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"DUST MITES ATTACK! II - Skinless Faces"
DUST MITES ATTACK! II - Skinless Faces
9/12-9/13/2010
I.
After a month, the novelty of having his own office was just beginning to wear off on Sheng. With his back to the fantail window overlooking Canal Street, he sat at his desk and gazed happily at the frosted glass panel of his door. Reversed from his viewpoint, the black letters and Chinese ideograms read CHUAN LO TSING - FIST FOR HIRE. ARGENT PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS 12 MIDNIGHT TO 8 AM, with a phone number.
Despite his name and his appearance, Sheng Mo-Yuan was not actually Chinese. He was from the adjacent realm of Chujir, whose inhabitants were thought by arcane scholars to be the ancient ancestors of the Han peoples. Sheng was five feet five, stocky but athletic, with the straight coarse black hair and tawny skin tones that led everyone to immediately decided he was East Asian. The inner eyelid fold was not very pronounced and his nose had an eagle arch that was distinctive. Sheng was also a snappy dresser, tonight he had chosen his favorite dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie, all carefully tailored.
Chujir was farther away from Canal Street than miles could measure, sundered from this world by gralic barriers. And yet here he had somehow semi-adopted new family. Sitting at his own smaller desk further back by the door, Uncle Pao was storming through a mess of opened letters as if he had lost money in it.
Pao had installed himself as an unofficial aide, nagging as much as helping. He had no fighting abilities nor clerical skill, but Pao did possess a keen understanding of human nature and a sharp sense of when clients were lying. Watching the office, taking messages, cooking meals were other ways in which Uncle Pao made himself useful.
Pao had met Sheng Mo-Yuan by chance only a few months earlier, had become became caught up in an investigation and immediately insisted that they were related. Sheng did not reveal that, since he had come from Chujir, he could not have any living relatives in the world. Instead, Sheng quickly accepted Uncle Pao, allowed the old man to start helping out at the FIST FOR HIRE offices and treated Pao as a genuine uncle. Maybe it only meant that Sheng missed having a family, since his teammates at the KDF were so unlike him culturally. In many ways, Uncle Pao resembled members of Sheng's real clan back in Chujir, both in appearance and in mannerisms. And he had learned enough Cantonese with the KDF to be able to converse easily with Pao. They were two lonely men who welcomed each other's company.
In a sudden burst of agitation, the old man shoved all the loose papers into the wide center drawer of his desk and slammed it shut. Hitting his mid-70s had dried him into a thin scarecrow in a white T-shirt and open black vest. Between the opaque-thick eyeglasses and wild white hair sticking out in random tufts, he was a colorful figure that distracted clients. As he sat fuming at his desk, he turned outraged eyes at his supposed nephew.
"Have you heard from your friend in Seattle again?" Sheng asked tentatively. "Miss Grace Liu?"
"Nephew, she was being insufferable on some cruise ship in Mexico the last I heard. When an eighty-four year old woman is left against her wishes at a random city, you know she has misbehaved. Something to do with making rude announcements over the PA system about the menus. Something about missing pets on stew days..."
On his own desk, Sheng still kept a landline phone because it fit his sense of what Private Eye decor should include. He did not smoke, but he had a vague urge to see his office filled with smoke swirling under the lazily turning overhead fan. That, and daylight slanting in through Venetian blinds would be a nice atmospheric touch. Before he could speak, the sound of the street door closing two floors beneath them caught his attention.
"Ah! Perhaps a client who will actually pay you?" asked Uncle Pao, then added "For once." But he did creak up on to his feet and went over to open the office door before seating himself again.
Light footsteps trotted up the staircase and a tall slender figure swung into the open doorway. A young woman in her twenties, wearing tight grey leggings and a baggy maroon sweater, stuck her head into sight. A long straight wing of jet black hair swung with the movement of her head as she glanced from side to side. "Mr Sheng?"
Rising and gesturing to an empty chair in front of his desk, Sheng said, "Please, come right in. I'm Sheng Mo-Yuan. Sometimes called Argent. This is my partner Sheng Pao. What brings you to us?"
"I'm in trouble, real trouble. Look at how my hands are shaking! My knees feel like rubber bands."
To his credit, Uncle Pao was immediately holding the chair for her and placing a reassuring palm against her upper back. "You are in good hands, miss."
"My name is Clemente, Clemente Suarez, I live in Queens. It's strange coming here at two in the morning, sir."
Sheng agreed. "I found most of my clients need help late at night, so I started keeping these hours. It's not called the Midnight War without good reason."
The young woman searched Sheng's face with desperation. "I'm ready for a complete meltdown, I'm freaking out, fuh-reaking out. It's the faceless deaths! You know about them, right? Faces without skin!"
II.
"Oh, yes."
"It's a scandal! Nothing on the news, nothing in the papers. Every mention on social media gets erased before you can even screencap it. Someone is covering up big time!"
>"The child speaks truth,"< Uncle Pao observed in Cantonese.
Clemente turned her head to give the old man a vexed look. Pao's desk had been deliberately situated far enough back that a client could not see both Pao and Sheng at the same time. This was useful for distractions and ruses. After fixing him with that reproof, she went back to facing Sheng. "But word on the street is very agitated."
Sheng's years of Kumundu martial arts training had taken in a dozen details about his visitor instantly. She was twenty-seven and in excellent health, with the steady heartbeat and clear respiration of a runner. Not the slightest tinge of alcohol or any kind of smoke on her. Her accent was third-generation Cuban-American. College level education. Grooming, hair and nails were neat but not overdone.
Clemente was pretty, to be sure, with perfect white teeth, a snub nose and natural arched eyebrows but she was not any more striking than many young women to be seen on city streets. What was catching Sheng's concern was the very real fear in her voice.
"I came to you because of all the wild stories I heard," she burst out. "You are called Argent, 'silver,' a knight of Tel Shai. They say you are bulletproof, that you can flip a car over on its side, that you can grab a cobra by the neck and that you can..."
"Whoa. Whoa. People exaggerate." Sheng raised both hands, palms out. "Come on, I've had some specialized training but I'm flesh and blood. Don't expect a sort of superman."
The truth was that Sheng was in fact capable of all that. His Argent gift enabled him to channel gralic force into his body for enhanced strength, speed or durability. But he could only exert one effect at a time. This was what qualified him to be a knight of Tel Shai and what had helped him survive the Midnight War.
In Cantonese, Uncle Pao added, >"Perhaps you should bend steel with one hand to impress the girl?"<
And in Spanish, Clemente promptly shot back, >"Who knows what improper comments your grandfather is making about me?"<
The shocked expression on Uncle Pao's face caught Sheng off-guard and launched him into full hearty laughter. He had become so used to the old man speaking in Cantonese so that visitors wouldn't understand that it seemed perfectly droll to see a reversal.
>"What did she say in her barbarian tongue?"< Pao sputtered.
"Now, Uncle, be fair. We all speak English well enough, don't we? Let's stick to that." Sheng turned back to their visitor. "I've gotten reports of at least eleven of these faceless deaths in the metropolitan area. Sudden and gruesome enough. Sometimes the victim is heard screaming and thrashing but usually the body is found isolated and already dead."
"With the skin eaten off the entire face!" Clemente said, shuddering. "Forehead to throat, but there it stops! And sometimes a handful of these horrid little crablike parasites are nearby, they are dead too! What does it mean? Is it a plague? A curse? A sign of the end times?!"
"I know the CDC has teams in Manhattan," said Sheng. "But they have released no statements."
Clemente leaned forward, lowering her voice. "I have information. My ex-husband, Marty, he was so shady and so dirty. I thought he was just an IT troubleshooter but he was working for a real, no-nonsense criminal mastermind. One of the most dangerous men in the world today."
"Stop being dramatic and give up a name," prompted Uncle Pao.
"Shogren," she said. "Baron Egil Shogren!"
From the open doorway behind her, a gruff voice growled, "Why'd ya have to say that name?"
Sheng Mo-Yuan had seldom been so completely disgusted with himself. Not only had he not reminded Uncle Pao to close and lock the office door, he had been letting himself pay too much attention to the pretty young Latina and not on his environment. Now, the big men in rough work clothes had crowded into his office. They were tough-looking enough, not obviously monsters but intimidating enough that guys in bars would step aside for them. Only one held a weapon openly, a Ruger Blackhawk revolver with a chrome finish.
"You gotta come back with us, Flower," he said. "You don't wanna see the mess."
Judging spaces and angles, Sheng quietly said, "Miss, take a few steps toward my Uncle, please."
Everyone was surprised by this. As she complied, she began to ask, "Why did you...?"
Sheng's desk was five feet high and thirty inches across, two hundred and seventy pounds of solid oak. He jumped to his feet, raised it overhead as if it were a sheet of plywood and slammed it down with murderous force on the three men. Bones cracked audibly. As the thugs groaned and gasped, he pressed down a moment for further results, then easily lifted the desk and restored it to its place. The gunmen sprawled where they were, arms and legs bent in unnatural angles.
A white-faced Clemente was rattling off, "Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our deaths..."
Uncle Pao had taken a plastic trash bag from his own desk and was helpfully collecting guns, knives, phones, keys and wallets from the injured men. A roll of twenties bound with a rubber band went unceremoniously into his own pocket. Seeing Sheng's sour glance, the old man explained, "Expenses."
One of the goons was mumbling that he was dying. Sheng knelt over him, "Cracked ribs, you'll be fine."
Clemente had regained her composure, "I guess... I guess some of the stories about you ARE true."
"The bad boys have to learn a little respect if I'm going to operate successfully," Sheng said. "Uncle, stay here with her." Grasping two of the battered men by their clothes, he dragged them not too tenderly out of the office and down the wide wooden staircase to the front lobby, then went back for the third. Sheng took the bag of confiscated items from Uncle Pao. He took a few minutes to
squeeze the gun barrels flat, bend the knife blades in a circle and snap the phones before hauling all three helpless men out to the sidewalk outside the Hartwicke Building.
At three on a Sunday morning, there was still an occasional car rolling past but no pedestrians in thus tourist area where everything had been closed for hours. Sheng knelt over the men. "I can see your minder across the street. He'll be taking you jokers to an ER or a shady crime surgeon. Here's my message, I'm not declaring war on the Baron. The girl and the old man ARE under my protection, though. We can stay out of each other's way for now. Tell him."
Going back upstairs to his office, he was relieved to find Uncle Pao had brewed a kettle of aromatic ginseng tea and had gotten Clemente nibbling his gingerbread sticks. Sheng drained a cup himself.
"How did you do that, anyway?" she asked. "That desk must weigh a ton but you used it like a flyswatter. I never saw anything so cool in my whole life."
"You should see what my friends in the KDF can do," he said. "So, your ex-husband used to work for Baron Shogren?"
"Yeah, he did IT work for maybe five, six years before leaving to go to Silicon Valley. I didn't believe half his stories. He said Shogren ran some big buildings full of research labs. Hundreds of people on staff. Shogren himself was kind of weird. He always dressed like a dentist with a white smock. And he looked Japanese but he spoke English with a strong Swedish accent for some reason!"
"Heh heh," chuckled Uncle Pao at his desk. "Remember that Japanese writer we met who grew up in Texas? Looked Samurai, talked Cowboy."
It turned out that Clemente had little useful information about Shogren's current activities. Her information was at least a year out of date. She had no real reason to connect Shogren with the faceless deaths, either. It had simply seemed like the sort of bizarre project he came up with.
By six-thirty, with light coming in the window and traffic outside in full blare, Clemente was obviously drooping.
"I'm running out of steam," she admitted. "I guess that's all I have to say, Mr Sheng."
"You've given me a lot of get started with," he replied tactfully. "Come on, you'll be safe from Shogren. The way his enforcers are in the hospital will make him try diplomacy." He escorted the young woman down to the street and saw her safely roll away in a blue-top taxi. Back in the office, he found Uncle Pao unfolding the thin flannel blanket they kept on the couch.
"You're not going back to your apartment, Uncle?"
"I think not! Here I can answer the phone and pick up the mail and turn down detective jobs from normal daytime people who pay money so you will be able to work for free and chase monsters under the stars. Also, my roommate Richard is getting on my nerves."
"Sounds like a plan." Sheng loosened his necktie and undid the top button of his shirt. "I'll grab some sleep in my rooms at KDF headquarters. I have to catch up with Sable about what the team has uncovered about these skinless face deaths, too."
"Do not listen to the damfool theories of the white-haired girl Unicorn," Pao said as he unlaced his shoes. "She is as crazy as a wild goose eating hashish."
Heading out the door, Sheng said, "Uncle, I can't disagree with you."
III.
Checking in to the KDF building on East 38th Street, Sheng went to his rooms on the third floor and enjoyed seven straight hours of deep dreamless sleep. At four that afternoon, he took a hot shower, pretended he needed to shave, and changed into more informal clothes of black sneakers, jeans and a dark green T-shirt, then reported to Sable's office. She was on the phone, and gestured at him to come back.
Just as well. Sheng went to the kitchen at the rear of the building. The refrigerator held half a roast beef that looked tempting. He fixed an immense sandwich with whole wheat bread, roast beef, provolone cheese, pickle chips and mayo. Adding a ten ounce tumbler of iced tea, he dug in with enthusiasm. As he was finishing, Sable beeped him on his Link. Sheng took the last remnant of his sandwich with him.
Sable's desk sat under a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. Often, she turned to gaze wistfully up at countries that no longer existed. At thirty-two, Lauren Sable Reilly had been captain of the KDF team for teams and thrived under the responsibility. She flashed her smile with its slight overbite at him. "You look like you're at your best today."
"Ready for anything, captain. Maybe I should fill you in what happened last night." He launched into a precise account of everything that had happened since Clemente had entered his office.
"I'm sorry I didn't get to see all that," Sable said. "I wouldn't expect violent retaliation against your client or your uncle. Shogren tends to be rather restrained in his responses. My reading is that he will send a representative to your office to actually negotiate."
"I'll meet him halfway if he plays nice," replied Sheng. "But I'm not up to speed about the team's progress with these faceless deaths?"
"Not nearly enough," Sable said. She went over everything that had happened with Megan and Ashley the night before. "Shale was operated on and is expected to make a full recovery," she added.
"I always wanted to run across him," Argent said. "He seemed to be too good to be true. My theory is that 'Merrick Shale' is actually a team. A detective, a combat expert, a scientist, maybe a few more men working together to pose as a a virtual superman."
"Could be, although I don't see the point. Then there's Unicorn's idea that he was raised by the Trom the way she was. That would explain how he could be a genius in so many disciplines."
Sheng made a scoffing sound. "I bet Megan doesn't like that idea, it'd make her less unique."
"They're both coming back on duty at seven. Josef is in Florida, looking into reports of Gator Joe. We could use a few new members, Sheng. I admire you setting up your Fist For Hire Agency, but with you as part-time one day a week, there's a bit of a vacancy...."
"New blood shows up unexpectedly," he objected. "I mean, I got drawn in by chance when Jeremy fought the Smiling Brethren. Both Ashley and Megan signed up as soon as they were old enough. I guarantee you that right now some newcomer is on the way."
"Let's hope so. Anyway. So far, I've got a list of twenty-eight confirmed cases of skinless face deaths. All within fifty miles of Manhattan. No common denominator at all in the victims. Completely random. Sudden seizure as these parasites swarm over the victims' faces, injecting toxin and chewing away epidermis. Then, the creatures die themselves and fall away. Most seem to vanish."
"That's really horrible," Sheng said. "I mean, we kind of get used to gruesome deaths in the Midnight War but still...."
"I agree with what Shale theorized," Sable told him. "These are a type of dust mite that live unseen in Human eyelashes and eyebrows. Something enlarges them thousands of times. They feed and then die without reproducing, which makes no sense biologically, and nearly all of them shrink back down so small that crime scene investigators overlook them."
"Not gralic magic? Megan said there was no gralic residue."
"No, no," Sable agreed. "I'm afraid this stinks of the lost science of Zhune again."
"I hate that stuff."
"Same here! It's so unpredictable. You can never even get prepared against its impossible effects. When Karl Eldritch died, everyone hoped the secrets of Zhune died with him. But two or three of our damn Mad Scientists are still fooling around with it. At least there are only a few possible suspects."
Sheng had been studying his impeccable fingernails. He looked up with a new grim intensity. "My guess, captain? The mastermind wants panic. The killings will be more numerous and more public until they can't be hushed up and hidden. Then he'll make his demands."
"Yes, Sheng. There's going to be a huge price extorted to stop the deaths."
Argent stood up. "Looks like we're working on the same case, captain."
IV.
At ten minutes to Midnight, Sheng locked and armed his beloved red Ferrari 458 Italia in a municipal parking lot and walked the four blocks to his office building. He was wearing a simple black business suit with a dark blue dress shirt. For once, he had loaded all his hidden slits and inner pockets with the tiny KDF gadgets and weapons, and he was wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under his clothes. When working on his own, Sheng preferred to rely more on his own inherent abilities but he had a feeling this faceless deaths business was more momentous than most of his own lesser level cases.
Reaching the Hartwicke Building, he saw a few lighted windows on the upper three floors, which were rent-controlled apartments for seniors. The bottom three stories held business such as a travel agency, computer repair shop and massage spa. Only the window of his own office showed yellow light as he passed beneath it. Deeply ingrained wariness made him search every doorway and check the interiors of every parked car that he neared. Surviving the Midnight War required an alertness no less acute than that needed for mundane war.
On the third floor landing, he could smell pungent fish cooking with peppers and ginger. Of course. Even as he opened his office door, he scolded, "Uncle! The landlord has warned us many times about using that hot plate."
"Bah! The people upstairs cook all the time. Boiled cabbage! Corned beef! At least I prepare Real Food. See how crisp the snow peas are."
Sheng stopped himself from mentioning that the office was not an apartment and in fact neither of them should have been sleeping there during the day because of regulations. Pao understood laws and rules only when suited his convenience. Instead of a dead end debate, he simply went over to his desk and thumbed without enthusiasm through the mail. Nothing of interest.
Gingerly lowering himself behind his own desk, Uncle Pao said, "Nephew, you had three phone calls. One was a man who wanted you to follow his wife all day to see how many lovers she has. I told him he was better off not knowing. Then there was your lawyer at the Taylor Worth agency reminding you of the deadline to file some motion for dismissal in one of your many court dates, I forget the details."
"Thank you, Uncle," Sheng said distantly, turning over the bills.
"And one MORE thing! A visitor tonight. That lunatic Baron Shogren said he will stop by to be sure there are no misunderstandings between you."
Sheng straightened up instantly, cocking his head to listen. Yes, the street door had quietly closed. He rolled his wheeled chair back a few inches to be clear of his desk, preparing for action but eased up. He recognized the light, even footsteps coming up the staircase. A second later, Clemente Suarez appeared in the open doorway, rapping on the jamb with her knuckles. "Hello? Mr Sheng?"
Coming around his desk to greet her, Sheng placed a hand on the back of the guest chair. "Please, come right in," he said and saw her get settled. Clemente was wearing a nicely fitted light blue dress with a short skirt and a scoop neckline. Over her left shoulder was slung a rather small black vinyl handbag. Sheng did not betray by his bland expression his conclusion about the obvious weight of that bag, that it held a small caliber pistol.
Clemente was made up as she had not been the previous night, just subtle mascara and blush and a subdued lipstick but the difference was enough to make her quite glamorous. The long legs revealed were nicely toned, hinting again she kept in fine athletic trim.
Seeing Sheng's appraisal of their visitor, Uncle Pao cackled in Chinese, >"Fresh cheese has been placed in the bait, nephew."<
And Clemente immediately responded in Spanish, >"Let him guess what I am saying."<
The chagrin on Pao's face made Sheng laugh despite himself, "Come on, you two, stick to English. Anything new, miss?"
"Nothing happened to me all day at work. I didn't see any suspicious characters, no cars parked outside my house, nothing. Maybe your use of your desk as a weapon scared the Baron away."
Behind that massive desk again, Sheng folded his hands and leaned forward. "We haven't established our relationship yet. Are you a client with a task for me or are you just a concerned citizen informing me of a danger to the public?"
"I don't have much money, I'm just a working girl..."
Behind her, Uncle Pao opened his mouth for a remark, paused and then closed it silently. That was a first.
"Of course, you'd have to give me your real name first," Sheng said.
The young woman made absolutely no response, as if he had not spoken. Sheng added, "I spotted your partner in the doorway of the LUCKY PHOENIX gift shop across the street. At six feet five, it's hard to be inconspicuous."
"So I WAS followed...?"
"And I'm sure Troy is waiting for your signal to come help you," Sheng went on. "Listen, Miss Rivas, I don't see you as an antagonist in this situation. Your reputation as a retrieval expert is solid. I'm going with the premise that you came up against Shogren, decided he was a bit much to tangle with and decided to recruit me."
"Go on..."
"I don't mind. If the Baron is behind these faceless murders, I'd want to tackle him anyway and if you can lead me to him, so much the better."
Uncle Pao could not restrain himself any longer. >"Nephew, you seem to know this rascal?"<
In English, Sheng said, "This is Esperanza Rivas, called 'the Flower of the Night.' She and her giant sidekick Troy started as cigarette smugglers but settled down to become retrievers of stolen property for a substantial fee. They're good guys. More or less."
The young woman was holding herself straighter, shoulders back, head higher as she met Sheng's gaze. "Fair enough, I was hoping to keep a low profile. Last night, that throwback called me 'Flower,' which didn't help. But in any case, the situation hasn't changed. I'm as terrified by these face-eating deaths as any one else."
Sheng rose and quickly came around to the front of his desk. "Move over a bit. Someone's coming." No one there could tell but he was channeling the transcendental gralic force into his body, reinforcing it beyond a normal state. His skin and muscles and bones became denser to the point where small arms gunfire would sting but not penetrate and where baseball bats would break on him. He felt ready to face anything.
Two more of the big, intimidating men loomed into view in the hallway but they made no move to enter the office. They stood with their open hands palm outward at chest height in a stance meant to reassure that no violence was imminent. The sullen anger in their faces worked against that, though.U They peered inside the office suspiciously. Uncle Pao gave them a friendly wave, which did not seem to amuse them. Then the hulks stepped apart to reveal the strange little man they obeyed.
V.
Baron Egil Shogren stood only five feet tall, draped in a tan topcoat over a white lab smock. His thick white hair stood up in a stiff shock, matched by a bristly white mustache. Although he showed every sign of being East Asian, he spoke with a marked Swedish accent which caused an odd dissonance. "Mr Sheng Mo-Yuan? I thought it most expedient we meet in person."
"Really? Please come in," Sheng gave a polite half-bow, which the Baron returned, before moving back to stand behind his desk.
The two bodyguards remained just outside the office door, watching and ready. Shogren gave a nod to Esperanza before adjusting one of the plain chairs so that he was facing Sheng at a slight angle. "We are of course still in opposition, sir. My objectives clash with the values you Tel Shai knights espouse. Yet I think we may have a dialogue."
"Always ready to talk and negotiate," Sheng replied, but left it at that.
"For the past decade, I have been absorbed in pure research. The days of my more blatant criminal activities are behind me, for now at least. I was displeased when Miss Rivas here came to you. She bears an unfortunate but understandable grudge against me."
Seeing the hot venomous glare that she was fixing on the mastermind, Sheng agreed with that statement.
"These so-called faceless deaths are becoming more frequent," Shogren continued. "I believe they are not a natural phenomenon. They are a weaponized use of Zhune science! There are only four men alive who can activate the ancient Zhune artifacts. Alexander Grim is barely competent, he can be discounted. My spies tell me the Manchurian is preoccupied in Chyl. So that leaves my one real peer and rival... Hugh Lewis Sinclair."
"Cogitus!" hissed Esperanza Rivas, breaking her silence.
Shogren gave her a brief sideways glance. "I believe that Sinclair is learning how to target this Zhune effect. Very likely, he will cause a public panic with mass deaths and then extort millions from the authorities to cease. He has done so before..."
When the Baron's voice trailed off and his face became flushed, Sheng Mo-Yuan reacted instantly. His own body was locked into its impervious mode. Swinging around his desk, he caught Shogren as the man slumped limply out of his chair. Swarming over that red-tinged face were dozens of tiny crablike vermin the size of ticks.
For the next twenty seconds, Sheng worked furiously. His strong fingers, with skin harder than steel, pinched and crushed the creatures as quickly as he possibly could. The two bodyguards were slow to comprehend something so unexpected and horrifying. They had whipped out their handguns and drawn closer but were at a loss. Esperanza Rivas showed presence of mind by dropping to her knees and pinning Shogren's arms down so he could not interfere with Sheng's efforts.
Desperate piercing screams of terror rang out and echoed in the office, heard clearly in the street outside. But the entire ordeal lasted only half a minute. The enlarged dust mites stopped moving and dropped away, most dwindling down again to near-microscopic size. Esperanza still held Baron Shogren still as his chest heaved in hyperventilation.
Sheng rose shakily to his knees, gasping himself from the adrenalin. None of the vermin's bites had been able to break his skin. Shogren's face was ripped in a dozen places and the bites were swollen. Trying to help, Uncle Pao had fetched a wet washcloth and was dabbing at the wounds gently.
For long moments, no one spoke. Finally, everyone's breathing slowed to normal as they regained their nerves. Sheng rose, took a few steps and collapsed into a chair. The two bodyguards rather shamefacedly lifted their employer off the floor and stretched him out onto the leather case. "Boss?" asked one. "You gonna be okay?"
Finally, propping himself up on one arm, Baron Shogren managed to say, "I...think so. It burns! The venom is burning but no worse than a few hornet stings. I must get to my lab. Take me home, Bruno, Lars."
Despite her obvious hatred for the man, Esperanza gave Shogren a slightly sympathetic gaze. "Cogitus tried to kill you."
"Yes. Yes. He will pay for this, I swear it. Bruno, go bring the car to the front of this building. I think I can stand." The dark eyes beneath those bushy white brows were bloodshot. "And now I owe you my life, Mr Sheng! If you had not been here..."
Characteristically, Sheng had pulled up the knot in his tie and straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket now that the crisis had past. He smoothed his hair back with one hand. "I did what was right, Baron."
"Heh. I understand. You would have done the same for anyone under attack. Still, hold on to the debt I owe you, Mr Sheng. Some day you may need to call it in!" Supported by his gunman, the Baron walked unsteadily but determinedly from the office.
Uncle Pao quietly started the tea kettle on its hot plate. >"Well done, nephew. I have never seen you act so decisively. And our lovely young thief showed that there is a quick mind behind her pretty face."<
>"I suppose now is a good time to reveal that I DO speak a little Cantonese,"< Esperanza chuckled. >"I lived in Hong Kong for three years at the start of my career."<
2/7/2025
9/12-9/13/2010
I.
After a month, the novelty of having his own office was just beginning to wear off on Sheng. With his back to the fantail window overlooking Canal Street, he sat at his desk and gazed happily at the frosted glass panel of his door. Reversed from his viewpoint, the black letters and Chinese ideograms read CHUAN LO TSING - FIST FOR HIRE. ARGENT PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS 12 MIDNIGHT TO 8 AM, with a phone number.
Despite his name and his appearance, Sheng Mo-Yuan was not actually Chinese. He was from the adjacent realm of Chujir, whose inhabitants were thought by arcane scholars to be the ancient ancestors of the Han peoples. Sheng was five feet five, stocky but athletic, with the straight coarse black hair and tawny skin tones that led everyone to immediately decided he was East Asian. The inner eyelid fold was not very pronounced and his nose had an eagle arch that was distinctive. Sheng was also a snappy dresser, tonight he had chosen his favorite dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie, all carefully tailored.
Chujir was farther away from Canal Street than miles could measure, sundered from this world by gralic barriers. And yet here he had somehow semi-adopted new family. Sitting at his own smaller desk further back by the door, Uncle Pao was storming through a mess of opened letters as if he had lost money in it.
Pao had installed himself as an unofficial aide, nagging as much as helping. He had no fighting abilities nor clerical skill, but Pao did possess a keen understanding of human nature and a sharp sense of when clients were lying. Watching the office, taking messages, cooking meals were other ways in which Uncle Pao made himself useful.
Pao had met Sheng Mo-Yuan by chance only a few months earlier, had become became caught up in an investigation and immediately insisted that they were related. Sheng did not reveal that, since he had come from Chujir, he could not have any living relatives in the world. Instead, Sheng quickly accepted Uncle Pao, allowed the old man to start helping out at the FIST FOR HIRE offices and treated Pao as a genuine uncle. Maybe it only meant that Sheng missed having a family, since his teammates at the KDF were so unlike him culturally. In many ways, Uncle Pao resembled members of Sheng's real clan back in Chujir, both in appearance and in mannerisms. And he had learned enough Cantonese with the KDF to be able to converse easily with Pao. They were two lonely men who welcomed each other's company.
In a sudden burst of agitation, the old man shoved all the loose papers into the wide center drawer of his desk and slammed it shut. Hitting his mid-70s had dried him into a thin scarecrow in a white T-shirt and open black vest. Between the opaque-thick eyeglasses and wild white hair sticking out in random tufts, he was a colorful figure that distracted clients. As he sat fuming at his desk, he turned outraged eyes at his supposed nephew.
"Have you heard from your friend in Seattle again?" Sheng asked tentatively. "Miss Grace Liu?"
"Nephew, she was being insufferable on some cruise ship in Mexico the last I heard. When an eighty-four year old woman is left against her wishes at a random city, you know she has misbehaved. Something to do with making rude announcements over the PA system about the menus. Something about missing pets on stew days..."
On his own desk, Sheng still kept a landline phone because it fit his sense of what Private Eye decor should include. He did not smoke, but he had a vague urge to see his office filled with smoke swirling under the lazily turning overhead fan. That, and daylight slanting in through Venetian blinds would be a nice atmospheric touch. Before he could speak, the sound of the street door closing two floors beneath them caught his attention.
"Ah! Perhaps a client who will actually pay you?" asked Uncle Pao, then added "For once." But he did creak up on to his feet and went over to open the office door before seating himself again.
Light footsteps trotted up the staircase and a tall slender figure swung into the open doorway. A young woman in her twenties, wearing tight grey leggings and a baggy maroon sweater, stuck her head into sight. A long straight wing of jet black hair swung with the movement of her head as she glanced from side to side. "Mr Sheng?"
Rising and gesturing to an empty chair in front of his desk, Sheng said, "Please, come right in. I'm Sheng Mo-Yuan. Sometimes called Argent. This is my partner Sheng Pao. What brings you to us?"
"I'm in trouble, real trouble. Look at how my hands are shaking! My knees feel like rubber bands."
To his credit, Uncle Pao was immediately holding the chair for her and placing a reassuring palm against her upper back. "You are in good hands, miss."
"My name is Clemente, Clemente Suarez, I live in Queens. It's strange coming here at two in the morning, sir."
Sheng agreed. "I found most of my clients need help late at night, so I started keeping these hours. It's not called the Midnight War without good reason."
The young woman searched Sheng's face with desperation. "I'm ready for a complete meltdown, I'm freaking out, fuh-reaking out. It's the faceless deaths! You know about them, right? Faces without skin!"
II.
"Oh, yes."
"It's a scandal! Nothing on the news, nothing in the papers. Every mention on social media gets erased before you can even screencap it. Someone is covering up big time!"
>"The child speaks truth,"< Uncle Pao observed in Cantonese.
Clemente turned her head to give the old man a vexed look. Pao's desk had been deliberately situated far enough back that a client could not see both Pao and Sheng at the same time. This was useful for distractions and ruses. After fixing him with that reproof, she went back to facing Sheng. "But word on the street is very agitated."
Sheng's years of Kumundu martial arts training had taken in a dozen details about his visitor instantly. She was twenty-seven and in excellent health, with the steady heartbeat and clear respiration of a runner. Not the slightest tinge of alcohol or any kind of smoke on her. Her accent was third-generation Cuban-American. College level education. Grooming, hair and nails were neat but not overdone.
Clemente was pretty, to be sure, with perfect white teeth, a snub nose and natural arched eyebrows but she was not any more striking than many young women to be seen on city streets. What was catching Sheng's concern was the very real fear in her voice.
"I came to you because of all the wild stories I heard," she burst out. "You are called Argent, 'silver,' a knight of Tel Shai. They say you are bulletproof, that you can flip a car over on its side, that you can grab a cobra by the neck and that you can..."
"Whoa. Whoa. People exaggerate." Sheng raised both hands, palms out. "Come on, I've had some specialized training but I'm flesh and blood. Don't expect a sort of superman."
The truth was that Sheng was in fact capable of all that. His Argent gift enabled him to channel gralic force into his body for enhanced strength, speed or durability. But he could only exert one effect at a time. This was what qualified him to be a knight of Tel Shai and what had helped him survive the Midnight War.
In Cantonese, Uncle Pao added, >"Perhaps you should bend steel with one hand to impress the girl?"<
And in Spanish, Clemente promptly shot back, >"Who knows what improper comments your grandfather is making about me?"<
The shocked expression on Uncle Pao's face caught Sheng off-guard and launched him into full hearty laughter. He had become so used to the old man speaking in Cantonese so that visitors wouldn't understand that it seemed perfectly droll to see a reversal.
>"What did she say in her barbarian tongue?"< Pao sputtered.
"Now, Uncle, be fair. We all speak English well enough, don't we? Let's stick to that." Sheng turned back to their visitor. "I've gotten reports of at least eleven of these faceless deaths in the metropolitan area. Sudden and gruesome enough. Sometimes the victim is heard screaming and thrashing but usually the body is found isolated and already dead."
"With the skin eaten off the entire face!" Clemente said, shuddering. "Forehead to throat, but there it stops! And sometimes a handful of these horrid little crablike parasites are nearby, they are dead too! What does it mean? Is it a plague? A curse? A sign of the end times?!"
"I know the CDC has teams in Manhattan," said Sheng. "But they have released no statements."
Clemente leaned forward, lowering her voice. "I have information. My ex-husband, Marty, he was so shady and so dirty. I thought he was just an IT troubleshooter but he was working for a real, no-nonsense criminal mastermind. One of the most dangerous men in the world today."
"Stop being dramatic and give up a name," prompted Uncle Pao.
"Shogren," she said. "Baron Egil Shogren!"
From the open doorway behind her, a gruff voice growled, "Why'd ya have to say that name?"
Sheng Mo-Yuan had seldom been so completely disgusted with himself. Not only had he not reminded Uncle Pao to close and lock the office door, he had been letting himself pay too much attention to the pretty young Latina and not on his environment. Now, the big men in rough work clothes had crowded into his office. They were tough-looking enough, not obviously monsters but intimidating enough that guys in bars would step aside for them. Only one held a weapon openly, a Ruger Blackhawk revolver with a chrome finish.
"You gotta come back with us, Flower," he said. "You don't wanna see the mess."
Judging spaces and angles, Sheng quietly said, "Miss, take a few steps toward my Uncle, please."
Everyone was surprised by this. As she complied, she began to ask, "Why did you...?"
Sheng's desk was five feet high and thirty inches across, two hundred and seventy pounds of solid oak. He jumped to his feet, raised it overhead as if it were a sheet of plywood and slammed it down with murderous force on the three men. Bones cracked audibly. As the thugs groaned and gasped, he pressed down a moment for further results, then easily lifted the desk and restored it to its place. The gunmen sprawled where they were, arms and legs bent in unnatural angles.
A white-faced Clemente was rattling off, "Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our deaths..."
Uncle Pao had taken a plastic trash bag from his own desk and was helpfully collecting guns, knives, phones, keys and wallets from the injured men. A roll of twenties bound with a rubber band went unceremoniously into his own pocket. Seeing Sheng's sour glance, the old man explained, "Expenses."
One of the goons was mumbling that he was dying. Sheng knelt over him, "Cracked ribs, you'll be fine."
Clemente had regained her composure, "I guess... I guess some of the stories about you ARE true."
"The bad boys have to learn a little respect if I'm going to operate successfully," Sheng said. "Uncle, stay here with her." Grasping two of the battered men by their clothes, he dragged them not too tenderly out of the office and down the wide wooden staircase to the front lobby, then went back for the third. Sheng took the bag of confiscated items from Uncle Pao. He took a few minutes to
squeeze the gun barrels flat, bend the knife blades in a circle and snap the phones before hauling all three helpless men out to the sidewalk outside the Hartwicke Building.
At three on a Sunday morning, there was still an occasional car rolling past but no pedestrians in thus tourist area where everything had been closed for hours. Sheng knelt over the men. "I can see your minder across the street. He'll be taking you jokers to an ER or a shady crime surgeon. Here's my message, I'm not declaring war on the Baron. The girl and the old man ARE under my protection, though. We can stay out of each other's way for now. Tell him."
Going back upstairs to his office, he was relieved to find Uncle Pao had brewed a kettle of aromatic ginseng tea and had gotten Clemente nibbling his gingerbread sticks. Sheng drained a cup himself.
"How did you do that, anyway?" she asked. "That desk must weigh a ton but you used it like a flyswatter. I never saw anything so cool in my whole life."
"You should see what my friends in the KDF can do," he said. "So, your ex-husband used to work for Baron Shogren?"
"Yeah, he did IT work for maybe five, six years before leaving to go to Silicon Valley. I didn't believe half his stories. He said Shogren ran some big buildings full of research labs. Hundreds of people on staff. Shogren himself was kind of weird. He always dressed like a dentist with a white smock. And he looked Japanese but he spoke English with a strong Swedish accent for some reason!"
"Heh heh," chuckled Uncle Pao at his desk. "Remember that Japanese writer we met who grew up in Texas? Looked Samurai, talked Cowboy."
It turned out that Clemente had little useful information about Shogren's current activities. Her information was at least a year out of date. She had no real reason to connect Shogren with the faceless deaths, either. It had simply seemed like the sort of bizarre project he came up with.
By six-thirty, with light coming in the window and traffic outside in full blare, Clemente was obviously drooping.
"I'm running out of steam," she admitted. "I guess that's all I have to say, Mr Sheng."
"You've given me a lot of get started with," he replied tactfully. "Come on, you'll be safe from Shogren. The way his enforcers are in the hospital will make him try diplomacy." He escorted the young woman down to the street and saw her safely roll away in a blue-top taxi. Back in the office, he found Uncle Pao unfolding the thin flannel blanket they kept on the couch.
"You're not going back to your apartment, Uncle?"
"I think not! Here I can answer the phone and pick up the mail and turn down detective jobs from normal daytime people who pay money so you will be able to work for free and chase monsters under the stars. Also, my roommate Richard is getting on my nerves."
"Sounds like a plan." Sheng loosened his necktie and undid the top button of his shirt. "I'll grab some sleep in my rooms at KDF headquarters. I have to catch up with Sable about what the team has uncovered about these skinless face deaths, too."
"Do not listen to the damfool theories of the white-haired girl Unicorn," Pao said as he unlaced his shoes. "She is as crazy as a wild goose eating hashish."
Heading out the door, Sheng said, "Uncle, I can't disagree with you."
III.
Checking in to the KDF building on East 38th Street, Sheng went to his rooms on the third floor and enjoyed seven straight hours of deep dreamless sleep. At four that afternoon, he took a hot shower, pretended he needed to shave, and changed into more informal clothes of black sneakers, jeans and a dark green T-shirt, then reported to Sable's office. She was on the phone, and gestured at him to come back.
Just as well. Sheng went to the kitchen at the rear of the building. The refrigerator held half a roast beef that looked tempting. He fixed an immense sandwich with whole wheat bread, roast beef, provolone cheese, pickle chips and mayo. Adding a ten ounce tumbler of iced tea, he dug in with enthusiasm. As he was finishing, Sable beeped him on his Link. Sheng took the last remnant of his sandwich with him.
Sable's desk sat under a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. Often, she turned to gaze wistfully up at countries that no longer existed. At thirty-two, Lauren Sable Reilly had been captain of the KDF team for teams and thrived under the responsibility. She flashed her smile with its slight overbite at him. "You look like you're at your best today."
"Ready for anything, captain. Maybe I should fill you in what happened last night." He launched into a precise account of everything that had happened since Clemente had entered his office.
"I'm sorry I didn't get to see all that," Sable said. "I wouldn't expect violent retaliation against your client or your uncle. Shogren tends to be rather restrained in his responses. My reading is that he will send a representative to your office to actually negotiate."
"I'll meet him halfway if he plays nice," replied Sheng. "But I'm not up to speed about the team's progress with these faceless deaths?"
"Not nearly enough," Sable said. She went over everything that had happened with Megan and Ashley the night before. "Shale was operated on and is expected to make a full recovery," she added.
"I always wanted to run across him," Argent said. "He seemed to be too good to be true. My theory is that 'Merrick Shale' is actually a team. A detective, a combat expert, a scientist, maybe a few more men working together to pose as a a virtual superman."
"Could be, although I don't see the point. Then there's Unicorn's idea that he was raised by the Trom the way she was. That would explain how he could be a genius in so many disciplines."
Sheng made a scoffing sound. "I bet Megan doesn't like that idea, it'd make her less unique."
"They're both coming back on duty at seven. Josef is in Florida, looking into reports of Gator Joe. We could use a few new members, Sheng. I admire you setting up your Fist For Hire Agency, but with you as part-time one day a week, there's a bit of a vacancy...."
"New blood shows up unexpectedly," he objected. "I mean, I got drawn in by chance when Jeremy fought the Smiling Brethren. Both Ashley and Megan signed up as soon as they were old enough. I guarantee you that right now some newcomer is on the way."
"Let's hope so. Anyway. So far, I've got a list of twenty-eight confirmed cases of skinless face deaths. All within fifty miles of Manhattan. No common denominator at all in the victims. Completely random. Sudden seizure as these parasites swarm over the victims' faces, injecting toxin and chewing away epidermis. Then, the creatures die themselves and fall away. Most seem to vanish."
"That's really horrible," Sheng said. "I mean, we kind of get used to gruesome deaths in the Midnight War but still...."
"I agree with what Shale theorized," Sable told him. "These are a type of dust mite that live unseen in Human eyelashes and eyebrows. Something enlarges them thousands of times. They feed and then die without reproducing, which makes no sense biologically, and nearly all of them shrink back down so small that crime scene investigators overlook them."
"Not gralic magic? Megan said there was no gralic residue."
"No, no," Sable agreed. "I'm afraid this stinks of the lost science of Zhune again."
"I hate that stuff."
"Same here! It's so unpredictable. You can never even get prepared against its impossible effects. When Karl Eldritch died, everyone hoped the secrets of Zhune died with him. But two or three of our damn Mad Scientists are still fooling around with it. At least there are only a few possible suspects."
Sheng had been studying his impeccable fingernails. He looked up with a new grim intensity. "My guess, captain? The mastermind wants panic. The killings will be more numerous and more public until they can't be hushed up and hidden. Then he'll make his demands."
"Yes, Sheng. There's going to be a huge price extorted to stop the deaths."
Argent stood up. "Looks like we're working on the same case, captain."
IV.
At ten minutes to Midnight, Sheng locked and armed his beloved red Ferrari 458 Italia in a municipal parking lot and walked the four blocks to his office building. He was wearing a simple black business suit with a dark blue dress shirt. For once, he had loaded all his hidden slits and inner pockets with the tiny KDF gadgets and weapons, and he was wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under his clothes. When working on his own, Sheng preferred to rely more on his own inherent abilities but he had a feeling this faceless deaths business was more momentous than most of his own lesser level cases.
Reaching the Hartwicke Building, he saw a few lighted windows on the upper three floors, which were rent-controlled apartments for seniors. The bottom three stories held business such as a travel agency, computer repair shop and massage spa. Only the window of his own office showed yellow light as he passed beneath it. Deeply ingrained wariness made him search every doorway and check the interiors of every parked car that he neared. Surviving the Midnight War required an alertness no less acute than that needed for mundane war.
On the third floor landing, he could smell pungent fish cooking with peppers and ginger. Of course. Even as he opened his office door, he scolded, "Uncle! The landlord has warned us many times about using that hot plate."
"Bah! The people upstairs cook all the time. Boiled cabbage! Corned beef! At least I prepare Real Food. See how crisp the snow peas are."
Sheng stopped himself from mentioning that the office was not an apartment and in fact neither of them should have been sleeping there during the day because of regulations. Pao understood laws and rules only when suited his convenience. Instead of a dead end debate, he simply went over to his desk and thumbed without enthusiasm through the mail. Nothing of interest.
Gingerly lowering himself behind his own desk, Uncle Pao said, "Nephew, you had three phone calls. One was a man who wanted you to follow his wife all day to see how many lovers she has. I told him he was better off not knowing. Then there was your lawyer at the Taylor Worth agency reminding you of the deadline to file some motion for dismissal in one of your many court dates, I forget the details."
"Thank you, Uncle," Sheng said distantly, turning over the bills.
"And one MORE thing! A visitor tonight. That lunatic Baron Shogren said he will stop by to be sure there are no misunderstandings between you."
Sheng straightened up instantly, cocking his head to listen. Yes, the street door had quietly closed. He rolled his wheeled chair back a few inches to be clear of his desk, preparing for action but eased up. He recognized the light, even footsteps coming up the staircase. A second later, Clemente Suarez appeared in the open doorway, rapping on the jamb with her knuckles. "Hello? Mr Sheng?"
Coming around his desk to greet her, Sheng placed a hand on the back of the guest chair. "Please, come right in," he said and saw her get settled. Clemente was wearing a nicely fitted light blue dress with a short skirt and a scoop neckline. Over her left shoulder was slung a rather small black vinyl handbag. Sheng did not betray by his bland expression his conclusion about the obvious weight of that bag, that it held a small caliber pistol.
Clemente was made up as she had not been the previous night, just subtle mascara and blush and a subdued lipstick but the difference was enough to make her quite glamorous. The long legs revealed were nicely toned, hinting again she kept in fine athletic trim.
Seeing Sheng's appraisal of their visitor, Uncle Pao cackled in Chinese, >"Fresh cheese has been placed in the bait, nephew."<
And Clemente immediately responded in Spanish, >"Let him guess what I am saying."<
The chagrin on Pao's face made Sheng laugh despite himself, "Come on, you two, stick to English. Anything new, miss?"
"Nothing happened to me all day at work. I didn't see any suspicious characters, no cars parked outside my house, nothing. Maybe your use of your desk as a weapon scared the Baron away."
Behind that massive desk again, Sheng folded his hands and leaned forward. "We haven't established our relationship yet. Are you a client with a task for me or are you just a concerned citizen informing me of a danger to the public?"
"I don't have much money, I'm just a working girl..."
Behind her, Uncle Pao opened his mouth for a remark, paused and then closed it silently. That was a first.
"Of course, you'd have to give me your real name first," Sheng said.
The young woman made absolutely no response, as if he had not spoken. Sheng added, "I spotted your partner in the doorway of the LUCKY PHOENIX gift shop across the street. At six feet five, it's hard to be inconspicuous."
"So I WAS followed...?"
"And I'm sure Troy is waiting for your signal to come help you," Sheng went on. "Listen, Miss Rivas, I don't see you as an antagonist in this situation. Your reputation as a retrieval expert is solid. I'm going with the premise that you came up against Shogren, decided he was a bit much to tangle with and decided to recruit me."
"Go on..."
"I don't mind. If the Baron is behind these faceless murders, I'd want to tackle him anyway and if you can lead me to him, so much the better."
Uncle Pao could not restrain himself any longer. >"Nephew, you seem to know this rascal?"<
In English, Sheng said, "This is Esperanza Rivas, called 'the Flower of the Night.' She and her giant sidekick Troy started as cigarette smugglers but settled down to become retrievers of stolen property for a substantial fee. They're good guys. More or less."
The young woman was holding herself straighter, shoulders back, head higher as she met Sheng's gaze. "Fair enough, I was hoping to keep a low profile. Last night, that throwback called me 'Flower,' which didn't help. But in any case, the situation hasn't changed. I'm as terrified by these face-eating deaths as any one else."
Sheng rose and quickly came around to the front of his desk. "Move over a bit. Someone's coming." No one there could tell but he was channeling the transcendental gralic force into his body, reinforcing it beyond a normal state. His skin and muscles and bones became denser to the point where small arms gunfire would sting but not penetrate and where baseball bats would break on him. He felt ready to face anything.
Two more of the big, intimidating men loomed into view in the hallway but they made no move to enter the office. They stood with their open hands palm outward at chest height in a stance meant to reassure that no violence was imminent. The sullen anger in their faces worked against that, though.U They peered inside the office suspiciously. Uncle Pao gave them a friendly wave, which did not seem to amuse them. Then the hulks stepped apart to reveal the strange little man they obeyed.
V.
Baron Egil Shogren stood only five feet tall, draped in a tan topcoat over a white lab smock. His thick white hair stood up in a stiff shock, matched by a bristly white mustache. Although he showed every sign of being East Asian, he spoke with a marked Swedish accent which caused an odd dissonance. "Mr Sheng Mo-Yuan? I thought it most expedient we meet in person."
"Really? Please come in," Sheng gave a polite half-bow, which the Baron returned, before moving back to stand behind his desk.
The two bodyguards remained just outside the office door, watching and ready. Shogren gave a nod to Esperanza before adjusting one of the plain chairs so that he was facing Sheng at a slight angle. "We are of course still in opposition, sir. My objectives clash with the values you Tel Shai knights espouse. Yet I think we may have a dialogue."
"Always ready to talk and negotiate," Sheng replied, but left it at that.
"For the past decade, I have been absorbed in pure research. The days of my more blatant criminal activities are behind me, for now at least. I was displeased when Miss Rivas here came to you. She bears an unfortunate but understandable grudge against me."
Seeing the hot venomous glare that she was fixing on the mastermind, Sheng agreed with that statement.
"These so-called faceless deaths are becoming more frequent," Shogren continued. "I believe they are not a natural phenomenon. They are a weaponized use of Zhune science! There are only four men alive who can activate the ancient Zhune artifacts. Alexander Grim is barely competent, he can be discounted. My spies tell me the Manchurian is preoccupied in Chyl. So that leaves my one real peer and rival... Hugh Lewis Sinclair."
"Cogitus!" hissed Esperanza Rivas, breaking her silence.
Shogren gave her a brief sideways glance. "I believe that Sinclair is learning how to target this Zhune effect. Very likely, he will cause a public panic with mass deaths and then extort millions from the authorities to cease. He has done so before..."
When the Baron's voice trailed off and his face became flushed, Sheng Mo-Yuan reacted instantly. His own body was locked into its impervious mode. Swinging around his desk, he caught Shogren as the man slumped limply out of his chair. Swarming over that red-tinged face were dozens of tiny crablike vermin the size of ticks.
For the next twenty seconds, Sheng worked furiously. His strong fingers, with skin harder than steel, pinched and crushed the creatures as quickly as he possibly could. The two bodyguards were slow to comprehend something so unexpected and horrifying. They had whipped out their handguns and drawn closer but were at a loss. Esperanza Rivas showed presence of mind by dropping to her knees and pinning Shogren's arms down so he could not interfere with Sheng's efforts.
Desperate piercing screams of terror rang out and echoed in the office, heard clearly in the street outside. But the entire ordeal lasted only half a minute. The enlarged dust mites stopped moving and dropped away, most dwindling down again to near-microscopic size. Esperanza still held Baron Shogren still as his chest heaved in hyperventilation.
Sheng rose shakily to his knees, gasping himself from the adrenalin. None of the vermin's bites had been able to break his skin. Shogren's face was ripped in a dozen places and the bites were swollen. Trying to help, Uncle Pao had fetched a wet washcloth and was dabbing at the wounds gently.
For long moments, no one spoke. Finally, everyone's breathing slowed to normal as they regained their nerves. Sheng rose, took a few steps and collapsed into a chair. The two bodyguards rather shamefacedly lifted their employer off the floor and stretched him out onto the leather case. "Boss?" asked one. "You gonna be okay?"
Finally, propping himself up on one arm, Baron Shogren managed to say, "I...think so. It burns! The venom is burning but no worse than a few hornet stings. I must get to my lab. Take me home, Bruno, Lars."
Despite her obvious hatred for the man, Esperanza gave Shogren a slightly sympathetic gaze. "Cogitus tried to kill you."
"Yes. Yes. He will pay for this, I swear it. Bruno, go bring the car to the front of this building. I think I can stand." The dark eyes beneath those bushy white brows were bloodshot. "And now I owe you my life, Mr Sheng! If you had not been here..."
Characteristically, Sheng had pulled up the knot in his tie and straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket now that the crisis had past. He smoothed his hair back with one hand. "I did what was right, Baron."
"Heh. I understand. You would have done the same for anyone under attack. Still, hold on to the debt I owe you, Mr Sheng. Some day you may need to call it in!" Supported by his gunman, the Baron walked unsteadily but determinedly from the office.
Uncle Pao quietly started the tea kettle on its hot plate. >"Well done, nephew. I have never seen you act so decisively. And our lovely young thief showed that there is a quick mind behind her pretty face."<
>"I suppose now is a good time to reveal that I DO speak a little Cantonese,"< Esperanza chuckled. >"I lived in Hong Kong for three years at the start of my career."<
2/7/2025
no subject
Esperanza only appears in one other story, 2017's "Starve Goat Island," but at least she has some good scenes and gets things done there. I must add a twist or two to this story to justify including her.