The First Immortal

by Matt Elam

  “Are you fucking crazy?” I said, evenly. But these were different times, and people didn’t adhere to the social norms of the twenty first century.

  When he wound up for another big forehand slash, I unleashed a rear leg push kick to his solar plexus.

  Thud. The heel of my foot hit square with the butcher’s sternum, and he went flying backward, landing hard on the dirt road.

  Before I could step forward and scold the man for trying to slice up a defenseless kid, I saw four of his buddies, fifty yards in the distance, running toward us. All armed with butcher’s knives.

  Dut grabbed my hand. “This way! Hurry!”

  I snagged Bai’s arm and we formed a human chain accelerating down the main road. We approached a rickshaw lying unmanned by the side of a restaurant.

  “Master and Lady, please climb in,” said Dut.

  I helped Bai up and in the carriage, and then jumped in myself.

  The boy threw a large straw hat over his head, picked up the wooden handles, and began a steady jog.

  I marveled at the lad’s leg strength.

  Bai and I looked at each other.

  “Welcome to the era of the Qing Dynasty, m’lady,” I said, tipping my imaginary hat.

  Nineteen

  YIM DUT’S VILLAGE WAS north of the downtown marketplace, near the mountains. I pointed to the elevation.

  “That’s the Poor Man’s Mountain Range,” I said.

  Bai took in the moderate expanse. “Is that its formal name?”

  “That’s what the villagers refer to it as,” I said, laughing.

  Another twenty-five yards and Dut bent his knees, and stopped the rickshaw. He hadn’t taken one break since we’d left the main square.

  He jogged to meet us at the carriage, helping me and Bai transition to the ground.

  “Well, thank you, kind sir,” said Bai, smiling, as she took his hand and stepped down.

  I messed Dut’s long black hair. “You impress me, kid. You’re getting to be strong as an ox, you know that?”

  “Thank you, Master Jo.” He bowed deeply.

  I looked around the little town. It hadn’t changed a bit since I’d last seen it.

  “Dut. I want you to go get your Uncle Biao for me, okay?”

  He bowed again. “Yes, Master.” He turned and began running, and then stopped mid-stride. “Oh, Master? May we throw and receive the brown oval again after your conversation with Uncle?”

  I smiled. “The football, kid.”

  “The f-o-o-t-ball,’ annunciated Dut.

  “Yeah. Go get it.”

  The boy beamed from ear to ear and pivoted on his heel, and ran toward a row of houses.

  “They play football here?” said Bai, confusion on her face.

  “No. I brought that in from our realm. I’ve found that certain materials cross through the dimensional shell without incident. A leather football being one of them.”

  Bai nodded, letting me know she understood. “Did your cell phone get through unharmed?

  I shook my head. “No. Our world’s tech doesn’t work here except for my mobile’s flashlight app. Strange, right?”

  Bai agreed. “That is so bizarre.”

  I continued. “And guns don’t work here. I mean, they’ll come through without a hitch, but the mechanisms don’t operate. What you have left is a decorative wall piece,” I said. “I suppose you could bludgeon someone to death with it.”

  “I think that’s good in terms of the safety of this world, right?” inquired Bai.

  “Yeah. Absolutely. If firearms fell in the hands of the Qing emperor and his army, this land would be an absolute bloodbath.” I shook my head in disgust. “I mean, it already is, even without the use of guns.”

  Bai put her hand on my shoulder.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you, Johnny Jo.”

  My eyes widened. “Ah, you have reached the third level of enlightenment, Grasshopper.”

  “Oh my god. Would you stop it with that,” she said, grinning and shaking her head in mock distain.

  The truth was, I had always felt uncomfortable accepting flattery of that sort.

  A man was walking toward us with Dut by his side. His sun stained skin and hardened features exemplified the Han rebels of that time. The man’s eyes were warm, however, and his expression was that of genuine excitement to see me.

  “Master Jo!,” he said, hitting his knees.

  I picked him up by his arms.

  “I told you, Biao, there’s no need for that.”

  We exchanged pleasantries and I introduced him to Bai.

  We talked about the event at the market. He looked down at his nephew, concern wearing on his face.

  “What is it, Biao?” I said.

  He stood there quiet for a moment, and then said, “Please follow me,” he said, leading us back to his house.

  Twenty

  BIAO’S HOME WAS TYPICAL for seventeenth century China. The earth had been pounded flat with pieces of timber covering it. The walls and roof were also made of wood. Biao excused himself and disappeared into his bedroom, leaving the three of us sitting in the small parlor. He returned with a small black hemp bag in hand.

  “Members of the resistance found these papers in a market near the southern border of northern China. He took the three strips of paper out of the bag.

  “They look like the paper currency back in our world,” I said, holding my hand out.

  “Currency?” inquired Biao, scratching his head. “I don’t understand.”

  Biao was a smart man. Besides being a laborer, required by all citizens of the village, he was also the town’s bookkeeper of sorts.

  I looked at Bai. “In this time period, the Chinese primarily dealt with coins. Copper, I believe. But silver and gold coins were not uncommon.” My gaze went to Biao to confirm or deny my statement.

  “Yes, Master, that is correct,” said Biao, nodding adamantly.

  I studied one of the bills. On one side, there was a silhouette of a figure seated in a chair with what appeared to be soldiers standing beside him on both sides. Something about the nature of the image was so ominous that it made the hairs on the back of my neck go erect. I flipped the bill over.

  “What do these characters in the middle of the bill say, Biao?” I asked, pointing.

  “Trust in the Dark Supreme Chancellor,” said Biao.

  Lord almighty, I thought.

  “And this?” I motioned to the top right corner of the bill.

  “Overthrow the Qing, and let the Immaculate Dynasty reign supreme.”

  I asked Biao if I could take one of the bills to show Cheung Sifu, and he agreed. We also assumed that the butcher in Widow’s Tears marketplace was referring to that currency as well.

  But how did they acquire it? Why take this untested form of currency over the standard copper coin?

  Biao’s wife, Chyou, had walked in. She welcomed us warmly. Biao informed her we would be staying with them for a while.

  “If it is the will of my husband to have you stay with us, then it is my will as well,” she said.

  Biao also suggested that if Bai and I were going to share a room together, it would be best if the town’s people assumed we were married.

  I looked at Bai and she shot a curious look back at me. Not wanting to embarrass or shame our hosts in the eyes of their neighbors, we agreed. Chyou took Bai to her room to help her find an outfit while Dut took me to his room - where Bai and I would be staying - to retrieve my old clothes I’d left there previously.

  I was wearing a pair of black hemp pants with a white t-shirt under a black button up long sleeve shirt. I wore white cotton socks, and my footwear resembled Tai Chi shoes. As kids growing up in LHK, we’d always referred to these costumes as: Coolie outfits. It was a derogatory statement, yes, but we were young and ignorant. As I laid on the mattress, I was pleasantly surprised at how comfortable the clothing was.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door.

  “Come in,
” I said.

  It was Bai. And when I saw what she was wearing, I nearly fell off the bed.

  She wore a long red pleated skirt that hung above her ankles. Her red and green blouse reached mid-hip area with three quarter cut sleeves, revealing smooth pale arms. Her dark hair was parted, pulled up in a bun, and supported by clips with flowers on top.

  “Well?” she said. She spun in a circle gracefully, letting me take in the entire picture.

  I sat at the edge of the bed. “We’re supposed to be hiding out, Bai,” I scolded. “Not causing a scene.”

  Her eyes widened, and then quickly narrowed. “Hey, you try being a five-foot-eight woman with curves in seventeenth century China,” she scolded back.

  I laughed. And boy oh boy, did she ever have curves. Her waist to hip ratio looked like she was hiding an hourglass under her skirt. And did I mention already that she had legs for days?

  With cat-like precision, she took two steps toward me and hurled herself into the air, legs wide apart.

  Thump. Her hips caught me right in my abdomen as she wrapped her arms around my neck. My abdominals were very strong, and I initially stayed upright, but the inertia and flawless leverage used was just too much for me in the end. I gave way to my back with Bai straddling my hips.

  “Whoa. That was impressive,” I said, softly. The others were all out of the house, but without modern resources, the joint wasn’t exactly soundproof.

  “Thanks,” she cooed. Her face was but inches from my own. “That was your first lesson in taking a stronger person down, Grasshopper.”

  I chuckled. “Well, it worked, Master Ray.”

  She placed her hands on my chest and pushed her torso upright in order to take the clips out of her hair. The small waves in her movement while allowing her hair to lengthen had frictioned her pelvis against mine, and I began to feel myself swell.

  Bai closed her eyes and the corners of her mouth raised, forming a smile.

  “Why, Mr. Jo,” said Bai, in a breathy whisper, “you’ve got quite the aim.”

  “It’s time for your fourth lesson, Grasshopper.” I lifted my hips ever so slightly under the weight of her body. I was at full attention now and right in the vicinity of her pleasure.

  Bai closed her mouth to suppress a single moan. She leaned down and hovered her mouth an inch from mine. Even two days on the run with no shower, her hair smelled like vanilla spice and her breath was hot and heavy. It drove me crazy.

  We kissed softly once. Twice. The third kiss a little harder. Our tongues entangled in moist combat until we had no earthly idea which belonged to the other. She tasted delicious.

  I pushed her off me, and she landed beside me on the bed.

  “What’s wrong?” she said, looking startled.

  I looked into her gorgeous eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

  She kissed me tenderly on the lips and then the neck. She looked straight into my eyes. “I’ve never wanted anything more,” she said.

  The hem of her skirt was now below her knees. I grasped them in each hand, slowly guiding them up her smooth fit legs until I ran into a silk French cut bikini bottom, ill equipped to handle her shapely hips and buttocks. By the waistbands, I gently removed her wet panties from her body. I stood up and did the same to my pants and briefs.

  I climbed on top of her, positioning myself between her thighs. I kissed her passionately.

  Twenty-One

  I PULLED UP TO the lot of Whelan’s Pub. It felt good to be driving Luck again and to be back in my own world. I worried about Bai being in another dimension and all that, but knew even with that oddity, it was safer for her there than here right now in Little Hong Kong. I trusted the Ming rebels, who had already laid down their lives for me. And even though it was not my world, my sun, I’d do the same for them.

  I had snuck back to my flat earlier and gotten a shave, shower, and fresh clothes, but could still smell Bai on me. It was distracting as hell.

  Get a grip, Jo, I told myself. Now was no time to be falling for someone. I physically tried to shake it off. After all, I was about to walk into the friendliest war zone a man would ever experience, and I needed to be light on my feet. Literally.

  My mobile buzzed. It was Donald. He said they had a break in the shooting case, something about a cigarette found at the scene that linked to a guy in the system with a decent rap sheet.

  I asked him to keep me in the loop and then clicked off my mobile. I got out of the car and walked toward the entrance of the pub.

  Two beefy guys the size of NFL middle linebackers gave me a friendly nod as I approached. I returned it and raised my arms to be searched for weapons. Standard procedure. The search was almost a brief afterthought for them, however. I had a long upstanding relationship with their boss, and plus, I was the Kung Fu King, my weapons were my hands and feet.

  Linebacker One gestured for me to enter, and I nodded.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, entering the smoky tavern.

  This time, I ran into two security guys in suits. Though not as big as the bouncers outside, these guys were built like soldiers. They reeked of IRA. The air became a little more dangerous.

  Whelan’s Pub was different. In the center of it, was a standard professional boxing ring. Both amateurs and professionals fought there on certain nights. And once a week, Whelan’s even let the regular Joe’s slug it out for three rounds. I smiled. I couldn’t recall anyone ever making it to three, however. Too much alcohol surging through the veins and way too many haymakers would ever allow that from happening.

  Encircling the ring, was the bar.

  A good-looking red-head in a tight black dress came up to me and kissed me hard, driving her tongue down my throat. She tasted like vodka and frustration.

  Smack. She slapped me across the face. It stung. She was probably a good Irish-Catholic girl with some boxing training.

  IRA Guy Two began to move in on the young woman, but I waved him off.

  “You said you were going to call me, Johnny,” she slurred.

  “I did, but your roommate, Talula, said you weren’t available,” I said, without blinking.

  “I don’t have a roommate named Talula,” she slurred.

  “Ah, maybe that’s the problem,” I said, brushing past her and smiling.

  “Fuck you, Johnny Jo!” screamed the ginger. I’m fairly certain there were other obscenities shouted at me, but the place was packed and rowdy, and I was moving in the other direction, so I couldn’t hear them.

  Sitting in the corner of the joint, in his expensive grey suit and incredibly clean undercut hairstyle was Mick “Mickey” O’Farrell, leader of the Dublin Boyz, and former undisputed middleweight national boxing champion of Ireland. Surrounded by two pairs of beautiful women, he laughed and waved me toward him.

  She left by horse at nightfall. It was an hour’s ride to the border. When she neared the entrance, the sentries recognized her immediately and began opening the gates. Her horse snorted, and then ga lloped through the opening.

  She entered the brick two-story building where the council was already seated and awaiting her presence. In the hallway leading to the gathering room, fixed torches cast long black shadows over her as she walked.

  She entered and was met by the council.

  The woman bowed.

  “What news do you bring us, Lieutenant?” said Council One.

  “The first stage of the mission is complete, m’lord,” said the woman.

  “Excellent,” replied Council One.

  “And does the mark suspect anything?” inquired Council Three.

  “No, m’lady,” said the woman. “The mark is playing into our hands as we speak.”

  The council nodded their approval in unison.

  Council Four said evenly, “Has the mark implanted his seed in you?”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “How many times?” said Council Two.

  “Once, m’lord, but he is very strong, and I feel his seed will be as well,”
said the woman.

  “You have done well thus far, Lieutenant Chai,” said Council Five.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “We should let you get back to your station now,” said Council Five.

  The lieutenant bowed. When her head leveled again, the warmth once seen in Bai Ray’s eyes were gone.

  Twenty-Two

  MICKEY O’FARRELL RAISED HIS eyebrows up and down at me as I stood in front of his VIP table. He shooed the hot women away and they scattered, most likely off to the bathroom together to hit a few lines.

  “I see you still have a way with beautiful women, McLoughlin,” said O’Farrell, in his sing song Gaelic English accent.

  Ever since I’d met O’Farrell, he felt like we were kindred spirits. He told me I must have been an Irishman in my other life, and I teased back and said, no, that he was probably a Chinese guy from Hong Kong in his past life. Stuff like that.

  He called me McLoughlin, which in Gaelic meant, Viking, because when I fought, I literally raped and pillaged the poor bastards. His words, not mine.

  “That one was a mistake,” I said.

  “Aren’t they all, lad,” he said, slapping a knee.

  I smiled

  “And how did you manage Veronika?” O’Farrell was looking over at the ginger. Veronika, who had assaulted me just minutes before, was dancing seductively on a table with two other girlfriends. He shook his head in disgust. “I’ve been trying to bed that one for years, but she won’t have none of it.”

  “And that’s why you still have your sanity, Mick,” I said, evenly.

  O’Farrell laughed. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Johnny!” He gestured for me to pull up a seat.

  We may have been warm toward one another, but Mick O’Farrell was a dangerous man. Multiple generations of IRA in the blood would do that to a person. The Dublin Boyz controlled much of central LHK. I don’t know how or why the Triads - Red Lotus included - allowed Mick O’Farrell and his crew to make a power grab like that, but they did. Organized crime could be more complicated than federal and state politics sometimes.