got the feeling she was being watched. She looked up and immediately jumped back in her seat.

  “You!”

  Chapter 94

  “Wi.”

  “Yes, it is I.”

  He was the last person Li Li ever expected to see. Unable to move, unable to speak, she remained frozen from the moment she looked up. This was not a joyous moment. Her reaction said it all. The look on her face wasn’t one of happiness. It
was of fear. It was as if she were staring death himself in the face.

  She was.

  Neither of them spoke. Their eyes had plenty enough to say. And it wasn’t a polite conversation.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  Wi smiled at Li Li. “Darby planned this.”

  “Darby? He said he found Fu, not you.”

  Wi moved closer.

  A cold shiver ran through Li-Li’s body. Was that death? A rush of nausea overcame her. She felt her stomach drop and her knees weaken. The past had come back to haunt her. She prayed this was all a dream, but she knew this nightmare was real, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

  “You always like him better than me, even after twenty-five years,” Wi said.

  “Where is Fu? What have you done to him, Wi?”

  “Fu died twenty five years ago.”

  “But the body in the fire…it was yours.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I only made it look like me. It was Fu.”

  After the fire was put out, the remains of one person was found, but the body was badly burned and unrecognizable. Wi had his four top teeth knocked out in a fight and always wore gold dentures. Since the body was missing those teeth, the assumption was made that it was Wi who had died.

  “I knocked Fu’s teeth out.” Wi reached into his mouth and unhinged his dentures. The upper four teeth fell free as he smiled. Then he slipped them back on.

  “Don’t lie. Where is Fu?”

  “I waited a long time to tell this story. But first tell me: what was it like all these years thinking Fu ran out on you?”

  Li Li lost her breath. How could he? She could barely fathom the thought that he was finding joy in this revelation. He wanted to see her hurt. “Why?”