SWITCHBLADE (Choi Ziyi Book 1)

by Mike Morris

  "I stole his parking spot," said Wing in explanation. He ignored them for the rest of the journey down to One Thirteen. It took all of thirty seconds — not even long enough to get his breath back, but he managed to haul himself onto his feet. Moving was slow and painful though - he'd need a week or five in bed to get back to feeling normal. As it was, he'd happily settle for falling into bed with his door locked and bolted.

  Wing headed down Aberdeen Street and turned into Staunton Street, but didn't get any further than that. Police vehicles filled the far end of the road where it met Elgin Street, and more importantly, surrounded his apartment building. Drones zipped about overhead making Wing dip his head down. A cruel sick feeling in his gut told him the cops were there for him - and not to help.

  He lit an Ultra with shaking hands as he watched the police go in and out of his building. If they’d searched his apartment, then they would have found his drugs and he'd be facing a minimum five stretch. He walked closer, mesmerised by the flashing blue lights. He stopped outside the twenty-four hour convenience store where the main crowd of onlookers had gathered.

  "What's going on?" he asked an old man next to him.

  The onlooker didn't take his eyes off the events in the street. "Some sick bastard killed his work colleague today. Apparently his home's some sort of depraved sex and drug den. They're cleaning it up now. God knows what else they'll find — I always said you had to be fucked up to work for the government." The man spat on the ground. "And to think I lived near the fucking pervert."

  Wing didn't hang around to hear more. He dragged hard on his cigarette as he walked back the way he'd come. He snatched a pair of sunglasses off a street display as he passed, and slipped them on. Last thing he needed was to get nicked by a random retina scan. He hurled his phone into the gutter as well. A five-year-old could track it. His mind whirled with everything that had happened — the bombings, Ziyi, the attempt to kill him, and now the police after him for murder. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to drop off the grid until the mess was sorted out. Go hide somewhere they'd never think of looking. Maybe score some slice and forget about the whole world until it forgot all about him.

  Except the murder charge bothered him in other ways too. They'd need a body for a murder rap, and the man had said it was a colleague he was supposed to have killed. He had to get in touch with Bao Yu and Song — make sure they were okay, and if they were, tell them he was innocent, even get their help.

  He slipped his drug phone out of his other pocket. At least no one knew about that one. He slipped down an alley and took shelter behind some trash cans. Ignoring the smell of rotting garbage and urine, he fumbled through his mind for Bao Yu's number, cursing his stupidity in just keeping his dealers' numbers stored on the phone, and missing the speed of thought that came when he was jacked in. Some master of the universe — squatting in an alley, fumbling around, but at least he was still alive.

  He smoked another Ultra in the time it took for Bao Yu's phone to ring out. He tried again, taking his time dialling the number, making sure he didn't make a mistake. He shook his head in disbelief. A wave of nausea hit him while he listened to an unanswered dial tone. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  He called Song next, telling himself it was a waste of time, that she was dead too.

  "Hello?" The sound of her voice shocked Wing into silence. "Hellooo," said Song again. "Anyone there?"

  "Yeah," replied Wing, covering his mouth with his other hand. "It's me."

  "Hey, Wing. What's up?" Her voice was playful and carefree. He'd never been so happy to hear someone's voice.

  "Where are you?"

  "I'm at my boyfriend's. Why? What's wrong?" A slight edge crept into her voice.

  "Some people tried to kill me on the way home, and now the police are at my place waiting to arrest me for murder. And I can't get hold of Bao Yu — I think she might be dead."

  "What? Stop fucking about Wing — it's not funny."

  "I’m not fucking with you. I'm hiding in an alley right now. The police are all over my building. I don't know what to do. It's got to be connected to Xiao and Ziyi."

  "Shit," replied Song. "And Bao Yu's dead?"

  "I don't know. I can't get hold of her and the police claim I killed someone I worked with. I'm just trying to connect the dots." Wing listened to silence fill the line as he waited for Song to say something else. The moment dragged, and for a gut-wrenching moment, he thought the line had been lost.

  "I've got to get out of here," she finally said. "Get off this phone. Who's number you calling from?"

  "It's my... spare phone. No one knows about it. It's clean."

  "I'll call you back in two minutes," she said and the line went dead.

  Wing hunkered down in the shadows, watching the street life walk past the alley's entrance, wondering just how his life had turned to shit.

  The phone rang, startling him once more. He didn't recognise the number. "Hello?"

  "Wing, it's me," said Song. She was out on the street somewhere, judging by the noise in the background. "Where can we meet?"

  "There's a bar in the Chai, down level — The Flying Pig. It's always busy," suggested Wing.

  "How far down level? I just saw on the news the police are swarming through the Zeros, all the way up to the Fifties. Looking for terrorists."

  Wing chewed his lip. Ziyi had better be okay. "The bar's on Ninety-Four. Lockhart Road. It's far enough away. We should be safe there." He wasn't sure if he believed it himself but he couldn't think of anywhere else to go.

  "Okay," said Song. "I'll see you there in about twenty. Call me on this number if you need me."

  "Be careful." Wing slipped the phone back in his pocket. He stood up, pulled his hat down low over his head and adjusted the sunglasses. His hands shook as he tried to summon the courage to step out into the world again. No easy task considering how petrified he was. He'd no idea how he'd stayed alive so far, and he was realistic enough to know luck only went so far.

  He pulled his cigarettes out and saw he only had the one left. He smiled. One was better than none. He thought about saving it till later, but not for long. Who knew if there was even going to be a later. He tried to make it last, savouring every lungful, delaying the moment before he had to go. He watched it burn, like it was the most precious thing in the world, blowing smoke over the embers. He threw it away only when he'd reached the filter. As he crushed it underfoot, he knew he couldn't delay any longer.

  He breathed in deeply and stepped back out into the street. He half-expected a hand on his shoulder, but there was no one waiting for him. He joined the queue waiting to get in the next tube at the MTE at the end of the street. It was only when the person in front of him was scanned did he realise how stupid he'd been. There was no way he'd pass a scan. Not now. He might as well just go up to the police and hand himself in.

  He shuffled out the queue, wondering how on earth he was going to get down-level. The escalator was definitely out. Even if he made it through tonight, he'd never step on that bloody thing again as long as he lived. There were some stairs three blocks away but twenty-five levels were a lot of steps to go down. He'd never meet Song in time.

  He reached for another cigarette before realising he had none. So much for being lucky.

  Two cops were stationed further down the street. One checked his wrist monitor. Maybe they'd made him. He looked up and down the street again, hoping for a way out of there. He hated the slow way his brain was thinking. Like trying to sieve thoughts through mud.

  A red cab approached and Wing stuck out a hand, hailing it. Once inside, he slunk down into the seat. "Lockhart Road. Ninety-Six," he told the driver. Two levels up from where he needed to be but he could handle that amount of stairs. The driver was old enough to be his grandfather and spent the journey complaining about the bombings, and how much money he was going to lose with all the delays. Wing let him babble on as he let the night's events fill his mind. The bombings. The attack on Xiao. Himself.
Bao Yu maybe dead. Now the police were after him. The world couldn't get more screwed up than that.

  "Where do you want to get out?" asked the driver.

  "What?" replied Wing.

  "Lockhart Road. We're here." The driver gestured out the window.

  "Oh yeah," said Wing. "I was miles away." Outside was the usual array of restaurants and bars that filled the Chai on every level but they all looked pretty family friendly that high up. The depravity only came as you went down-level. He spotted stairs off to the left by dim sum stall. "Stop here, thanks."

  The driver pulled over. "Forty yuan. Cash or charge?" The old man, with his jade bracelet and worn out vest, looked over his shoulder at Wing expectantly.

  Wing could feel whatever courage he had mustered fading by the second. Who was he trying to kid after all? If he had the whole state against him, he had no hope of staying free. He might as well just hand himself in and spare himself the trouble.

  "Cash or charge?" The driver gave him a look, knowing something was wrong.

  Wing already had his hand on the door handle. "I'm really sorry about this, uncle." He popped the door open and ran for the stairs. He heard the driver's door open but he didn't look back.

  "Bastard!" screamed the old man. "Come back here."

  Wing hit the stairs, taking them two at a time. Behind him, horns blared, drowning the old man's protests, as other drivers demanded the cab to move on. He nearly took out a mother and child struggling up the stairs as he swung around the first corner. Her curses added to the guilt on his shoulders from skipping on the taxi fare, but Wing kept on running until he was on Ninety-Four.

  It felt good being amongst familiar surroundings again. Even the smell of sick and urine that perfumed the streets was welcome. Two in the morning and the street was still packed. No one gave a shit about terrorists or bombings here. He passed surly bouncers warning the drunks away, and hookers trying to entice the drunks in. A young girl sat on the kerbside with her head between her legs and a pool of vomit between her feet. Welcome to the Chai.

  The Flying Pig was half a block away. A surly transvestite guarded the entrance, but Wing knew better than to give her any lip. She could slice your throat open with one hand while reapplying her lipstick with the other.

  It was dark inside and Wing had no choice but to take his sunglasses off. He'd be stumbling around like a blind man otherwise. At least he didn't have to worry about a retina scan. They were playing the same dodgy dance crap as the last time he'd been there, but what did Wing know? It seemed to do the job for the clientele.

  He did a circuit of the bar but there was no sign of Song. Hopefully she hadn't met any trouble on her way down. He swiped a drink off someone's table and found a spot in the far corner to wait. A Chinese girl with long red hair and a harsh fringe wandered over. Wing looked down at his drink to discourage any conversation.

  "I saw you steal that drink," she said.

  "I didn't," said Wing, his head snapping up. A smile met his eyes.

  "Did I fool you?" said Song. "I think the hair suits me."

  Wing was lost for words. Song looked nothing like the girl he worked with. The bookish girl was gone, replaced by a beautiful club chick.

  "Let's sit down so we can talk." Song took his arm and led him over to an empty table. She ordered a soda from a passing waitress as they sat down. "You seen the news?"

  "No, I... What's happened?" Wing dreaded asking.

  "It was everywhere. The Americans have Xiao."

  "Fuck."

  "Anderson jammed every public and private screen in Hong Kong. He had Xiao trussed up and said we had twenty-four hours to get out of the US before they hurt Xiao."

  "What about Ziyi?"

  Song glanced away. "They’ve got her too."

  “No way. I don’t believe it. There’s no way they’d capture her. No way.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes. Everyone saw it.”

  Wing shook his head. “No fucking way.”

  Song placed her hand over Wing’s and squeezed it.

  The waitress arrived with Song's drink as Wing's mind reeled under all the new information. He just couldn't believe it. None of it made sense. The whole world had taken a crazy pill.

  "I think . . ." said Wing but stopped himself as a nearly bald, white head bounced towards them.

  "Wing!" said Jim, spreading his arms wide, inviting Wing for a hug. "How you doing, man?" The gweilo's mandarin was atrocious, and attracted enough attention on its own, but the state of Jim was enough to get every eye in the Pig looking at them. His orange tie-dye t-shirt looked like someone had died in it and barely covered his fat midriff.

  "Who's this?" asked Song.

  "Someone I know," mumbled Wing. He looked up at the dealer. "All right Jim. Bit busy right now. Catch you later, eh?"

  Jim put his arm around Song's shoulder and leaned in over the table. "Mate! She's a lovely lady, and I'm no third wheel, but surely you got time for a quick drink with good old Jim boy?"

  "I really haven't," replied Wing. "We're in the middle of something."

  Jim just laughed. "I don't think you're quite in the middle of it just yet." There was something in his eyes that Wing didn't like, mixed in there with the chemical madness.

  "Seriously, mate, this isn't the time," said Wing with as much authority in his voice as he could muster. "I'll call you later."

  Jim pulled a chair over and sat down, putting his arm around Song once more. She tried shifting her seat away from him but he jerked her back next to him. "I think this is the time."

  Wing didn't argue with him. He was too busy staring at the gun in Jim's hand.

  13

  Ziyi

  Ziyi felt the strength leaving her as she watched the screen. Finally, there was confirmation that the Americans held Xiao prisoner, but who was the woman with him? Even Ziyi had trouble doubting it was really her on the screen. Where had the imposter come from? Was she part of the plot or a victim?

  Anderson's image flickered once, twice and then it was gone. Once more, a model smiling mindlessly took her rightful place on the screen. It was the cue for the crowd to surge back into life, fuelled by the terrorists' message, and the presence of the police. People pushed and shoved in every direction, eager to just get away from where they were.

  The crowd's momentum shook Ziyi out of her shock. Twenty-four hours. That was all she had to save Xiao and the future of the Empire. Freeing Xiao was her priority. Solving the mystery of her doppelganger was a problem for another time.

  She tried her internal monitoring systems again but they still weren’t working. At least Xiao was alive though. The video had told her that much. She had a chance as long as that remained the case.

  Ziyi fought her way through to the eastern side and found an alley to cut through to Jaffe Road. It was quieter there, with more side streets to choose from, and the police hadn't yet arrived in force. Her eyes scanned both sides of the street. On the left hand side of the road, she saw what she was searching for. An old building, well-worn with peeling paint and patches of mould, and walkways running along the outside on every level. There was more than a good chance its elevator wasn’t as up-to-date with its security as the MTE's.

  She increased her speed, not caring if anyone spotted her. She jumped onto the trunk of a car, bounced onto its roof and used it as a springboard to launch herself. The car rocked as she leaped. Snatching the iron support of an overhanging sign, she swung herself up, flipping in mid-air, and grasped the edge of the nearest walkway. She pulled herself up and over, landing on the other side, ready for any danger, finding none. One level up, hundreds more to go.

  She jogged along the walkway, past iron-gated doors and barred windows. Every home was a mini-fortress, designed to stop criminals and police alike from gaining entry. Most of the apartments were probably handed down from one generation to the next, grandparents, parents and children all living under one roof, making the most of their limited space as the city grew up arou
nd them, watching the money soar upwards but hardly ever trickling down.

  She followed the walkway around until she reached a side away from the main road that faced another building, almost close enough to touch. Washing lines mingled amongst the neon signs attached to the sides of both buildings. Ziyi hopped up on to the guardrail and climbed out into the blaze of light.

  She'd moved up another level when her foot slipped against some crumbling brickwork. She snatched at a sign for a noodle shop she'd never heard of. The rusted meal groaned under the extra weight, but held. She dangled for a moment, feet kicking against empty space while the ground stared back at her from three levels below, a bed of rotting garbage and long forgotten debris, but Ziyi had no intention of falling. With a calming breath, she hooked her feet back into position and resumed the climb.

  A wide-eyed child watched her from a dirty window. She waved but Ziyi ignored her, concentrating on the next hand and foothold. Glad to pass another level. Happy to be leaving the Zeros far behind.

  Ten feet later, a humming alerted her to an approaching drone. Ziyi froze. The metal sphere floated along the main street a couple of levels below, its scanner sweeping from one side of the road to the other. It stopped at the entrance to the alley. It hovered as its scanners searched for a new direction. Ziyi willed it to move on. Just move onto another sector and leave her be.

  Seconds ticked by. Long agonising seconds as she hung amongst the signage. Time that allowed Xiao's captors to get further away. Time wasted. Perhaps even the difference between finding him alive or dead.

  And then the drone began to rise, moving in among the neon and washing lines. Cursing, Ziyi scrambled upwards and hooked her fingers on the edge of the nearest balcony of the right hand building. She pulled herself over and slumped down behind the concrete wall. She held her breath while she listened to the drone rise up behind her. The red light danced along the wall above her head, flickering this way and that. It seemed to hover near her location far longer than it had elsewhere, and Ziyi tensed. It would be game over if it had thermal imaging added to its motion detectors and retina scanners. She had nowhere to run if the alarm sounded, and if the drone was armed it might not even need to wait for help. She was trapped.