"Mr and Mrs Temerity"
May. 27th, 2022 02:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Mr and Mrs Temerity"
4/22/2017
I.
Fuming, Sheng Mo-Yuan stood with his hands clenched behind his back, staring down out of his office window. There, directly opposite his building on lower Canal Street, a window on the street level had the cursive words TEMERITY DETECTIVE AGENCY-BEST IN THE CITY, with a phone number. For three months, the husband and wife team had been swiping cases that Sheng rightfully thought should have been his. When he had been visited by one of the two owners of the agency, the blond man Roger Temerity, he had been politely given an offer to sell his practice and let the new team take over. Sheng had been too affronted to dare speak his mind.
His own FIST FOR HIRE agency still kept the unusual hours of Midnight to Eight AM and tended to specialize in weird or uncanny crimes that crossed over into the outright supernatural. Those affairs would not be poached by these newcomers. And of course, Sheng was still a reserve member of the Kenneth Dred Foundation with full stipend and benefits; he could always go back to part-time duty there if he wanted to be busier.
With an exasperated grunt, the Chujiran went and filled his mug with steaming hot water from the coffee dispenser. He should not let rivals annoy him so much. His record was phenomenal and spoke for itself. Sheng reached up onto an open shelf and drew out a round wooden canister from the back. He took a handful of crisp dark purple leaves and crumbled them into the water. A refreshing minty aroma rose from the mug and Sheng sipped the sharp tangy liquid gratefully.
This was the secret of how Tel Shai knights recovered so quickly and thoroughly from injuries that would send most victims to ICU, how they never suffered illnesses and how they remained vigorous well past middle age. The Tagra Tea diet was also thought by some scholars to help Tel Shai knights mentally; the most horrifying and traumatic experiences had little effect on knights and usually did not even leave a nightmare. Very few outsiders knew the secret of Tagra. Tel Shai knights were sworn not to discuss it nor share the tea with anyone on pain of expulsion from the Order. Tagra was only grown at Tel Shai and only a small amount existed at any time.
As soon as he finished his cup, fresh vigor rushed through his body and his mood evened out. Most people thought Sheng was Chinese and he let it slide. At five feet five and a trim one hundred and fifty pounds, he had the tawny skin tones, double eyelid fold and coarse black hair associated with Northern Chinese. But there was something about the high cheekbones and beaked nose that didn't fit. He seldom mentioned he had actually come to the world from Chujir. Most people outside the Midnight War knew nothing of the adjacent realms.
At eight-thirty, he heard quick footsteps coming up in the staircase to their third floor landing. Uncle Pao usually stayed in the office during the day. Officially, he answered the phone and arranged appointments with clients and handled some mundane paperwork like paying utilities. In practice, he tended to read newspapers, keep esoteric food simmering on the hot plate and enjoy long naps with a damp cloth over his eyes. Sheng was so fond of the cantankerous old man that he didn't mind any of it. Also, Uncle Pao's shrewd cynical analysis of people was always helpful.
At eighty, Sheng Pao-Wang remained nimble and light on his feet. Only an inch over five feet tall and weighing less than a hundred pounds, he had stayed wiry. Sheng was amazed that the old man blithely took the subway here each morning and sprang up three flights of stairs without a cane or even relying on the banister. As usual, Pao wore soft slippers, baggy black trousers and a white T-shirt under an open denim vest with overfilled pockets. The shock of white hair sticking out in various directions and the eyeglasses with lenses thick enough to start fires let Pao make an unforgettable first impression.
As soon as he strode in, the old man slapped three different newspapers onto Sheng's desk, including the Chinese language WORLD. "Again, your rivals have stolen your thunder! Why aren't you doing something about it instead of standing around with your finger digging in your ear? There are no potatoes in there!"
"Good morning, Uncle," Sheng replied amiably, pulling out his swivel chair and settling back to examine the papers. "Ah, let's see. Roger and Brooke Temerity have managed to retrieve nearly all of the jewelry stolen from Mrs Hughford Garland's apartment. Only a few of the diamond necklaces and a remarkably large emerald remain unaccounted for."
"Read on, nephew! Let some sunlight peek in through the cracks of your disinterest." Pao went over to the coffeemaker which they used mostly for hot water, fetched two bags of green ginseng tea and stirred with unnecessary vigor.
"The Temerities claim to have negotiated with a go-between for an underworld fence and arranged the return of the loot in exchange for not disclosing the thief's identity. Well, that's not the most ethical way to handle the crime. But I remember they did the same thing a few weeks ago when that Wall Street broker had some valuable handcrafted cameras stolen. That Temerity pair retrieved all but one."
Uncle Pao had his own smaller desk set off to one side, facing Sheng's at an angle. From there he could scrutinize clients, give Sheng silent cues and sometimes make insulting faces at police officers who came to ask questions. The old man insisted on keeping an old-fashioned landline phone on his desk, as well as a small potted plant which had been barely clinging to life for years now. "These are the two frauds who grab headlines, Nephew. You run unseen through back streets chasing creatures of the night and no one applauds your deeds."
"Yeah, I accept that," Sheng agreed. "Mostly I handle Midnight War threats. Monsters and maniacs that the public is better off not knowing about. My straight detective work is a small part of what I do. You know, you should wonder about the integrity of these two. Remember the kidnaping case that the Temerities handled?"
Sheng started straightening out the mess of newspaper pages before him. "Sure. That infant, what was its name? Brewster? Roger and Brooke Temerity brought the kid home safe and said they scared the crooks away with a few gunshots. But the kidnapers were never caught."
"Aha! A faint gleam of awareness dawns far off on the horizon in your mind, does it?"
"Yeah. It's funny. Sometimes the Temerity Agency nabs a burglar or brings in someone who committed assault. But their biggest and most famous cases are suspicious. Some loot isn't recovered and the perps get away. If I didn't know better...."
II.
Although he had been up all night, Sheng was reluctant to return to his rooms at the KDF headquarters on 38th Street. Instead, after washing up in the tiny bathroom, he hung up his suit jacket, slipped out of his dress shoes and stretched out on the long brown leather couch. Adjusting two cushions under his head, he muttered, "I need to think things over."
Uncle Pao dropped his nagging tone and pulled out a pen to begin a crossword puzzle in one of his newspapers. "The brain solves many riddles after sleep," he said.
Starting a series of deep slow breaths that was one of the first Tel Shai techniques he had learned, Sheng's body relaxed and he drifted off within seconds. He did not see the affectionate gaze with which the old man regarded him from across the room. They were not blood relations, of course. Coming from the realm of Chujir, Sheng Mo-Yuan had no relatives in the real world and deep down Uncle Pao realized this. It didn't matter. A decade of acting as uncle and nephew had become the reality in their minds.
Three hours went by in silence. Pao studied the newspapers, stealthily crept over to stare out the window at the traffic below, then leaned back in his chair and thought. At the fourth hour, Sheng stirred, smacked his lips and sat up. "Whew, that's better. Excuse me." He rushed to the bathroom and emerged a minute later to head for his desk. "I'll be all right for the rest of the day."
"There is something you might need to hear," Uncle Pao offered tentatively. "One of the cases these Temerity people handled. Three oil paintings were stolen from a white man with the unlikely name of Clovis Winkler. Feh. Clovis Winkler! Two of the paintings were recovered by these Temerities, but only the broken empty frame of the third. A suspect was brought in but released when there was not enough evidence to proceed with charges against him."
"Hm. Yes, I remember all that. The paintings were all Philipe Brevales from the 1890s. Extremely valuable in an historical sense but impossible to sell or display anywhere."
"Because they are famous, yes? Tell me, nephew, what reason could there be to steal an item you must keep hidden?"
Sheng tugged on his dark brown suit jacket again and reknotted his tan-colored tie. Well-tailored clothing was a weakness of his. "Well, usually people say it's some crazed collector who wants to gloat. But my sources in the badlands say stolen art like paintings or statuary are physical collateral. Drug dealers and real estate barons pay ridiculous sums and then sell the items again as a way to launder dirty money."
"Aha. We have picked up a thread to unravel. I believe you have had to cope with one of the city's dangerous but extremely funny-looking criminals... one who has negotiated such deals."
"Of course," Sheng agreed with a sudden smile. "The Pelican."
III.
Easing his beloved fire engine-red Ferrari 458 Italia in a spot distant from any other cars which might come in contact with it, Sheng studied the Marriot Inn parking lot. Ahead of them was a white panel van. He checked the screen on his Link once again before turning off the grid with its blinking green blip."That's our boy," he said.
In the passenger seat, Uncle Pao scoffed. "How long ago was it that you placed your gadget on that van?"
"A little over a year. Megan says the transmitters will be reliable for up to three years before the signal weakens." Sheng clipped the Link back to the rear of his belt under his suit jacket. "I managed to tuck it well up under the wheel well. Even if the tires are rotated regularly, I don't think your average mechanic would notice the tiny little box up in the well."
Pao started to open his door but Sheng said, "Maybe you should wait here, Uncle."
"Feh. I am on good terms with this crook. He handles the bets for both the Ching and the Hua families, old friends of mine." With that, Pao got up and stood waiting.
Biting his tongue, Sheng said nothing about being increasingly concerned for the old man's safety. If something went wrong and there was fighting or if they had to run back to the car for a quick getaway, he wanted Uncle Pao to be safe. Active or not, at eighty he had be getting fragile. Soon they would have to discuss this.
Approaching the van, they saw they were being watching by a beefy man in dark clothing, leaning back against the vehicle with his arms folded. Sheng held up both open hands to show he was unharmed.
"Got a problem, buddy?" asked the guard in the least friendly tone possible.
"We are here to see Mr Bailey," Uncle Pao replied. "I say! Pelican! You have visitors."
At that, the motorized rear doors of the van swung open with a hum. The well-lit interior was as well furnished as many New York City apartments, with a wide comfortable bunk, carpeted floor, a wet bar and a flat TV which was showing the Stock Exchange. Getting up from a wheeled office chair was a grotesque figure they had gaped at before.
He had thinning white hair brushed straight back from a high forehead and a long pointed nose over thin lips. Most striking was a grotesquely large dewlap that hung down from his jowls like a sack of skin. Evidently he had once lost a great deal of weight but the skin had not returned to its tautness. His nickname of 'the Pelican' made sense. A black suit jacket over a white shirt and white slacks added to his remarkable appearance. "Ah. Pao. And your nephew, the notorious Argent. Are you here to pull some super-heroic vigilante foolishness?"
Sheng lowered his hands. "No, we two have never had any quarrel. Gambling is not in my field of interest."
"Not to mention I have many friends in the Chinese community who are satisfied customers of yours," Uncle Pao added. "You pay promptly without haggling."
"Not to seem ungracious, but I have many calls to make tonight. My business hours never end. So I regret I cannot invite you in. What is it you wish to say?"
Moving in closer, Sheng noticed the bodyguard obligingly walked out of earshot and lit a cigarette. Good. He explained the situation and said he understood if the Pelican was bound by professional courtesy not to reveal any knowledge he might have.
"Yes, yes," the bizare-looking man responded. "As it happens, I do have rivals in my field. It's possible that one of them, a riff-raff named Ohio Fenwick is possibly involved with these dubious activities. Not that I can say anything outright, you understand."
"A sage can read much from a wink or a cough," Pao put in.
"A suspicious detective like, say, yourself might wonder if Mr and Mrs Temerity are working with a team of burglars. They assist in the robberies, bring back some of the loot for the reward and split the rest with the burglars. In a scheme like that, everyone benefits, no one has to go to jail. It has been done many times, long before your birth, young Sheng."
"Old wine in new bottles," Uncle Pao laughed. "Every racket has a long history."
"Just so. One might wonder if this Temerity husband and wife are trying to buy your practice because they want you out of the way. Young Sheng, you are not only reasonably honest, you are exceedingly dangerous if it comes to open conflict."
"I try my best," Sheng said. "But I believe I have much to learn from my elders."
The Pelican snorted, which made his dewlap shudder in an unsightly way. "You remember the Happy Duck Restaurant on Mulberry Street? Excellent Szechuan cuisine, fiery enough that the next day your belches brought back memories."
"Thank you for reminding us of happier times," Uncle Pao said. "The shrimp was always fresh as if they had caught it outside the kitchen."
"Well, I must get back to my work. There is an election for aldermen underway and the betting slips look like a snowstorm." The Pelican bowed and moved back to his chair. "Good luck to you both."
As they thanked the mastermind, Uncle Pao paused. "Forgive me this, it is most impertinent. But you are so distinguished with your white hair and serious manner. How is it that you have not thought of plastic surgery to further refine your person?"
The Pelican tapped his dewlap to make it waggle. "Quite all right. To be honest, good sir, I compete in business with colorful characters such as Casey Strangle and Pumpkin-Face. My, shall we say, distinctive appearance, helps me fit in."
"Quite rightly," Uncle Pao agreed. "Well, good night again. Best regards from Grandfather Ching, you know he would bet his mortgage on which way a leaf falls from a tree."
The Pelican snorted and began to close his van doors. "Take care, you two. Be safe. It is a wicked world."
IV.
Heading south again toward Little Italy, Sheng decided he had to say something. "Uncle, you know I mean you no disrepect."
"That sounds exactly like you ARE about to be disrepectful."
"I am speaking from love and concern. Now, I can become impervious to bullets or blades by an effort of will. I have enhanced healing and I have been trained in Kumundu by Teacher Chael himself. So there are good reasons why I can come up against deadly gangsters with impunity."
"Oh! I see where this is heading!" snapped Uncle Pao. "I am a feeble dried up mummy with bones like twigs. I should wait by the fire and sit in my rocking chair."
"Even the best gung fu sifus step down from tournaments at the right time," Sheng said. "The bravest generals stop fighting on the frontlines and use their wisdom to guide the battles."
Pao made a disgusted noise. "You see me do my Tai Chi form every day. Am I off balance? Am I stiff or awkward?"
"Well, no..."
"And ANOTHER thing! When I am present, there is less chance of conflict because people respect my age. If I had not been with you, that Pelican would not have been as polite to you. His brute might have laid hands on you and you would have had to fold him up like origami, only angering the Pelican further."
Stopping at a red light, Sheng exhaled. "It's no use arguing, Uncled. If you broke a hip or even God forbid got shot by a wild bullet, it would mean the nursing home for a long convalescence. And then they might not feel it safe to ever let you come home."
"Oh very well. If it will keep you from being distracted by worrying about me."
"Then let me drop you off at the office."
Uncle Pao crossed pencil-thin arms over a flat chest. "A compromise. I will wait by the car in case you find yourself being chased by gorilla-like American criminals."
V.
At the rear of the defunct HAPPY DUCK, a small asphalt square had been enough for the owner and two of the staff to park. The green metal dumpster still remained with its lid gaping up. Having forced a third promise from Uncle Pao that the old man would remain with the car two blocks down Mulberry Street, Sheng hurried into that empty lot and swung around to slam up against the rear door without hesitation. His Argent power enabled him to channel gralic energy into his body for one of three enhanced properties. Right now, he chose extra strength. Sheng knocked the door entirely off both hinges and broke the lock clear away, so the door flew off to one side.
Striding through the long unused kitchen with its forlorn empty hooks where pots and pans once hung, where the stink of stale grease still lingered, the Chujiran slammed open the twin swinging doors and strode into the main dining area. As he entered, his body shivered as he shifted the gralic focus toward resilience. Now his skin was impenetrable as steel, his bones dense as rock, but this state would only last as long as he willed it so.
Leaping up from where they were seated around two tables placed together, five men and one woman gawked at the unexpected entrance. Three of the men were obvious strongarm thugs hired to carry heavy objects or to break victims' limbs if needed. Another was an older man, lean and agile in a dark crewneck shirt and snug sweat pants; that would be the infamous John 'Ohio' Fenwick, known for successful heists across Italy and Southern France before migrating to the States.
But staring at Sheng with mouths hanging open and eyes nearly as wide, was a good-looking couple in their late twenties. Roger Temerity looked like a tall, well-tanned surfer with a shock of yellow-white hair and pale blue eyes. In contrast, Brooke Temerity was only of average height and build, well dressed in a light green summer dress and with her black hair hanging straight past her shoulders.
On the table in front of them were two soft satchels and two carefully arranged stacks of hundred dollar bills still in the white bank wrappers. Right in the center were three Ipads and two phones. Those must be the items that the Mayor's son had supposedly misplaced. Lots of potential blackmail information there, Sheng realized.
He tapped the Link on the side of his belt with a forefinger. "I have to inform you that this encounter is not only being recorded in high definition picture and sound but a copy is being broadcast to Lieutenant Bowen's laptop at the 20th Street Precinct. Just so you know."
Mr and Mrs Temerity glanced at each, then scopped up half the money into a satchel and plunged toward the front door of the dining room as if they had rehearsed each move a hundred times. Sheng's race to intercept them was blocked by the three bruisers. The men were tough and experienced, but a punch from Sheng in his reinforced state had much the same effect as being struck by a sledge hammer. The most they could do was slow him down for a few seconds but that was enough.
One of the goons was sitting down, clutching a cracked rib, another was vomiting after having his abdomen compressed four inches with a blow and the third was reeling around dazedly with his eyes crossed. Outside the front of the restaurant, a car engine roared into life.
Making a snap decision, Sheng wheeled and rushed after the man called Ohio instead. He thought he had a better chance of catching a suspect who was on foot. As he leaped out through the rear door, Sheng felt cold horror seize him. Uncle Pao had turned up and was being struck brutally aside by the cat burglar. That backhand to the cheek swung the old Chinese around and dropped him senseless.
In another instant, Ohio Fenwick felt a hand grip his shoulder to swing him around and he caught a glimpse of a fist coming at him. He would wake up a half hour later with an ER surgeon beginning to wire his cracked jaw back together. Even as the renowned burglar sagged limp to the ground, Sheng wheeled to check on his Uncle. He stopped in mid-motion, stunned by a combination of relief and bafflement stronger than anything he had ever felt before.
The bone-thin octagenarian had simply gotten up off the parking lot asphalt, straightened his clothes and adjusted his glasses. He regarded Sheng calmly and said in a perfectly normal tone, "I don't know if you should call the police first or an ambulance for that man you have broken."
VI.
Back in the office an hour and a half later, Sheng examined Uncle Pao once again with scanning function of the Link. There was no evidence of bruising or other damage. Pao had absolutely refused any medical attention and declared he would walk home rather than be driven to a hospital. It was amazing. "You must be the luckiest person alive," he said as he clipped the device to his belt. "I guess Ohio's blow only glanced your face but even so...."
"Stop fussing like someone's mother," Pao grumbled as he went over to his own desk. "Better you should put your energies to finding those awful people."
"Yes. Of course. I have to go to the 20th Street Precinct to complete the report. Our KDF liaison only let me bring you here as a favor. I'll tell him all about the racket Mr and Mrs Temerity had going with Fenwick. If nothing else, now the police may be able to finally recover some of the stolen goods."
"Why does he have such a stupid name?" Pao asked.
"I think he got in prison. There was another inmate named John Fenwick, and they started being called 'Ohio' and 'Jersey' to differentiate them. There's some aspirin in the medicine cabinet, you know."
"I am fine. I will wait here. It has been a busy day, maybe I will relax while you are chatting with your uniformed pals about taking bribes," said the old man as he shuffled his newspapers into a stack. From beneath his desk, he pulled out a pair of comfortable slippers and exchanged his dress shoes for them with a sigh of gratitude.
Pausing at the door, Sheng turned toward his sole adopted family in this world. "You'll call me if you feel any pain? Promise?"
"Feh. Do not worry so. I am fine. Go before you forget the details you have made up of what happened." After Sheng left and closed the door behind him, Pao stretched and rolled his shoulders. He felt like having a light snack but first some tea would be welcome. The old man rinsed out his personal mug in the bathroom sink, filled it with hot water from the coffee maker and slipped in a bag of his green ginseng imported from the Snow Tiger Company.
After a moment, he went over and got up on his toes to reach where Sheng kept the wooden canister on the top shelf. He plucked out three of the dark purple leaves and broke them up into his mug before replacing the canister. Pao smiled contentedly as he sipped the Tagra tea without really knowing its effects or importance. He was certain his nephew would not begrudge him a few leaves of this special blend each day, in fact he knew Sheng would never even notice.
9/17/2020
4/22/2017
I.
Fuming, Sheng Mo-Yuan stood with his hands clenched behind his back, staring down out of his office window. There, directly opposite his building on lower Canal Street, a window on the street level had the cursive words TEMERITY DETECTIVE AGENCY-BEST IN THE CITY, with a phone number. For three months, the husband and wife team had been swiping cases that Sheng rightfully thought should have been his. When he had been visited by one of the two owners of the agency, the blond man Roger Temerity, he had been politely given an offer to sell his practice and let the new team take over. Sheng had been too affronted to dare speak his mind.
His own FIST FOR HIRE agency still kept the unusual hours of Midnight to Eight AM and tended to specialize in weird or uncanny crimes that crossed over into the outright supernatural. Those affairs would not be poached by these newcomers. And of course, Sheng was still a reserve member of the Kenneth Dred Foundation with full stipend and benefits; he could always go back to part-time duty there if he wanted to be busier.
With an exasperated grunt, the Chujiran went and filled his mug with steaming hot water from the coffee dispenser. He should not let rivals annoy him so much. His record was phenomenal and spoke for itself. Sheng reached up onto an open shelf and drew out a round wooden canister from the back. He took a handful of crisp dark purple leaves and crumbled them into the water. A refreshing minty aroma rose from the mug and Sheng sipped the sharp tangy liquid gratefully.
This was the secret of how Tel Shai knights recovered so quickly and thoroughly from injuries that would send most victims to ICU, how they never suffered illnesses and how they remained vigorous well past middle age. The Tagra Tea diet was also thought by some scholars to help Tel Shai knights mentally; the most horrifying and traumatic experiences had little effect on knights and usually did not even leave a nightmare. Very few outsiders knew the secret of Tagra. Tel Shai knights were sworn not to discuss it nor share the tea with anyone on pain of expulsion from the Order. Tagra was only grown at Tel Shai and only a small amount existed at any time.
As soon as he finished his cup, fresh vigor rushed through his body and his mood evened out. Most people thought Sheng was Chinese and he let it slide. At five feet five and a trim one hundred and fifty pounds, he had the tawny skin tones, double eyelid fold and coarse black hair associated with Northern Chinese. But there was something about the high cheekbones and beaked nose that didn't fit. He seldom mentioned he had actually come to the world from Chujir. Most people outside the Midnight War knew nothing of the adjacent realms.
At eight-thirty, he heard quick footsteps coming up in the staircase to their third floor landing. Uncle Pao usually stayed in the office during the day. Officially, he answered the phone and arranged appointments with clients and handled some mundane paperwork like paying utilities. In practice, he tended to read newspapers, keep esoteric food simmering on the hot plate and enjoy long naps with a damp cloth over his eyes. Sheng was so fond of the cantankerous old man that he didn't mind any of it. Also, Uncle Pao's shrewd cynical analysis of people was always helpful.
At eighty, Sheng Pao-Wang remained nimble and light on his feet. Only an inch over five feet tall and weighing less than a hundred pounds, he had stayed wiry. Sheng was amazed that the old man blithely took the subway here each morning and sprang up three flights of stairs without a cane or even relying on the banister. As usual, Pao wore soft slippers, baggy black trousers and a white T-shirt under an open denim vest with overfilled pockets. The shock of white hair sticking out in various directions and the eyeglasses with lenses thick enough to start fires let Pao make an unforgettable first impression.
As soon as he strode in, the old man slapped three different newspapers onto Sheng's desk, including the Chinese language WORLD. "Again, your rivals have stolen your thunder! Why aren't you doing something about it instead of standing around with your finger digging in your ear? There are no potatoes in there!"
"Good morning, Uncle," Sheng replied amiably, pulling out his swivel chair and settling back to examine the papers. "Ah, let's see. Roger and Brooke Temerity have managed to retrieve nearly all of the jewelry stolen from Mrs Hughford Garland's apartment. Only a few of the diamond necklaces and a remarkably large emerald remain unaccounted for."
"Read on, nephew! Let some sunlight peek in through the cracks of your disinterest." Pao went over to the coffeemaker which they used mostly for hot water, fetched two bags of green ginseng tea and stirred with unnecessary vigor.
"The Temerities claim to have negotiated with a go-between for an underworld fence and arranged the return of the loot in exchange for not disclosing the thief's identity. Well, that's not the most ethical way to handle the crime. But I remember they did the same thing a few weeks ago when that Wall Street broker had some valuable handcrafted cameras stolen. That Temerity pair retrieved all but one."
Uncle Pao had his own smaller desk set off to one side, facing Sheng's at an angle. From there he could scrutinize clients, give Sheng silent cues and sometimes make insulting faces at police officers who came to ask questions. The old man insisted on keeping an old-fashioned landline phone on his desk, as well as a small potted plant which had been barely clinging to life for years now. "These are the two frauds who grab headlines, Nephew. You run unseen through back streets chasing creatures of the night and no one applauds your deeds."
"Yeah, I accept that," Sheng agreed. "Mostly I handle Midnight War threats. Monsters and maniacs that the public is better off not knowing about. My straight detective work is a small part of what I do. You know, you should wonder about the integrity of these two. Remember the kidnaping case that the Temerities handled?"
Sheng started straightening out the mess of newspaper pages before him. "Sure. That infant, what was its name? Brewster? Roger and Brooke Temerity brought the kid home safe and said they scared the crooks away with a few gunshots. But the kidnapers were never caught."
"Aha! A faint gleam of awareness dawns far off on the horizon in your mind, does it?"
"Yeah. It's funny. Sometimes the Temerity Agency nabs a burglar or brings in someone who committed assault. But their biggest and most famous cases are suspicious. Some loot isn't recovered and the perps get away. If I didn't know better...."
II.
Although he had been up all night, Sheng was reluctant to return to his rooms at the KDF headquarters on 38th Street. Instead, after washing up in the tiny bathroom, he hung up his suit jacket, slipped out of his dress shoes and stretched out on the long brown leather couch. Adjusting two cushions under his head, he muttered, "I need to think things over."
Uncle Pao dropped his nagging tone and pulled out a pen to begin a crossword puzzle in one of his newspapers. "The brain solves many riddles after sleep," he said.
Starting a series of deep slow breaths that was one of the first Tel Shai techniques he had learned, Sheng's body relaxed and he drifted off within seconds. He did not see the affectionate gaze with which the old man regarded him from across the room. They were not blood relations, of course. Coming from the realm of Chujir, Sheng Mo-Yuan had no relatives in the real world and deep down Uncle Pao realized this. It didn't matter. A decade of acting as uncle and nephew had become the reality in their minds.
Three hours went by in silence. Pao studied the newspapers, stealthily crept over to stare out the window at the traffic below, then leaned back in his chair and thought. At the fourth hour, Sheng stirred, smacked his lips and sat up. "Whew, that's better. Excuse me." He rushed to the bathroom and emerged a minute later to head for his desk. "I'll be all right for the rest of the day."
"There is something you might need to hear," Uncle Pao offered tentatively. "One of the cases these Temerity people handled. Three oil paintings were stolen from a white man with the unlikely name of Clovis Winkler. Feh. Clovis Winkler! Two of the paintings were recovered by these Temerities, but only the broken empty frame of the third. A suspect was brought in but released when there was not enough evidence to proceed with charges against him."
"Hm. Yes, I remember all that. The paintings were all Philipe Brevales from the 1890s. Extremely valuable in an historical sense but impossible to sell or display anywhere."
"Because they are famous, yes? Tell me, nephew, what reason could there be to steal an item you must keep hidden?"
Sheng tugged on his dark brown suit jacket again and reknotted his tan-colored tie. Well-tailored clothing was a weakness of his. "Well, usually people say it's some crazed collector who wants to gloat. But my sources in the badlands say stolen art like paintings or statuary are physical collateral. Drug dealers and real estate barons pay ridiculous sums and then sell the items again as a way to launder dirty money."
"Aha. We have picked up a thread to unravel. I believe you have had to cope with one of the city's dangerous but extremely funny-looking criminals... one who has negotiated such deals."
"Of course," Sheng agreed with a sudden smile. "The Pelican."
III.
Easing his beloved fire engine-red Ferrari 458 Italia in a spot distant from any other cars which might come in contact with it, Sheng studied the Marriot Inn parking lot. Ahead of them was a white panel van. He checked the screen on his Link once again before turning off the grid with its blinking green blip."That's our boy," he said.
In the passenger seat, Uncle Pao scoffed. "How long ago was it that you placed your gadget on that van?"
"A little over a year. Megan says the transmitters will be reliable for up to three years before the signal weakens." Sheng clipped the Link back to the rear of his belt under his suit jacket. "I managed to tuck it well up under the wheel well. Even if the tires are rotated regularly, I don't think your average mechanic would notice the tiny little box up in the well."
Pao started to open his door but Sheng said, "Maybe you should wait here, Uncle."
"Feh. I am on good terms with this crook. He handles the bets for both the Ching and the Hua families, old friends of mine." With that, Pao got up and stood waiting.
Biting his tongue, Sheng said nothing about being increasingly concerned for the old man's safety. If something went wrong and there was fighting or if they had to run back to the car for a quick getaway, he wanted Uncle Pao to be safe. Active or not, at eighty he had be getting fragile. Soon they would have to discuss this.
Approaching the van, they saw they were being watching by a beefy man in dark clothing, leaning back against the vehicle with his arms folded. Sheng held up both open hands to show he was unharmed.
"Got a problem, buddy?" asked the guard in the least friendly tone possible.
"We are here to see Mr Bailey," Uncle Pao replied. "I say! Pelican! You have visitors."
At that, the motorized rear doors of the van swung open with a hum. The well-lit interior was as well furnished as many New York City apartments, with a wide comfortable bunk, carpeted floor, a wet bar and a flat TV which was showing the Stock Exchange. Getting up from a wheeled office chair was a grotesque figure they had gaped at before.
He had thinning white hair brushed straight back from a high forehead and a long pointed nose over thin lips. Most striking was a grotesquely large dewlap that hung down from his jowls like a sack of skin. Evidently he had once lost a great deal of weight but the skin had not returned to its tautness. His nickname of 'the Pelican' made sense. A black suit jacket over a white shirt and white slacks added to his remarkable appearance. "Ah. Pao. And your nephew, the notorious Argent. Are you here to pull some super-heroic vigilante foolishness?"
Sheng lowered his hands. "No, we two have never had any quarrel. Gambling is not in my field of interest."
"Not to mention I have many friends in the Chinese community who are satisfied customers of yours," Uncle Pao added. "You pay promptly without haggling."
"Not to seem ungracious, but I have many calls to make tonight. My business hours never end. So I regret I cannot invite you in. What is it you wish to say?"
Moving in closer, Sheng noticed the bodyguard obligingly walked out of earshot and lit a cigarette. Good. He explained the situation and said he understood if the Pelican was bound by professional courtesy not to reveal any knowledge he might have.
"Yes, yes," the bizare-looking man responded. "As it happens, I do have rivals in my field. It's possible that one of them, a riff-raff named Ohio Fenwick is possibly involved with these dubious activities. Not that I can say anything outright, you understand."
"A sage can read much from a wink or a cough," Pao put in.
"A suspicious detective like, say, yourself might wonder if Mr and Mrs Temerity are working with a team of burglars. They assist in the robberies, bring back some of the loot for the reward and split the rest with the burglars. In a scheme like that, everyone benefits, no one has to go to jail. It has been done many times, long before your birth, young Sheng."
"Old wine in new bottles," Uncle Pao laughed. "Every racket has a long history."
"Just so. One might wonder if this Temerity husband and wife are trying to buy your practice because they want you out of the way. Young Sheng, you are not only reasonably honest, you are exceedingly dangerous if it comes to open conflict."
"I try my best," Sheng said. "But I believe I have much to learn from my elders."
The Pelican snorted, which made his dewlap shudder in an unsightly way. "You remember the Happy Duck Restaurant on Mulberry Street? Excellent Szechuan cuisine, fiery enough that the next day your belches brought back memories."
"Thank you for reminding us of happier times," Uncle Pao said. "The shrimp was always fresh as if they had caught it outside the kitchen."
"Well, I must get back to my work. There is an election for aldermen underway and the betting slips look like a snowstorm." The Pelican bowed and moved back to his chair. "Good luck to you both."
As they thanked the mastermind, Uncle Pao paused. "Forgive me this, it is most impertinent. But you are so distinguished with your white hair and serious manner. How is it that you have not thought of plastic surgery to further refine your person?"
The Pelican tapped his dewlap to make it waggle. "Quite all right. To be honest, good sir, I compete in business with colorful characters such as Casey Strangle and Pumpkin-Face. My, shall we say, distinctive appearance, helps me fit in."
"Quite rightly," Uncle Pao agreed. "Well, good night again. Best regards from Grandfather Ching, you know he would bet his mortgage on which way a leaf falls from a tree."
The Pelican snorted and began to close his van doors. "Take care, you two. Be safe. It is a wicked world."
IV.
Heading south again toward Little Italy, Sheng decided he had to say something. "Uncle, you know I mean you no disrepect."
"That sounds exactly like you ARE about to be disrepectful."
"I am speaking from love and concern. Now, I can become impervious to bullets or blades by an effort of will. I have enhanced healing and I have been trained in Kumundu by Teacher Chael himself. So there are good reasons why I can come up against deadly gangsters with impunity."
"Oh! I see where this is heading!" snapped Uncle Pao. "I am a feeble dried up mummy with bones like twigs. I should wait by the fire and sit in my rocking chair."
"Even the best gung fu sifus step down from tournaments at the right time," Sheng said. "The bravest generals stop fighting on the frontlines and use their wisdom to guide the battles."
Pao made a disgusted noise. "You see me do my Tai Chi form every day. Am I off balance? Am I stiff or awkward?"
"Well, no..."
"And ANOTHER thing! When I am present, there is less chance of conflict because people respect my age. If I had not been with you, that Pelican would not have been as polite to you. His brute might have laid hands on you and you would have had to fold him up like origami, only angering the Pelican further."
Stopping at a red light, Sheng exhaled. "It's no use arguing, Uncled. If you broke a hip or even God forbid got shot by a wild bullet, it would mean the nursing home for a long convalescence. And then they might not feel it safe to ever let you come home."
"Oh very well. If it will keep you from being distracted by worrying about me."
"Then let me drop you off at the office."
Uncle Pao crossed pencil-thin arms over a flat chest. "A compromise. I will wait by the car in case you find yourself being chased by gorilla-like American criminals."
V.
At the rear of the defunct HAPPY DUCK, a small asphalt square had been enough for the owner and two of the staff to park. The green metal dumpster still remained with its lid gaping up. Having forced a third promise from Uncle Pao that the old man would remain with the car two blocks down Mulberry Street, Sheng hurried into that empty lot and swung around to slam up against the rear door without hesitation. His Argent power enabled him to channel gralic energy into his body for one of three enhanced properties. Right now, he chose extra strength. Sheng knocked the door entirely off both hinges and broke the lock clear away, so the door flew off to one side.
Striding through the long unused kitchen with its forlorn empty hooks where pots and pans once hung, where the stink of stale grease still lingered, the Chujiran slammed open the twin swinging doors and strode into the main dining area. As he entered, his body shivered as he shifted the gralic focus toward resilience. Now his skin was impenetrable as steel, his bones dense as rock, but this state would only last as long as he willed it so.
Leaping up from where they were seated around two tables placed together, five men and one woman gawked at the unexpected entrance. Three of the men were obvious strongarm thugs hired to carry heavy objects or to break victims' limbs if needed. Another was an older man, lean and agile in a dark crewneck shirt and snug sweat pants; that would be the infamous John 'Ohio' Fenwick, known for successful heists across Italy and Southern France before migrating to the States.
But staring at Sheng with mouths hanging open and eyes nearly as wide, was a good-looking couple in their late twenties. Roger Temerity looked like a tall, well-tanned surfer with a shock of yellow-white hair and pale blue eyes. In contrast, Brooke Temerity was only of average height and build, well dressed in a light green summer dress and with her black hair hanging straight past her shoulders.
On the table in front of them were two soft satchels and two carefully arranged stacks of hundred dollar bills still in the white bank wrappers. Right in the center were three Ipads and two phones. Those must be the items that the Mayor's son had supposedly misplaced. Lots of potential blackmail information there, Sheng realized.
He tapped the Link on the side of his belt with a forefinger. "I have to inform you that this encounter is not only being recorded in high definition picture and sound but a copy is being broadcast to Lieutenant Bowen's laptop at the 20th Street Precinct. Just so you know."
Mr and Mrs Temerity glanced at each, then scopped up half the money into a satchel and plunged toward the front door of the dining room as if they had rehearsed each move a hundred times. Sheng's race to intercept them was blocked by the three bruisers. The men were tough and experienced, but a punch from Sheng in his reinforced state had much the same effect as being struck by a sledge hammer. The most they could do was slow him down for a few seconds but that was enough.
One of the goons was sitting down, clutching a cracked rib, another was vomiting after having his abdomen compressed four inches with a blow and the third was reeling around dazedly with his eyes crossed. Outside the front of the restaurant, a car engine roared into life.
Making a snap decision, Sheng wheeled and rushed after the man called Ohio instead. He thought he had a better chance of catching a suspect who was on foot. As he leaped out through the rear door, Sheng felt cold horror seize him. Uncle Pao had turned up and was being struck brutally aside by the cat burglar. That backhand to the cheek swung the old Chinese around and dropped him senseless.
In another instant, Ohio Fenwick felt a hand grip his shoulder to swing him around and he caught a glimpse of a fist coming at him. He would wake up a half hour later with an ER surgeon beginning to wire his cracked jaw back together. Even as the renowned burglar sagged limp to the ground, Sheng wheeled to check on his Uncle. He stopped in mid-motion, stunned by a combination of relief and bafflement stronger than anything he had ever felt before.
The bone-thin octagenarian had simply gotten up off the parking lot asphalt, straightened his clothes and adjusted his glasses. He regarded Sheng calmly and said in a perfectly normal tone, "I don't know if you should call the police first or an ambulance for that man you have broken."
VI.
Back in the office an hour and a half later, Sheng examined Uncle Pao once again with scanning function of the Link. There was no evidence of bruising or other damage. Pao had absolutely refused any medical attention and declared he would walk home rather than be driven to a hospital. It was amazing. "You must be the luckiest person alive," he said as he clipped the device to his belt. "I guess Ohio's blow only glanced your face but even so...."
"Stop fussing like someone's mother," Pao grumbled as he went over to his own desk. "Better you should put your energies to finding those awful people."
"Yes. Of course. I have to go to the 20th Street Precinct to complete the report. Our KDF liaison only let me bring you here as a favor. I'll tell him all about the racket Mr and Mrs Temerity had going with Fenwick. If nothing else, now the police may be able to finally recover some of the stolen goods."
"Why does he have such a stupid name?" Pao asked.
"I think he got in prison. There was another inmate named John Fenwick, and they started being called 'Ohio' and 'Jersey' to differentiate them. There's some aspirin in the medicine cabinet, you know."
"I am fine. I will wait here. It has been a busy day, maybe I will relax while you are chatting with your uniformed pals about taking bribes," said the old man as he shuffled his newspapers into a stack. From beneath his desk, he pulled out a pair of comfortable slippers and exchanged his dress shoes for them with a sigh of gratitude.
Pausing at the door, Sheng turned toward his sole adopted family in this world. "You'll call me if you feel any pain? Promise?"
"Feh. Do not worry so. I am fine. Go before you forget the details you have made up of what happened." After Sheng left and closed the door behind him, Pao stretched and rolled his shoulders. He felt like having a light snack but first some tea would be welcome. The old man rinsed out his personal mug in the bathroom sink, filled it with hot water from the coffee maker and slipped in a bag of his green ginseng imported from the Snow Tiger Company.
After a moment, he went over and got up on his toes to reach where Sheng kept the wooden canister on the top shelf. He plucked out three of the dark purple leaves and broke them up into his mug before replacing the canister. Pao smiled contentedly as he sipped the Tagra tea without really knowing its effects or importance. He was certain his nephew would not begrudge him a few leaves of this special blend each day, in fact he knew Sheng would never even notice.
9/17/2020
