Except she didn’t believe in fate.
And she hated Bruce Wong.
And all she could think about was Wong beating Lucy Tain as he was now beating Hu Chang.
She glided toward the shop. Wong usually took one or two of his gang with him when he was on a job. There was no one on guard outside, so they must all be inside.
She stopped at the door.
Only two men. Wong, big, muscular, dressed in the black jacket with the triangle embossed on the leather, was beating up Hu Chang, who was pushed against the cabinet. Another shorter man with a crew cut wearing a similar leather jacket was leaning against the wall to the right of door. She’d seen him down at the docks with Wong. Kwan Lin.
Take out Lin first. He was grinning, completely absorbed in the brutal show Bruce Wong was furnishing him. He didn’t even realize she was there. Had he been just as entertained when Wong had killed Lucy Tain?
Fool.
The garrote? No.
The next instant, she was springing forward. He barely had time to turn before she kicked him behind the knee and caught the back of neck with the hard edge of her hand as he started to fall.
He was unconscious by the time he reached the floor.
Bruce Wong whirled away from his victim at the sound. He was breathing hard, his face flushed with pleasure. For an instant, he didn’t recognize her. “You!” He shook his head to clear it. His gaze went to the man on the floor at Catherine’s feet. He started to curse. “What are you doing, bitch?” He reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun. “I’ll blow your head off, you stupid whore. No one interferes when I have—” He screamed as the knife she’d thrown entered his hand.
Then she was across the room and on top of him, grabbing his gun.
He slapped her so hard her ears rang.
Dizzy.
He was trying to get the gun …
She hit his temple with the barrel as hard as she could.
He collapsed, unconscious.
Kill him? It would be the smart thing to do. If she didn’t, he would track her down, and she’d have to do it all over.
“No…” It was the shopkeeper, Hu Chang. He’d raised himself on his elbow. “Don’t do—” He coughed up blood. “I’ll take care of— Go.”
“No. I’m in too deep now. If Wong doesn’t kill me, one of his gang will do it. They swear all kinds of blood loyalty oaths. I’m not going to—” She broke off as she heard the familiar wail of a siren. “Dammit, it’s the police. Someone must have called them. Why do the police always come when you don’t want them? They didn’t come when Lucy needed them.”
“Lucy?”
“Never mind.” She stared at him in frustration. “I’m not going to let the police interfere. And I’m not going to let you ruin everything by dying on me.” She moved across the space separating them, put her arm around Hu Chang, and lifted him. “It won’t be for nothing,” she said fiercely. “I won’t have it. I don’t give a damn about you, but I won’t be beaten. Now help me, and I’ll get you out of here before the police or the rest of Wong’s gang shows up and cuts you into little pieces.”
“That does not sound pleasant. But I’m fully able to care for myself.” He was hobbling painfully toward the door. “I do not need you.”
“No? You were being beaten to death, you crazy man.” She glanced up and down the street. Just a woman and her little girl at the corner market. No one who appeared to be a threat. But the police sirens sounded closer. “I’d have given you maybe another five minutes, and you would have been dead or in a coma.”
“You’re wrong. I had at least seven minutes. And I was about to make my move to dispense with that scum.”
She looked at him in disbelief. He was staring blandly back at her from the torn and bruised ruin of a face.
“And how would you have done that?”
“With deftness and intellect. Not the roughness that you displayed.” He flinched as he took a deep breath. “But you may have been of some assistance. I believe I have a broken rib, and that would have made it difficult to function. Where are you taking me?”
“I thought I’d drop you off at the British Hospital. Wong would have a hard time reaching you there.”
“No, the British don’t like me, and I don’t trust them. They tried to use a truth drug on me once.”
“What?” Perhaps the beating had addled his brains.
“You will take me home with you.” He tilted his head. “I believe I can trust you. Though I’ll have to be very careful. You’re not much more than a child, are you?”
“Who saved your scrawny neck,” she said through her set teeth.
“Yes, you must tell me why you did that. I will give you compensation, of course.”
“How? Wong wrecked your entire shop and all those pretty little bottles.”
“You like my bottles? You have excellent taste. I engraved and painted them myself. I was very upset to see them broken, but I can do others. And each potion, each work of art I do becomes better with practice.”
“I don’t care about any of that. How are you going to pay me?” she repeated as she took more of his weight. “I have to earn a living, and I’m going to have to stay out of Wong’s way for a while. I should have killed him when I had a chance.”
He smiled. “But I could not allow you to kill for me. Perhaps when you’re a little older, I would have no objection.” His smile ebbed, then vanished. “But you appear to be well versed in the art of violence. Have you killed before?”
She didn’t answer.
He was studying her face. “You have killed, haven’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But your silence spoke. I listened.”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“And you do not wish to discuss it? I would not betray you, Catherine.”
She stiffened. “How do you know my name?”
“I’ve seen you running around the neighborhood, listening, asking questions. I’ve asked questions, too. You interested me. They call you the Gatherer.”
“Do they?”
“Yes, because you gather information from one place and distribute it to another. But I can see that not having the freedom to run the streets would affect your livelihood. I will have to consider how to make sure you won’t suffer for it.”
“Yes, you will. You should pay. Unless I decide to take care of it myself.”
“I believe I’m getting very tired. I need to rest. Why are you dragging me down to these docks?” He was looking at the small fishing boats and even smaller junks huddled almost on top of each other near the shore. “Are you going to drown me or take me to where you live?”
She scowled. “I haven’t decided. You’re a bother, old man.”
“I’m not old. Children always think that the fully mature are old.”
“Then how old are you?”
“Old enough to be extraordinary, young enough to still have my vigor.”
“You have gray flecks in your hair.”
“A mistake of nature. I’ll take care of that someday. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“You’ll still be old.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. It depends on how I decide to take care of it.”
“I’m tired of talking to you,” she said, exasperated. “You make no sense.” She stopped in front of the tiny junk where she lived. “Get on board and lie down. Maybe you’ll go to sleep, and I’ll be done with you for a while.”
“It’s entirely possible. It’s very small, isn’t it? Barely nine or ten feet.” He climbed on board and looked at the cardboard boxes and the single pallet beneath the small, shaded tarp. “Cluttered. And not as clean as I’d like.”
“It’s clean. Maybe you’d prefer I dump you in the sea instead?”
“I think not. The harbor is even more disgusting.” He lay down and closed his eyes. “There is only one pallet. Where will you sleep?”
“I’m not tired.” She dropped do
wn and leaned back against the mast. “And I can sleep anywhere. If I decide I want my pallet, I’ll get you up and take it.”
“Yes, I can see you doing that.” He didn’t speak for a moment. “This section of the docks is used by the whores. If you get a customer, will I prove an inconvenience?”
“No, I’m not a whore. This boat belonged to my mother. When she died, her friend, Natasha, took it over and let me stay with her here.”
“Close quarters. It must have proved educational. How old were you?”
“Almost five.”
“A great age.”
“Old enough. This was just a place to get out of the weather if I needed to do it. I lived on the streets.”
He opened his eyes. “And you didn’t decide to follow in your mother’s footsteps?”
“Why would I? Men used her. No one will ever use me. Go to sleep and stop asking me questions.”
“But I’m curious about you, Catherine.” He turned his head and looked out at the sea. “It’s a lovely name. Did you take it for your own or were you given it at birth?”
“Why would I try to change what I am? My mother was half-Russian, and I suppose she liked the name.”
“And what happened to this Natasha? Why are you in possession of this fine vessel?”
“She died last year of an overdose. Just like my mother. I was making enough money to pay the rent myself by that time.”
“I can see how you’d be very self-sufficient. Buy and sell information and remain very independent…”
“That’s right.”
“Interesting…” He closed his eyes again. “Little gatherer…”
He was asleep.
Catherine drew a deep breath and closed her own eyes. She was glad to be free of his questions. In her world, people kept to themselves and just worked to survive. This potion maker was … different. Not totally annoying. And she was beginning to be curious about him, too. Crazy? Perhaps. But he was not boring. Not in speech, not in appearance. He was dressed in a black tunic and pants, was a little taller than middle height, and was slim yet muscular. His hair was thick and black with only a few threads of silver, and his face was angular, with high bones and olive skin. His eyes slanted only a little, and they were large, night-dark, and almost hypnotic in intensity. When he’d stared at her, she’d felt as if she been held, captured, unable to break free. His lips were large and well formed and almost as expressive as those eyes. He was probably a blend of several races, as was common in Hong Kong, she thought idly.
And the cuts on his face were still bleeding.
So what? She was not a nurse. He was nothing to her.
But if the cuts became infected, that would just be another problem with which to deal. She muttered a curse and got up and got a cloth and dipped it in the bucket of water. Then she knelt beside Hu Chang and began to dab at the cuts.
“You have no gentleness,” Hu Chang said without opening his eyes.
“Shut up. It has to be done.”
“Is the cloth clean?”
“Clean enough.”
“I will make sure to cleanse the cut when I wake.”
“You said you’d trust me.”
“Not with my personal cleanliness. I will have to teach you more about that. That’s the way. Gently.”
Catherine hadn’t realized that her touch had altered. “Enough.” She threw the cloth into the bucket. “Go back to sleep.”
“You disturbed me.” His lids lifted, and she was suddenly looking into those large dark eyes that she’d noticed were almost hypnotic. “Who did you kill, little Catherine?”
“I’m not little.” She moved back to her former place across from him. “I think we’re safe here for a little while. Wong will be coming after us. But I moved the junk two nights ago to another dock when I saw the triad trying to take over the one where I was before. Go to sleep, so I can get rid of you, old man.”
He chuckled. “I’m not sure you’ll ever get rid of me. Would that not be an interesting development?”
“A nightmare. When you’re better, you leave. I’m not going to take care of you. I have enough trouble taking care of myself.”
“But perhaps we could take care of each other…”
He was asleep again.
She leaned her head back against the sail and closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of Hong Kong.
The toot of the British dinner boat leaving the dock on the far distant side of the harbor with its formally dressed upper crust.
The fishermen putting to sea to gather their catch for the next day.
Jen Lin in the second junk down the line had an early customer. Catherine could hear the sound of their coming together and the creak of her boat as it moved beneath their bodies.
Different lives, different futures.
Which one would be Catherine’s?
Why even wonder? she thought impatiently. It would be the one she chose. But she’d better choose soon. She could see how easily Hong Kong could draw a man or woman into its darkest webs.
As Lucy Tain had been drawn to her death.
But she was not Lucy.
And she would never be a victim.
CHAPTER
4
“WHAT ARE YOU READING?”
Hu Chang was awake again and gazing curiously at her. More questions.
She put the paperback down. “It’s Atlas Shrugged. Some of it I don’t understand, but I like it.”
“I’ve never read it.” He glanced at the book. “English. Where did you learn English?”
“I can read and write English. Hong Kong is ruled by the British in case you didn’t notice.”
“Not for much longer. Soon they’ll hand it over to the Chinese,” he said absently. He glanced at the box of books tucked under the seat. “Chinese, Russian.”
“My mother and Natasha were both half-Russian. I taught myself Chinese from living on the streets. Knowing different languages helped me.”
“I can understand that.” His gaze went back to her book. “British … But you didn’t learn to read and write English down here at the docks.”
“No.”
He waited.
She shrugged. “When I was ten, I was picked up by the police for stealing fruit in the market. There was a British social worker who decided I had to be saved. She sent me to an orphanage that she ran outside the city. I was there until I ran away two years later.”
“Why did you run away? It would seem a decent life, an education, a full stomach when you went to sleep at night.”
“I didn’t mind the books. I just didn’t want to be there.” She got to her feet. “I’m hungry. I’ll go see what I can find in the market. If you want to stay for a while, I’ll feed you. But you have to go soon.”
“Why did you run away?”
She shook her head. “Stop asking me questions. I don’t like it. How would you like it if I pried into your business, old man?”
“I’d applaud you for your interest. I’m definitely worthy of scrutiny. But although I’m sure you’re calling me ‘old man’ to annoy me, I have to point out that it’s totally inaccurate.” He sat up and flinched. “I believe my diagnosis is correct. I have a cracked rib. Which means I’m not yet ready to confront this Bruce Wong. We’ll have to think of something else.” He looked around the boat. “For I refuse to spend another night in this place.”
“Good.” She jumped onto the dock. “I’ll be back with something to eat. Get ready to leave.”
“No, you didn’t understand. I have to take you with me, Catherine. I consider it my duty.”
She glanced back over her shoulder. “You’re crazy. You’re leaving, I’m not. Get ready.” She strode down the dock in the direction of the market.
She would fetch the food as she’d said, but she would also go back to Hu Chang’s neighborhood and see if Bruce Wong had recovered enough to stir up trouble. As she’d told Hu Chang, she doubted if there were more than a few people in the city who knew wh
ere she lived, but it only took one.
* * *
HU CHANG’S SHOP HAD BEEN BURNED to the ground.
Not only his shop but the laundry next door had caught fire and was blackened, its windows gaping scorched holes.
Catherine stared at the ruins in shock from where she was standing in the alcove of the house across the street. She shouldn’t have been this surprised at the viciousness, she told herself. Wong was always ugly, always trying to prove his power. It was clear he had rallied and was demonstrating that no one could go against him without suffering the consequences.
“Get out of here, Catherine.” She turned to see Choi Meng coming out of the side street. “I’ve never seen Bruce like this. He’s going to kill you. He’s been going from house to house and asking everyone where he can find you.” He smiled sourly. “The cheap bastard is even offering money to anyone who will turn you over to him. That should show you how badly he wants you and the apothecary. He’d much rather beat information out of someone.”
“And which method did he use with you?”
“I took the money. I told him I’d watch the shop and send someone to get him if you showed up here.”
“And have you done it?”
“I’ll give you three minutes’ head start, then I’ll call. I can’t afford to do any more than that. Someone else may have caught sight of you, and I want to keep his money.” He shrugged. “And my head. There are stories that Bruce likes to chop off the heads of people who go against him. Remember that gang leader who was trying to take over the triad drug deliveries? They found his head under the bridge. He thinks it sends a message.”
“Then why are you doing this, Choi Meng?”
“I don’t know. You gave me money when you didn’t want to do it? I don’t like that bastard, Bruce? You’re a beautiful little bitch, and I’ve always wanted to take you to bed.” He turned away. “I’d hate to see that pretty head floating in the harbor. Hurry. Move. He’ll find you, Catherine. He’ll turn loose all his gang on you and Hu Chang. Someone will talk. Someone will follow you. Lose yourself somewhere until he forgets what you did to him.”
“I can’t lose myself. I have to be on the streets. I have to earn money to live.”
What Doesn't Kill You Page 5
