White Tiger

by Stephen Knight

  Ryker grunted and reached for a pitcher on a high table next to the bed. He poured what sounded like ice water into a cup, then capped the cup with a lid and straw. He handed it to Manning, who reached out for it. He missed it twice, and Ryker grabbed his wrist and put the cup in his hand.

  “You got it? Because I’m not going to hold it for you to drink from,” Ryker said.

  “No. I got it.” Manning brought the cup toward him and slowly drank from the straw. Only a few pulls at first, just enough to keep the thirst at bay for a time. “Sorry. I’m still out of it, I guess.”

  “You ought to be, you’re on enough morphine to addict a thoroughbred racing horse. And you should be dead.”

  “What happened?”

  “We killed the assassin.”

  “‘We’ killed the assassin? I don’t think I remember that part.”

  Ryker sat back in the chair by the window. “According to the medical examiner, you’d hit her hard enough to cause devastating swelling of the brain. She would have dropped dead in five minutes, but she had enough force of will to want Lin dead that she kept at it until I popped her in the head with a nine mil round. So basically, you killed her, I just hurried things up a bit.” Ryker looked at Manning for a long moment. “How well did you know her, Manning?”

  “Not well at all,” Manning said. “I’d only known her for a day or so, before…before it became clear to me that she was probably the person I was looking for. But I didn’t know where she was, so I had to wait for her to come to me.”

  “She was a loner. No family, because I guess Lin killed them off. No one in her life. I guess the only thing that kept her going was hate. No one can find much evidence she even existed, other than a few old records in China. I didn’t know they actively tracked single people there, which is kind of weird.”

  “It’s called a certificate of single. Everyone has one,” Manning told him. “Here, we place more value on wedding licenses.”

  “Like I said, kind of weird.”

  “Or just kind of different.” Manning drank some more. “What else did you find?”

  “Lin’s man Han turned up dead in the trunk of a car, and about four or five of his guys were chopped up and put in garbage bags and buried somewhere near the Southern Pacific tracks. Completely lucky find there, a railroad crew found them while doing track repairs, the poor bastards. And there’s a question about what happened to Baluyevsky—no one’s seen the Russian, and no one’s found a record of him leaving the country yet. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you Manning?”

  “Talk to Lin.”

  “I’d love to, but the Chinese government doesn’t seem to want that to happen. Lin went back to Shanghai the day after all this went down. Hopped onto his private jet and took off. He still owns Lin Industries, I guess, but now some other Chinaman is running it.”

  Manning puzzled over that for a moment. “Why would he leave?” he said, more to himself than Ryker.

  “Was hoping you could tell me. So far, you haven’t exactly been a wealth of information, Manning.”

  “You said it yourself, Ryker—I’ve got enough morphine in me to string out a horse. What did you expect?”

  “About what I’m getting. Anyway, now that we have her body, we’re able to match her up with some of the crime scenes. Certainly at Danny Lin’s, and also with the man Han—we found one strand of her hair on him. And of course, the attack against James Lin. The regrettably unsuccessful attack.” Ryker leaned back in the chair and looked at Manning. “You have to answer a question for me, Manning. What the hell is a decorated soldier like yourself doing working for a guy like Lin?”

  “I don’t work for him, Ryker. Just a contract. I don’t ask too many questions, and the world’s full of men like him. You’re right, he is a scumbag, and one of the biggest ones out there. But before you get all bent out of shape, let me remind you that both of his sons are dead, and there are probably others out there just waiting to get their shot at him. One way or another, Lin Yubo will die, and he won’t go peacefully. He’ll always be looking over his shoulder or under his bed or behind the shower curtain.” Manning paused to drink more water, and he looked back at Ryker. “That woman deserved her revenge, Ryker. But you know why I didn’t just step aside? Because I gave Lin my word that I wouldn’t. And I’m good to my word.”

  “Next time, don’t give him your word.”

  “I won’t. I won’t see Lin Yubo again.”

  Ryker looked at Manning for a long moment. He put his hands in his pockets. “My partner…a Chinese named Chee Wei Fong. His family in Hong Kong helped piece some things together, and we went to Lin’s pal to confirm what we had. The man Ren. You know him?”

  “I met him. I don’t know him.”

  “He told my partner that the information he’d been given came with a price. My partner’s family was whacked in Hong Kong. Killed by another cop.”

  Manning said nothing for a moment. “People like Ren…and like Lin…always keep their word, and never make idle threats, detective sergeant.”

  “Chee Wei’s disappeared. He hasn’t been heard from in three days. You know anything about that?”

  “Nothing. Not a thing. And I had nothing to do with whatever Ren and Lin might have done.” Manning looked around the room. “I’ve been in here, after all. Hey—how long have I been in here?”

  “Three days,” Ryker said grudgingly. “And I’m told you’re going to be here for at least another two weeks. That woman almost killed you. I saw some of the x-rays. You’re a mess inside.”

  “I was a mess inside before she showed up.”

  Ryker snorted. “I know what you mean. Your family, right?”

  Manning didn’t answer.

  Ryker got to his feet and tossed the paper onto the table next to Manning’s bed. “Anyway. Everything’s there in the Chronicle if you want to read about it. I’d wait for a bit myself—whenever I read about myself in the paper, it always pisses me off. I’m pretty sure you’re going to feel the same way.”

  “I’m…I’m in the newspaper?”

  “Well, yeah. The security guards at 101 Cali talked, and so did one of the flacks from the department. Lin had the S.F.P.D. by the balls, you know. And it turns out he’s probably got a California senator in his back pocket—a Democrat, at that. The guy’s a total slime ball, but it looks like he had his hand in just about everyone’s pie. So it was kind of a big news day for a while.” Ryker looked suddenly drawn, almost exhausted. He walked to the door and pulled it open, then turned back to the hospital bed. “We’ll talk again before you leave, Manning. Have some more questions for you, but they can wait for a bit.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I have a present for you. When I found out more about Maggie Shi and what she went through—and how totally isolated and alone she was—I figured you might have been running down that road yourself. So I did some checking. Found something you might be interested in.” He stepped outside the door and held it open with one arm. He said something Manning didn’t catch, and a moment later, another figure stepped into the darkened room. Manning blinked three times to make sure he wasn’t suffering from a morphine-induced illusion.

  It was Ryoko.

  “Gee thanks, sergeant, but I’m not sure this belongs to me,” he said, a little awestruck. Ryoko smiled down at him as she stopped by the side of the bed and touched his face gently.

  “If I were you Manning, I wouldn’t protest too much. Not only does she speak English, she’s picking up your medical bills.” And with that, Ryker left. The door closed soundlessly behind him.

  “Mitake-san…why are you here?” Manning asked. He found the Japanese came to him with only great difficulty. And he was getting fatigued again. His eyelids felt heavy.

  She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I’m here…because this time, you need me.”

  Manning tried to come back with something witty, but his consciousness was shutti
ng down. But he felt Ryoko’s soft lips alight on his, and he thought if he never woke up again, this could not have been a better send off.

  ###

  It was raining by the time Ryker got to the house in Sea Cliff. It was mostly dark; light emanated from only a few windows, and the dwelling looked as cold and forbidding to Ryker as the weather. He hadn’t heard from Valerie for days, and while he’d been busy tying up the Lin case and trying to find out what had happened to Chee Wei, she hadn’t returned his calls. Given the passion they had shared, he wondered what that was about, but he hadn’t pushed too hard. Despite everything, she had lost her husband; even if she hadn’t loved him, Danny Lin’s sudden absence would have left a void.

  But eventually, Ryker got tired of waiting.

  A maid opened the door and looked at him as Ryker shook off his rain coat on the front porch.

  “I’m Ryker, from—”

  “I know who you are,” the maid said. “Mrs. Lin is gone.”

  Ryker frowned. “Okay. When will she be back?”

  “Never.”

  “What?”

  “Never. She returned to China. Lin Dan’s father insisted. She obeyed. He owns the house. Mrs. Lin had no choice.” The maid spoke with almost no accent, and her face was a blank mask. But Ryker thought he saw something in her eyes, something down deep. Pity?

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know, Mister Ryker.”

  “Was it because she wants the money? Or because Lin hates me for trying to prosecute his son before?” Ryker took a step toward the maid, his temper rising. The maid held her ground and looked at him with her mostly-expressionless eyes. “Or was it just a game all along, something she and Lin cooked up?”

  “I don’t know, Mister Ryker. And you never will, either.” The maid hesitated, then sighed slightly. “I’m sorry. She left no forwarding address—Lin Industries will take care of everything. I don’t know what to tell you, other than she won’t be back.”

  And with that, she gently closed the door.

  Ryker slowly turned and walked back to his car. The rain fell harder, and the night grew colder. He left the Sea Cliff mansion the same way he’d arrived.

  Alone.

  ---

  Stephen Knight is the author of The Gathering Dead, City of the Damned, Left With The Dead, and Hackett's War. He lives in the New York City area. You can find more of his fiction at:

  City of the Damned

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004Q3RIHK

  The Gathering Dead

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004SYAY2S

  Left With The Dead (A “Gathering Dead” Novella)

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055OGSOI

  Hackett’s War

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004W48LZQ

  Ghosts

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004PLNQ6U

  Family Ties

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004P5NS2S

  Stephen Knight on the web:

  http://knightslanding.wordpress.com/

  Did you like this story? Did you hate it? Compliments and/or complaints should go to:

  sknightwrites@gmail.com

  Derek Paterson lives in Scotland and writes Science Fiction, Fantasy (the gory kind), adventure and crime fiction. His previously published fiction can be found on Kindle Books, Smashwords, and other good vendors.Derek Paterson lives in Scotland and writes Science Fiction, Fantasy (the gory kind), adventure and crime fiction. His works on Kindle can be found at:

  http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Derek%20Paterson

  Derek Paterson on the web:

  http://derekpaterson.net

  And check out his blog at:

  http://secretagentbritishintelligence.blogspot.com/

  Cover Art Copyright © by Jared Rackler

  http://bookworld.editme.com/JaredRackler

  Excerpt:

  THE KAISERINE’S CHAMPION

  By Derek Paterson

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005DXQ6G6

  Part I

  A heavy key clattered in the lock, then the door swung open and the sergeant said, “Here’s your breakfast, Manfred my boy. Enjoy your last meal!” With this he emptied the contents of the night bucket over me and stood there laughing heartily, while I choked and gagged at the rancid stench.

  “You hear that?” he said, jerking a callused thumb toward the barred window. I’d been listening to the sawing and hammering since dawn. “You’re going to swing soon, m’lad. Rest assured, I’ll be in the front row, cheering as you gasp and kick your way to Hades.”

  I wiped filth off my face with my sleeve and glared at him. There really wasn’t much else I could do, sitting there chained to the wall. He laughed again, turned away and made to step into the corridor—then snapped to attention, his expression changing from amusement to outright fear in the space of a single heartbeat.

  I’d heard the footsteps approaching and assumed it must be one of my gaolers, but apparently not. An oil lantern came into view, held by a tall, well-dressed noble with dark eyes, a hooked nose and lips that looked as though they’d never smiled. He wore his arrogance like an impenetrable cloak. His cold, unblinking gaze studied every inch of the cell before coming to settle upon me. A shiver ran up my spine unbidden, though I’d no idea why.

  “So, this is the swordsman,” he said. “You have him in chains, I see.”

  “Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. “Extremely dangerous, sir. Killed six of the Duke’s Wardens single-handed, he did, and put another three in hospital. The doctor says they’ll be out of action for weeks. Duke Wilhelm is—”

  “I know what Duke Wilhelm is,” my visitor said softly, and the chill in his voice did not go unnoticed. He nudged my foot with the polished toe of his boot. “So, what have you to say for yourself, you scoundrel?”

  I had nothing to say, to him or any other passing aristo who thought it might be amusing to drop in and taunt me before I died, so I kept my mouth shut.

  “Cat got your tongue, mmm? Sergeant, I want to talk to this rogue in private. Close the door on your way out.”

  “But, sir—”

  “He’s chained to the wall, Sergeant,” the tall man said wearily. “I think I’ll be safe enough, don’t you?”

  The sergeant frowned, not quite sure what was going on, but did as he was told. The door clicked shut behind him. At that moment the hammering stopped, as if the two events were somehow related.

  “It sounds like they’re ready for you,” my nameless visitor said. “In which case I’d best make this short, lest we’re interrupted before we conclude our business.”

  Curiosity made me ask, “What business? Who are you, and what do you want of me?”

  Ignoring my questions, he said, “It isn’t every day I get to meet a swordsman of your caliber. Six Wardens dead and another three wounded, eh? Remarkable.” He took a silk handkerchief from his sleeve and dropped it onto my lap. I hesitated to touch it, but he nodded, so I picked it up and used it to wipe my face. When I offered to return it he shook his head. “Why don’t you tell me what happened last night?” he said.

  “I think you already know.”

  “They say you picked a fight with the Duke’s men.”

  “The Duke’s ruffians, you mean.” I couldn’t keep the anger and resentment from my voice. “They’re the ones who swaggered into the tavern and picked a fight, not me.”

  “They picked on you?”

  I hesitated before answering. “No. A young lad, sitting quietly in a corner with his girl, doing no one any harm.”

  “A friend of yours, was he? Your brother? A cousin?”

  I shook my head again, and my visitor chuckled darkly. “Let me guess what happened,” he said. “The Duke’s Wardens decided they wanted the girl for themselves, and pretended to take insult at something the boy said or did. Am I right?”

  “Close enough,” I said, wondering how he knew so much.

  “And so�
�for reasons known only to yourself—you decided to interfere, decided to help a stranger you didn’t even know.” He gave another humorless chuckle. “I shouldn’t imagine the Wardens took kindly to your interfering in their business?”

  They most certainly hadn’t. They’d overpowered me through sheer weight of numbers and forced me outside, into the dark alleyway behind the tavern. Instead of arresting me, as I’d expected, their drunken fool of a corporal had drawn his sword and tried to cut me in two. I’d avoided his clumsy attack and run him headlong into the wall, relieving him of his blade in the process. His men came at me then, roaring with blood-lust, demanding vengeance. I’d wounded when I could, killed only when they gave me no other choice. But, outnumbered as I was, they would have butchered me for certain if a squad of Noseys, or City Constabulary to give them their full title, hadn’t chanced by and dragged me to safety. Before I’d a chance to thank them for saving my life, they’d beaten me unconscious with their wooden clubs. The lumps on the back of my head still throbbed painfully.

  “The Duke’s Wardens are indeed ruffians,” the noble said. “But they are also excellent swordsmen. They are trained by the Duke’s swordmaster, Schwertkampfer, who is no slouch with the blade. Yet you managed to kill six of them. You’re either very good, or you’re the luckiest man alive. Which is it?”

  “Perhaps a little of both,” I suggested modestly.

  “A good answer. It may be that I have a use for someone who possesses such luck, and knows how to use a sword.”

  “I don’t quite follow you,” I said, but a tiny flame of hope sparked within my breast.

  “Tomorrow, as you may know, is the Kaiserine’s birthday. It’s a very special occasion, and special entertainment is arranged. I’m looking for someone to put into the Arena. You may be that man.”

  The Arena! Professional fighters battled in the Arena for the entertainment of the Kaiserine and the Empire’s aristos. If they won, they received riches and anything else they might desire. Losing, on the other hand, often earned mutilation, or worse.

  “What exactly are you offering?” I asked.

  “Your freedom, a large bag of silver, and a fast horse to take you out of the city. Assuming, of course….”