Triad Death Match

by Harwood, Seth

  When Odd Job pushed open the door, Jane walked right through it. The man looked at Jack impatiently, raised his eyebrows.

  Jack took a quick drag, flicked away the butt, and followed her inside.

  Behind the crowds at the betting table, the guy from the Mercedes had joined the older men on the stage. He had on a white suit with a slick blue shirt and a white tie– even white shoes. Hands above his head, he talked to the old men, gesturing to indicate how tall the last fight's loser had been and repeating the critical blows that had ended his life.

  Up on the ring, two men spread sand across the canvas with wooden rakes. Smoke hung heavy in the air, and the spectators stood smoking and yapping in sharp voices.

  "The fuck," Jack said, starting down the stairs and following Jane toward the stage. She was making a bee line for the guy in the white suit. "Jane Gannon? What are you getting us into now?"

  Four

  Jane reached the stage and two large wrestler closed in on her from both sides. They held their hands up, motioning that she should not approach.

  But Jack knew Jane Gannon, and he knew that wouldn't stop her–not in Chinatown, not in an arena full of hostile men, not even after she'd just seen two people killed.

  She called up to the man wearing the white suit, and the discussion on the stage stopped. Four old men with long white beards looked down at her from ornate wooden chairs. Above their heads hung a series of ancient engravings: beautiful arrangements of waves, mountains, and clouds.

  The guy she'd spoken to in the front seat of the Mercedes froze, then looked to the man in the suit. The man in the suit nodded once, and the two bouncers took Jane by the arms and lifted her up onto the stage. She bowed smoothly. The man with the suit turned to lead her out a back way.

  But when Jack reached the bouncers, they blocked his way. "Jane," he called out. Above him, her legs looked even more beautiful in the tight dress. "How about–"

  She looked back once, and one of the elderly men nodded. The bouncers stepped away, leaving Jack to climb up.

  He hopped up with his hands on the rise, then threw a leg up and clambered to his knees. Jane was gone. He swept dust off his pants as he stood, and took a last look out at the crowd. Everyone was still milling and talking. The next fight wouldn't start any time soon.

  Behind the stage, Jack followed a long, dark hallway to a dim room. He stepped into a dressing room for the fighters: padded tables surrounded by dingy white walls. A single naked light bulb hung from a fixture in the ceiling. In one corner of the room, Chen sat duct-taped to a short wooden chair, a white cloth gag pulled tight across his mouth.

  White Suit pulled out a chair next to Chen and sat down. "This your friend?" he asked. Jane was about to answer when he raised a hand for her to wait. He drew a cigarette out of a case he'd produced from within his jacket. When one of his men lit it, he took a long drag and nodded his thanks.

  "I am Mr. Ruby," he told them. Two men in black karate uniforms came up behind Jack to join the two already in the room. "It pleases me to make your acquaintance. Again."

  "What is–" Again, he cut her off with his hand. It surprised Jack that Jane responded. They must really be in deep shit. "This is highly unusual. First you come to our fights. Now you request an audience? This is not how things work."

  He took another drag of his cigarette and casually, as if absent-mindedly waving his hand toward an ashtray, pressed the lit cherry into Chen's forearm. Jack saw the skin sizzle and a thin haze of smoke rise up. Dullness entered Chen's eyes as he slid his gaze toward Ruby.

  "Your friend belongs to us now. Pledged to the Triads for life. You outsiders?" He shook his head. "You do not belong. We let you watch these fights, but that is over. I hope you enjoyed."

  "There's still one more to come," Gannon said.

  "Yes. One more. As you can see," Ruby waved toward Chen, "your friend will lose." He said it with less emotion than a maitre d' showing you to your table.

  "Why?" Jane asked.

  Jack looked at Chen but couldn't catch his eye. He wanted to know why Chen was here, what he was doing. This couldn't just be about forty thousand bucks. Or could it?

  "We need to see the last fight," Jane said.

  Ruby looked at Chen, then Jane. His eyelids lowered to half-mast, and he considered them each in turn. "No," he said. "You have seen enough."

  The bouncers started toward Jack.

  "Wait. I– " Jane grasped for some opening. She held up her tickets. "But I have money on the last bout. Don't you want to let me see if I win?"

  "On whom did you bet?"

  "Chen, of course."

  Ruby smiled and laughed softly. "Then you have already lost." He crossed one leg over the other, and Jack noticed his white patent leather shoes. The only thing he wore that wasn't white were his beige socks.

  "Let me fight for him," Jack said.

  Gannon turned fast, and Ruby broke out in a laugh. He said something in Chinese that made the bouncers look at Jack, then break into wide smiles. For a few moments, they were all laughing.

  Ruby clicked his tongue. "You are Jack Palms? From the movie? Your suit is nice, Jack, but your words are stupid. Do not let them write your body into an early grave."

  At that, the big fighter Chen had fought last month walked into the room. He folded thick arms across his chest. Jack noticed now that he bore a strong resemblance to Bolo Yeung, the old foe of Van Damme and Bruce Lee.

  Gannon shot Jack a look. "You want to fight him, Jack? Really?"

  Jack blinked. "Maybe I just went insane for a quick moment. I can admit that."

  Jane shook her head in disgust. Jack wanted to say something else, but didn't. She stepped in front of him. "What my friend means is let us buy him out of his debt. This is about the last fight–am I correct here? He won a fight he wasn't supposed to?"

  Ruby spat on the floor. "Bullshit. This not win. He did not finish. His disappearance has disgraced this kumite. Now he must fight and lose."

  Ruby took a last drag of his smoke and ground out the butt ever-so-gently on Chen's arm. Chen finally moved, made a noise like he had something to say.

  "Sixty thousand," Jane said. "That's what I'll give you to let him walk."

  Ruby smiled. "And leave this crowd without a headliner? I do not think so."

  "Seventy-five."

  Jack didn't know if Jane had that kind of money; he couldn't believe she did.

  "One hundred and fifty," Ruby said. "And I will not even ask why you wish to spare this man's life."

  There was no way Jane or the bureau would have that much to throw into this.

  Jane stepped toward Jack. Chen eyed them coldly, his message all too clear: Do not buy me out of this. You must not interfere.

  "At least let us watch the fight, then. Show us what we came here to see."

  Ruby stood up. "Very well. You will be allowed to see the final sport of the evening. Let us go."

  Jack and Jane watched the ring from the stage, sitting off to the side and behind Mr. Ruby. Two of the big fighters flanked them. The man from the front of the Mercedes sat beside them.

  "They're really going to do this?" Jack asked.

  "What's not to believe?"

  Bolo Yeung walked out from behind them. Music like a mix of bag pipes and the sound of mating geese blared out around the ring. Bolo wore a headband that stuck out behind his head. As he made his way to the ring, he did a strange dance, rolling his hands in front of him like a doggy paddle. When he got up onto the canvas, he dropped to one knee and raised his hands. Then he bent and rocked a few times, switched to the other knee, and did the same on the other side. The geese blared on.

  "What the fuck is this?" Jack asked.

  "Traditional muy thai fighting prayers. This is how the fighters show their respect to those who've come before them."

  "Really? You've done your research, agent Jane."

  "They call it wai khru ram muay."

  In the ring, Bolo dropped onto both knees and
started bowing his head and arms to the mat.

  "He's not worthy," Jack said. "Wayne's world. Wayne's world."

  "Jesus, Jack. Really!"

  After three bows, Bolo stood and began to walk around the perimeter of the ring.

  From behind his row of chairs, Jack heard a commotion and then saw Chen being led onto the stage with two large fighters behind him. The crowd jeered and hissed as Chen was pushed off the platform. He picked himself up and walked toward the ring.

  The crowd threw paper at Chen–losing betting slips and cigarette butts–and yelled in anger.

  Ruby leaned back in his chair. "This is what they think of someone who does not finish a fight. You do not carry the combat all the way through– " He trailed off, shaking his head, and turned back to the ring.

  "So Chen has to finish this off, then? Kill or be killed?"

  "And we have to sit and watch," Jane said.

  Chen walked around the ring, rubbing his wrists where they'd been tied. Then he jumped up onto the canvas and dropped into a fighting stance.

  Bolo took off his headpiece, bowed once, and dropped into a stance of his own. The drum beat three times, and the crowd went quiet.

  The fighters circled each other, moving slowly around the ring. Chen looked strange, unlike himself and unsure in his movements. To Jack, who'd watched him practice his forms every day for the past month, everything he was doing looked wrong.

  "Maybe he's drugged."

  Gannon shushed Jack, intent on the ring. "I hope not. Because if he is, this'll be over fast."

  "We've got to stop it."

  "How?"

  "I don't know. I could– "

  "You run up onto that ring and you'll be mobbed, tackled, and hog-tied before you ever get to the matt. Who's that going to help?"

  Bolo made a slow move toward Chen, reaching out with a tentative jab as he stepped forward, measuring the space between them. Chen stood still.

  Bolo leapt forward and backhanded Chen across the face. Chen spun and spit blood into the sand spread across the ring.

  Bolo followed with a right hook into Chen's ribs that moved Chen back. His feet slid across the sand. When he stopped, he re-gathered himself into his stance.

  "He's fucked."

  Chen dropped lower, bending his knees. He shook his head as if trying to clear it and made familiar motions with his arms, waving them into one of his routines.

  Bolo crossed quickly and made a sweeping kick into Chen's front leg. He followed it with a straight kick to Chen's chest. Again Chen slid back. Close to the edge of the ring now, he circled around Bolo. It was strange to see the two of them fighting at this speed, as if Bolo wanted to watch his craftsmanship, appreciate each blow in its own time.

  Bolo came at Chen now and scooped him up like a wrestler, held him at the shoulder and between his legs. Bolo turned and slammed Chen into the center of the ring. Chen bounced once in the sand and rose to his feet.

  The fight was like a cat playing with a mouse, Bolo casually fucking up Chen as he wished, doing damage in his own time. Chen had no answers. Finally the drums beat to signal the end of the round.

  The two fighters rested, Chen with his hands on his knees, breathing hard, and Bolo standing up straight, glaring across the ring. Chen looked like his nose was broken, and one cheek was cut. His front leg had been kicked enough times that he'd had to switch up to southpaw and alter his stance completely.

  "I've got to do something to stop this," Jane said. She got up from her chair and walked out the door at the back of the stage. Jack glanced at Mr. Ruby, who simply looked nonplussed and turned back to the ring.

  "Jane, Jane, Jane," Jack said. "What are you getting us into now?"

  Jack thought about making some big proclamation, a verbal appeal for them to stop the fight. But he saw Ruby staring at him, and he could feel the two bigger fighters closing in on him from behind.

  At that moment, Chen looked up and his eyes met Jack's. Then Chen nodded. Jack didn't know what Chen was telling him, but honor or no, there had to be something in Chen that didn't want to die.

  The drum beat again, and Bolo advanced across the ring, fists ready.

  "Shit." Jack got up and followed Jane out the back exit from the stage. He ran down the dark corridor and found her alone in the dressing room, cell phone in hand. She was staring at the phone's screen, as if trying to decide who to call.

  "What the fuck are you going to do?" Jack asked.

  "Fuck this," she said. "I'm calling in Dockery. There's enough going down here for us to bring in the troops and tear this shit down. I'm not just going to sit back and watch Chen die."

  She pushed a few buttons and raised the phone to her ear. "Doc," she said when someone answered. "We got big problems here."

  But Jack knew there was no way the Feds could get enough soldiers through that thin alley, past the Zanzibar door and down into the arena, to do shit about the fight. Jane went on explaining, but Jack had another idea.

  He pulled out his own phone and scrolled through the names. It was a long shot, he knew, but maybe they would already be downtown, checking out the strippers at one of the clubs in North Beach, able to get here in time.

  He pushed enter when he got to Vlade's name and the phone started to dial. Vlade would be with Niki, and maybe the two of them could do enough to at least disrupt the situation.

  Vlade's phone rang, and Jack listened to the sound. He counted three rings. Jane was clearly still explaining herself to her superior. It wasn't going well; frustration showed on her face.

  "No, what I'm saying– " She got cut off, tried butting in again, got cut off, and finally decided just to listen. Jack watched her mouth the word fuck three times in succession.

  Vlade's voicemail picked up, and Jack echoed Jane's sentiment out loud.

  Niki would be with Vlade. And Niki was guaranteed to answer his phone.

  Jack scrolled back to Niki's name, thinking he should have just called him first. He hit send and brought the phone to his ear, glad already to hear it ring.

  "Yes, hello?" It was Niki's voice. Music to Jack's ears.

  Five

  "Yes, hello?"

  "Niki. It's Jack."

  "Jack Palms, my man. How can we help the brother out?"

  "Where are you?"

  "Club of the Larry Flint. I watch, I wait, and Vlade is in back room, getting on the red carpet."

  "That's red carpet treatment, homes."

  "No, the red carpet. He like the girl with the–"

  In front of Jack, Jane Gannon paced the fighter's locker room underneath the lone bulb. Her face told a story of rejection: Dockery was chewing her out for getting too far in with her rogue investigation of the Triads and their Death Match. But Jack didn't care. None of the Feds would like how this turned out, so the less they knew the better. It was good if they didn't show up at all.

  As Jane flipped her phone closed, Jack mouthed Vlade's name to her.

  "Oh, no!" she said, shaking her head. "No way! I'd rather deal with this myself."

  Jack held up his hand, mimed slitting his own throat. "Niki, we got a need for you two to help us deal with some Triads up Chinatown."

  "Is that close?"

  "Very," said Jack, following up with his best explanation of where they were and how to get there.

  "Well then we can–"

  "Not after Vlade gets finished with his lap dance! We need you here now. Let Vlade get his nut on later. Or just come alone."

  Jane started out of the room, heading back toward the stage. Jack heard a chorus of cheers.

  "A man's life depends on this," said Jack .

  When Jack got back to the stage, he saw Chen had started to fight back. He was blocking some of Bolo's punches instead of taking them all full-on with his head. But he was still far from one hundred percent.

  And yet Bolo still moved casually, toying with Chen instead of inflicting real damage. It was like he knew Chen's drugs would wear off and he wanted to wait for an
honest fight. He took his time, crept in and out of range, peppering Chen's front leg with kicks and occasionally taking a shot at Chen's head.

  If Bolo fought like this against him, Jack could stand in for a while. He knew enough of what to do. But he also knew this fighter wouldn't waste his time waiting for Jack to improve. The dramatic turn-around wouldn't come; this was no Rocky movie. Big Bolo would send Jack out on a stretcher, peeled off the canvas of the ring, sand still stuck in his skin.

  Standing at the edge of the stage, Mr. Ruby started the crowd into a rhythmic hand clap that picked up speed as it went. The big drum overhead joined in on the ones and twos, and the crowd started to whistle and cheer. Soon they might turn against Bolo, lose patience with waiting for the carnage they'd come to see.

  A gong rang to end the round.

  Chen retreated to his corner and sat on a small stool that an attendant produced. There were no corner men in this sport, just a short break for the fighters to catch their breath. Chen's chest heaved, while Bolo took long, measured breaths through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling as he did.

  Jack wanted to go down and talk to Chen, coach him to stay out of Bolo's reach, wave smelling salts under his nose–anything. But two bouncers came up alongside Jack as he stepped toward the edge of the stage. He looked up and around the arena at the eager faces: row after row of men holding tickets, smoking, talking, waving their fists. Even with Niki, this was not going to be an easy crowd to tame. Maybe they'd be better off with the police.

  The gong beat again, and Bolo popped onto his feet. Chen stood slowly and started to backpedal around the ring as Bolo approached him. Chen moved as well as could be expected on the sand, his left calf and thigh swollen to twice their normal size. Bolo lunged forward to kick out Chen's front leg, and Chen leapt over the kick. Bolo came again, and this time Chen only got his front leg out of the way. When Bolo hit his back calf, Chen went down for a moment and toppled sideways. In a second he was able to push himself up. But by then it was too late.

  In the second Chen had taken to right himself, Bolo leapt forward with his right hand cocked beside his ribs. He lunged and delivered, splitting Chen's nose open with a wicked straight punch. Chen fell back onto both hands, his face covered in blood, and Bolo kept on. He kicked Chen's feet out from under him and fell onto his chest, straddling the smaller man.