"Five of the Ugliest Crooks You Ever Saw"
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dochermes"Five of the Ugliest Crooks You Ever Saw"
4/5/2012
I.
Sheng had a strong suspicion right away that Peter Galliano was completely insane. When they first met, the infamous criminal turned his head and said to his own left shoulder, "What do you think of this Argent guy?" Galliano then continued in a higher-pitched voice, "I don't trust him, Pete, I think he's trouble." Nodding, the infamous mastermind said in his normal voice, "Yeah. I think you're right, Pete."
Behind Sheng, ancient Uncle Pao muttered in Cantonese, >"Choose your words carefully, nephew. This one is even crazier than that Punster fool."<
"Ah... yes. Won't you have a seat and tell me what brings you here?" Sheng offered in the most casual voice he could muster. His own cluttered desk sat in front of a fan-shaped window that looked down on lower Canal Street, but a smaller desk had been set up for Uncle Pao to one side and slightly behind where clients sat. This was actually a useful arrangement. The old man could distract clients at appropriate times with a comment that made them turn their heads toward him, giving Sheng a moment to think or hide something or to go for a weapon. It also allowed Uncle Pao to make disrespectful faces at whatever the clients said, a pastime he enjoyed very much.
Dropping down into his swivel chair, Sheng Mo-Yuan had a feeling this was going to be a long night. He kept the unusual hours of Midnight to eight AM because of the nature of the cases he handled. He unbuttoned his light brown suit jacket as he sat and decided to loosen the knot on his tan necktie and undo the top button on his yellow shirt. For some reason, he wanted to hear what Peter Galliano had to say.
Even side from his disquieting habit of thinking his left shoulder was another person, the crime boss was not a charming presence. About forty, of average height and build, Galliano had thinnning brown hair swept straight back off a high forehead and wire-rimmed glasses on a nose that resembled a badly peeled potato. He was well dressed, but in a lower management office-drone sort of way.
Glancing toward the brute who stood filling the doorway, Uncle Pao added in Cantonese, >"I believe that man's face was pushed in with a rock and pulled back out again with pliers."< It was true that the bodyguard was exceptionally ugly but this unkind remark struck Sheng as funny. He fought down a snort and tried to disguise it as clearing his throat.
Galliano cocked his head toward his left shoulder, said, "What's that, Pete? Uh-huh." Then he jerked a thumb toward the scrawny old white-haired man seated to his side. "We don't think your friend should speak in Chinese. We don't know what he's saying. It's not polite."
"I'm sorry," Sheng said. "My uncle has not been in this country long. Now, Mr Galliano, what is that Argent Investigations can help you with?"
"May I speak freely? Without incriminating myself? Well, I am interested in a class of criminals unrelated to the racketeers and mobsters who handle gambling, drugs, human trafficking, that sort of thing. Those represent 'organized crime,' the underbelly of society. Their existence is a shame but then, their activities answer certain needs that regular citizens want filled... Excuse me." He conferred with his left shoulder in a whisper. The remarks from his shoulder came in that high-pitched squeak.
Looking past Galliano, Sheng saw Uncle Pao giving an apalled facial expression. The old man shook his head from side to side and rolled his eyes up in his head while mouthing the words 'No! No! No!'. To be honest, this was not an extreme reaction for Pao, who acted the same way when Sheng suggested they try some pizza from the all-night place down the street.
"Sorry," Galliano went on. "My partner suggests I get on with it. I'm concerned with a group of maybe a dozen independent masterminds. They plan and act on their own. Most of them hire a few strong-arm specialists to act as henchmen, some have a regular squad of shall we say thugs to handle the physical side of their heists and swindles. I'm sure you have heard of some of them. The Pelican. Casey Strangle. Pumpkin-face. Don Coyote. The Punster..."
Seeing that his guest was waiting for a reaction, Sheng hastened to say, "Of course. I am very interested. Please go on."
"Several of them meet at ten of o'clock on the first Tuesday of each month," Galliano said. "Speaking for our team of Pete and Repeat, we would like to find out what dubious activities they are up to then. I'm afraid that if your presence is detected, you would be murdered immediately."
"And considering that it's Monday night now... or actually Tuesday morning, since it's after twelve," Sheng added, "I'm not going to have much time to think this over."
"And miss seeing another one of these human oddities? I don't think so,"< replied the old man with a snort.
The side panel slid open to reveal two men seat in the back of the van. One was a thin, serious-looking sort with glasses down on the end of his nose, also holding up a phone. But the other was a startling sight indeed. He had thinning white hair brushed straight back, a long pointed nose and 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. A black suit jacket over a white shirt and white slacks added to his remarkable appearance.
"You're called Argent, I believe," the Pelican said. "I have seen you around Chinatown but I didn't think our ah, careers would intersect."
"Oh, I have nothing against you," replied Sheng. "Gambling is not my area of interest. As far as I know, you have never been involved with any violence."
"And violence is your business, eh? Catching serial killers and the so-called creatures of the night? Well, then, what can I do for you?"
Sheng held up his open hands in an appeasing gesture. "I have been retained to get some information. Specifically, my client wants to know what you and a few of your colleagues do on the first Tuesday of each month."
"Well. Of all the damned gall. Young man, it would be much wiser if you did not pry into my business this way." The Pelican raised a finger and jabbed it at the young Chujiran. "I may be a man of peace but some of my acquaintances are definitely not. Take this as a friendly warning, meant for your well-being."
"Sure. I appreciate that. But I am obligated to ask."
Uncle Pao leaned past Sheng to peer at the Pelican. "I believe you have handled bets for many of my friends. The Ching family on Mott Street, yes? They say you have the greatest memory ever known."
"Well... I wouldn't go that far," the mastermind said with a pleased grin. "I do have a certain talent which I try to put to good use. Are you related to Ching Fan-Lo, by any chance?"
"Only through the marriage of second cousins," Pao answered. "But gossip is a hobby of the elderly. I hear that you never write anything down, that you keep the details of thousands of bets all in your head with never a mistake. Is this exaggeration?"
For some reason, the Pelican seemed to be warming up to Uncle Pao. "It's quite true. It's my one consolation in life. I was never athletic or skilled with my hands or lucky with women. My memory is my gift. Perhaps I will run into you in Chinatown at some point, sir."
"Ha ha, it is quite possible. I must say the weakness of my people is gambling. We will bet our last coin on which way a leaf falls in the breeze."
"So true," said the master of odds. "In any case, I must bid you both goodnight. It is prudent for me to move around. Bruno, let's go." As he reached up to pull the panel shut, the Pelican said, "I don't wish you any harm, Mr Argent, but you really should be careful who you approach in the badlands."
As the van backed up and exited the parking lot, Uncle Pao clapped his hands. >"This is better than a circus sideshow! Are there any more of these strange-looking criminals?"<
"Sure, dozens," Sheng replied in English. "Thanks for distracting the driver, Uncle. Even if Pumpkin-Face and the Pelican won't talk, tomorrow night they'll lead us to the answers just the same."
IV.
Back at the office, Sheng phoned Pete and Repeat, filling the schizoid gangster in on what he had learned. He assured Pete that he would almost certainly be able to track Pumpkin-Face and the Pelican's whereabouts that night. To his surprise and discomfort, Sheng then heard Pete demand to go with him. Along with a bodyguard. Although Sheng protested, Galliano persisted and finally wore him down.
Uncle Pao listened in on the office extension whether he was supposed to or not. Now, he hung up after Sheng did. >"Nothing goes easily, nephew."<
"You're not kidding," Sheng grumbled. "Fooey. Oh well. You know what, I'm closing shop for tonight. I've got enough to think about."
Uncle Pao rose and stretched, making abominable cracking noises from every joint as he did so. >"Where will you be?"<
"I think I'm going to my rooms at the KDF building. Get a few hours sleep," Sheng said. "I need to catch up with the team anyway. Sable said she had a few reports from other members she wants to fill me in on. I can also dig into KDF files to see what I can find about this bunch of nuts. Pete and Repeat, the Pelican, Pumpkin-Face.... Ugh. They're as hard to look at as actual monsters."
>"Then I believe I will remain here until eight," said Pao. >"I can nap on the couch and if another new client appears, I will at least get their name and situation for you."<
>"Thank you, Uncle,"< Sheng replied in Cantonese as he headed for the door.
>"Most likely, your new client will be a lovely woman in the full bloom of her youth. But you will not be here to meet her."<
Sheng laughed out loud and went out into the hall without further comment. Out on Canal Street, he waved down a stray taxi and rode to East 38th Street. No one seemed to be up at the KDF headquarters building. He punched in his code on the hidden keypad by the front door and went straight up to his rooms on the third floor. Seven straight hours of sleep did him a world of good. After a steaming hot shower and changing into more casual jeans and dark green T-shirt, Sheng trotted down the stairs to find his captain at her desk in the office by the front door.
This was the other half of Sheng's life. Most nights he could be found in his office at the Argent Investigations Agency, also known as 'Chuan Lo Tsing' ('Fist For Hire' in Chinese). But two days a week, he was on duty at the Kenneth Dred Foundation where he had stepped down to part-time status and he was also on call for the KDF in case of emergencies. So he was kept busy hopping from one crisis to another, which was how he liked it. 'Better to burn out than to rust out,' he thought.
The rest of that day was spent being briefed by Sable on recent KDF cases and then catching up on MIdnight War gossip. There had been a lot of weird events going on that summer, most notably Bane's close call with a Sulla Chun in New Mexico two months earlier. At three, Unicorn and Trom Girl returned from a disappointing hunt for a Skinwalker which had been reported upstate. They had found nothing, "not even a stray dog" as Unicorn whined. The four teammates ordered out from a nearby Italian restaurant and ate voraciously while talking. Finally, as dusk was approaching, Sheng announced he had to get back to the case he already had underway. He could not fill his friends in on details at the moment, but he assured them that so far events had been more colorful than dangerous.
Back up in his rooms, Sheng changed into a dark blue business suit with a lighter blue shirt and black tie, pleased at the tailoring. He was fussy about clothes, and the width of the lapels or where the cuffs reached mattered a good deal to him. Saying goodbye to his teammates, he started walking south as he thought over all the information he had taken in that day. Sometimes it sank in how uneventful his early life had been in that sleepy village in Chujir, a realm where electrical devices or internal combustion engines would not function and which remained at a medieval level. Once Sifu Tang Ming had introduced him to Jeremy Bane and then showed him this real world beyond, Sheng had been living at a gallop.
Enjoying the walk, he continued toward downtown at a moderate pace. What a bunch of screwballs he was dealing with, he thought more in amusement than unease. Pete and Repeat, Pumpkin-Face, the Pelican. Who else would turn up? Well, as long as it wasn't some murderous maniac like Sepulcher or Avathor, he wouldn't complain. He reached Chinatown and, even though he looked Asian enough that Chinese took him as one of them, he still felt alien. Uncle Pao was not really his uncle, of course. Sheng had explained about Chujir many times but the old man shrugged it off. As far as he was concerned, Sheng WAS Chinese and a nephew because by coincidence they shared the same family name. By now, Sheng had accepted this and come to enjoy the old man's cranky and unpredictable company.
The Hartwicke Building was over one hundred years old and looked it. Even after a thunderstorm, the windows were dingy and the stone blocks stained. Inside the recessed doorway was a board listing the building's occupants with a button to buzz them so that the glass door would unlock. Right between SUNNY DAY SPA and PERKINS BROTHERS BAILS BONDSMEN was his own ARGENT INVESTIGATIONS. During daytime, the door was often left unlocked and today it was actually propped open by a wooden wedge in a brave attempt to let some fresh air into the musty interior. Feeling warmed up and energetic after his walk, Sheng started briskly up the stairs but slowed as he neared the third floor landing. Something felt wrong.
Suddenly stern, the young Chujiran strode up the final steps with a pugnacious expression on his normally bland face. Now what? To his right as he reached the third floor, the frosted panel door to his office was wide open and before it stood still another grotesque denizen of the land beyond the law. This was a man with short blond hair and fair freckled skin, wearing a plain white T-shirt and slacks. He was of medium height, no more than an inch or so taller than Sheng but it was his arms and hands which inevitably drew attention.
Those bare arms were thick and sinewy, with long ropy muscles and tendons running from elbow to wrist. The hands were monstrous, twice normal size, thick-fingered and covered with white scars. When the man glimpsed Sheng, his hands opened and snapped shut like traps. "Glad you're here," the man said. "I been waiting fer hours."
"Where is the old man who was in the office?" Sheng growled with unexpected intensity.
"Aw, he's fine. Him and me, we chatted for a while. Look for yourself."
Peeking out from behind the big-fisted thug, Uncle Pao waved cheerfully. >"Hello, nephew! Just another work day, eh?"<
Relieved that Pao was not only unharmed but in good spirits, the man called Argent moved closer to the stranger. "I think I'd remember meeting you, pal."
"Maybe you heard of me. Casey Strangle. I been in the business a while. Listen, word is that nut Pete Galliano has you poking around in private business. I'll come right out and say there's no crime involved in that Tuesday night thing you want to know about it. No one is getting hurt. So lay off."
"Too late for that now," Sheng said. He stepped closer and, as he expected, Casey Strangle's huge paws opened and darted for his neck. They were stopped short in mid-strike as Sheng intertwined his own fingers with those thick rods of bone and hard flesh. The thug's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.
"Surprise," said Sheng. He could feel the goon's grip tightening on his fingers with a force that could easily snap bones of an ordinary hand. But he was drawing on his Argent power, channeling gralic force to enhance his strength beyond what doctors would say was possible. Sheng could use his gift to become faster or stronger or more resilient than normal, but he could only draw on one attribute at a time.
A long breathless minute held as the two men stood their ground, straining and concentrating. Fear rushed suddenly over Casey Strangle's face and he cried out as he released his grasp and fell back a few steps. "I don't believe it. My mitts are big enough to swallow yours but I could feel my fingers starting to break...!"
"There is more to strength than size alone," Sheng said, letting the gralic charge ease from his body. "Listen. I'm not out to arrest anyone or cause trouble. I've been retained to get some information. That's all. If nothing overtly criminal is going on, your friends needn't worry. You can tell them that."
The thug kneaded his massive paws together gingerly. "Goddam. How'd you do that? Some kind of Oriental secret technique like the death touch?"
"Never mind that. Just give the message to your pals," Sheng said. "I'd like to think that I have some reputation by now for standing by what I say."
"Yeah, sure." Casey Strangle moved past the Chujiran and started slowly down the stairs. His slumped shoulders and bowed head showed a sense of defeat that would have been comical had he not been such a brute who had abused so many others. Sheng waited until he clearly heard the street door slam shut before turning to see Uncle Pao grinning at him.
"Did you stay in the office all day?" Sheng asked. "You haven't been to your apartment since Sunday."
"Ehhh, Richard is getting difficult. Every day he has a new pain and a new symptom of some horrible disease. I sit there and listen to him worry. He is only three years my senior, you understand, but he has not taken care of himself as I have."
"Roommate problems among the elderly," laughed Sheng. "Oh well. Anything interesting happen other than that Casey Strangle guy showing up?"
Pao moved aside to allow Sheng to enter the office. The big semi-circular window behind the desk was black now as night had fallen. "A few phone calls. Nothing urgent. A threat from the Winter Snow school. That lawyer Taylor Worth wants you to sign some forms. Some one named Dolores wants to know why you never got in touch. Oh, and one MORE thing."
"Yeah?"
"That lunatic who talks to his left shoulder will be here at eight o'clock. Both of his voices sounded worried."
"Sheesh," muttered Sheng as he went to his desk. "I know I wanted to specialize in unusual cases but really...!"
V.
Sheng had not wanted to risk his beloved red Ferrari 458 Italia with such unstable passengers as Peter Galliano and his brutish bodyguard. Instead, he had taken one of the KDF cars. A silver Subaru Outback fitted with Kevlar body panels, bulletproof windows and a few useful gadgets. With the two gangsters in the rear and Uncle Pao cheerfully occupying the passenger seat, the conversation on the long ride through the darkened city had been surreal to say the least.
Parking on a side street near the Battery at the lower end of Manhattan, Sheng had pointed out a darkened structure which sat in its own parking lot adjoining the East RIver. It was a long low building with a sign on its roof which read OPENING SOON - HAPPY HARBOR SEAFOOD RESTAURANT. Five vehicles were parked in a row alongside the building, three being long elegant LIncoln town cars and another the specialized van belonging to the Pelican. The fifth was a bright canary yellow Maserati with a spoiler. As they watched, two men who had been circling the restaurant met and spoke together briefly before continuing their rounds.
In the front passenger seat, Uncle Pao studied the flat electronic device one final time. On its illuminated screen, a grid map of the neighborhood glowed as green lines. Two red blips blinked next to each other. The old man chortled and shut the scanner off.
From the back seat, a high querulous voice squeaked. Galliano said, "Sure, I'll ask them. Hey. My partner wants to know what kind of range these tracers of yours have."
"Sorry,"answered Sheng. "I am sworn not to discuss KDF equipment."
"But you stuck some sort of little gizmo under Pumpkin-Face and the Pelican's cars, right? And you followed a radio signal they gave of, right?"
Sheng made no answer. He held up a complex handgun with a needle-thin barrel and clicked its mechanism. "This might take a few minutes," he told the two in the back seat. "Everyone stay put. Uncle Pao can entertain with stories of his youth back in Hong Kong if you like. "
With that, Argent stepped out of the car, took three steps and seemed to evaporate into the night.
"Hey, what the hell? How did he do that? I was lookin' right at him " sputtered Galliano.
"The Japanese ninja and the Brumal of Androval stole their secrets of stealth from knights of Tel Shai," Pao laughed. "Some say even the Shaolin masters imitated what they saw Kumundu masters perform."
"Huh? What?"
"My nephew has learned arts that date back thirty thousand years," explained the old man with pride he never expressed in front of Sheng himself."
Ten minutes crept by with glacial slowness. The boyguard began chewing gum, which did not improve the situation. Then the driver's door opened from outside and Sheng stuck his head inside the car. No one had seen him approach.
"Gahh!" squawked Galliano. "Don't DO that!"
"It's all clear," Sheng announced, "So everyone follow me and don't make a sound."
With the three men getting out of the car and following him, Sheng led the way around the outer perimeter of the parking lot, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. When they started circling around to the rear of the HAPPY HARBOR restaurant, they passed a big man in dark clothing propped up against a tree.
Galliano's secondary voice started to squeak but Sheng shushed him vehemently. "Quiet, both of you," he hissed, " That guy will be asleep an hour yet."
"I heard about them darts you guys use," Galliano whispered.
They stole past two more of the drugged sentries before creeping up to the rear wall of the restaurant. Here was a propane tank and a dumpster. Two curtained windows were lit, with a plain wooden door between them. Sheng waved for everyone to stand well off to one side. Before he reached for the door handle, he willed his body to its most impervious. With bones dense as stone and skin like steel, Sheng swung the door open and immediately got smacked between the eyes with a .22 caliber bullet.
Even braced for the half-expected impact, his head snapped back and he swayed but stayed on his feet. "Hey!" he yelled, "Take it easy!"
Leaping up around the circular table in that room were five hideous figures and one gorgeous blonde. She was not much over five feet tall, with a shock of platinum-white hair and a silenced Walther P22 in one hand. "What, you again? Are the other Tel Shai nuts with you?"
"It's just me," Sheng answered, rubbbing the sore spot between his eyebrows. "Damn it. Dandelion, do you always shoot anyone who opens a door?!"
"Sorry." She didn't sound sorry. Lowering her gun, the most dangerous assassin of her era tilted her head quizzically. "Anyway, how did you even get this far? Where are all the watchmen?"
"They're fine, they'll wake up soon." Crowding up behind him, Uncle Pao stared at the crowd around that table. Aside from the very pretty Dandelion, there was the immense bulk of Pumpkin-Face, the grotesque Pelican and equally bizarre Casey Strangle. Also present was an obese man about sixty years old and those had not been not wisely spent years judging by the red bulbous nose and thinning white-blond hair. He wore a dark green suit with thin white pinstripes, a hideous carnation-red shirt with a floppy yellow bow tie and a white beaver hat with a tassel that swung as he moved his head. Violet-colored gloves with rolled cuffs were the final jarring touch. Next to Doc Valentine was a man who would have been unremarkable if not for the fact that his hands did not match his sleek Latino face or each other. Dos Manos had one hand that had belonged to an elderly Asian martial artist and the other had been taken from a member of the Night Gorilla sect of Danarak.
>"Five of the ugliest crooks you ever saw,"< Pao laughed.
In flawless Cantonese, Dandelion scoffed, >"I hope you're not referring to ME, Grandfather."<
>"Oh. Excuse me, young lady,"< said Uncle Pao. >"I did not expect anyone to understand my words."<
"I've been around," she said in English. "Hey, isn't that Pete and Repeat behind you? You guys have got some nerve crashing our game."
"Game... ?"
"Sure, what do you think?" Dandelion said. Without putting her gun away, she went back to her chair. Everyone else had settled down following her lead, but still watching the newcomers closely. The large round tabletop was crowded with playing cards, stacks of money, beer bottles and bowls of pretzels. Several of the masterminds had been smoking and using bottle caps as ashtrays.
In his inimitable drawl, Doc Valentine said, "Confound it, lads, as long as you have so brazenly intruded, you might as well play some poker with us."
4/5/2019
4/5/2012
I.
Sheng had a strong suspicion right away that Peter Galliano was completely insane. When they first met, the infamous criminal turned his head and said to his own left shoulder, "What do you think of this Argent guy?" Galliano then continued in a higher-pitched voice, "I don't trust him, Pete, I think he's trouble." Nodding, the infamous mastermind said in his normal voice, "Yeah. I think you're right, Pete."
Behind Sheng, ancient Uncle Pao muttered in Cantonese, >"Choose your words carefully, nephew. This one is even crazier than that Punster fool."<
"Ah... yes. Won't you have a seat and tell me what brings you here?" Sheng offered in the most casual voice he could muster. His own cluttered desk sat in front of a fan-shaped window that looked down on lower Canal Street, but a smaller desk had been set up for Uncle Pao to one side and slightly behind where clients sat. This was actually a useful arrangement. The old man could distract clients at appropriate times with a comment that made them turn their heads toward him, giving Sheng a moment to think or hide something or to go for a weapon. It also allowed Uncle Pao to make disrespectful faces at whatever the clients said, a pastime he enjoyed very much.
Dropping down into his swivel chair, Sheng Mo-Yuan had a feeling this was going to be a long night. He kept the unusual hours of Midnight to eight AM because of the nature of the cases he handled. He unbuttoned his light brown suit jacket as he sat and decided to loosen the knot on his tan necktie and undo the top button on his yellow shirt. For some reason, he wanted to hear what Peter Galliano had to say.
Even side from his disquieting habit of thinking his left shoulder was another person, the crime boss was not a charming presence. About forty, of average height and build, Galliano had thinnning brown hair swept straight back off a high forehead and wire-rimmed glasses on a nose that resembled a badly peeled potato. He was well dressed, but in a lower management office-drone sort of way.
Glancing toward the brute who stood filling the doorway, Uncle Pao added in Cantonese, >"I believe that man's face was pushed in with a rock and pulled back out again with pliers."< It was true that the bodyguard was exceptionally ugly but this unkind remark struck Sheng as funny. He fought down a snort and tried to disguise it as clearing his throat.
Galliano cocked his head toward his left shoulder, said, "What's that, Pete? Uh-huh." Then he jerked a thumb toward the scrawny old white-haired man seated to his side. "We don't think your friend should speak in Chinese. We don't know what he's saying. It's not polite."
"I'm sorry," Sheng said. "My uncle has not been in this country long. Now, Mr Galliano, what is that Argent Investigations can help you with?"
"May I speak freely? Without incriminating myself? Well, I am interested in a class of criminals unrelated to the racketeers and mobsters who handle gambling, drugs, human trafficking, that sort of thing. Those represent 'organized crime,' the underbelly of society. Their existence is a shame but then, their activities answer certain needs that regular citizens want filled... Excuse me." He conferred with his left shoulder in a whisper. The remarks from his shoulder came in that high-pitched squeak.
Looking past Galliano, Sheng saw Uncle Pao giving an apalled facial expression. The old man shook his head from side to side and rolled his eyes up in his head while mouthing the words 'No! No! No!'. To be honest, this was not an extreme reaction for Pao, who acted the same way when Sheng suggested they try some pizza from the all-night place down the street.
"Sorry," Galliano went on. "My partner suggests I get on with it. I'm concerned with a group of maybe a dozen independent masterminds. They plan and act on their own. Most of them hire a few strong-arm specialists to act as henchmen, some have a regular squad of shall we say thugs to handle the physical side of their heists and swindles. I'm sure you have heard of some of them. The Pelican. Casey Strangle. Pumpkin-face. Don Coyote. The Punster..."
Seeing that his guest was waiting for a reaction, Sheng hastened to say, "Of course. I am very interested. Please go on."
"Several of them meet at ten of o'clock on the first Tuesday of each month," Galliano said. "Speaking for our team of Pete and Repeat, we would like to find out what dubious activities they are up to then. I'm afraid that if your presence is detected, you would be murdered immediately."
"And considering that it's Monday night now... or actually Tuesday morning, since it's after twelve," Sheng added, "I'm not going to have much time to think this over."
"And miss seeing another one of these human oddities? I don't think so,"< replied the old man with a snort.
The side panel slid open to reveal two men seat in the back of the van. One was a thin, serious-looking sort with glasses down on the end of his nose, also holding up a phone. But the other was a startling sight indeed. He had thinning white hair brushed straight back, a long pointed nose and 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. A black suit jacket over a white shirt and white slacks added to his remarkable appearance.
"You're called Argent, I believe," the Pelican said. "I have seen you around Chinatown but I didn't think our ah, careers would intersect."
"Oh, I have nothing against you," replied Sheng. "Gambling is not my area of interest. As far as I know, you have never been involved with any violence."
"And violence is your business, eh? Catching serial killers and the so-called creatures of the night? Well, then, what can I do for you?"
Sheng held up his open hands in an appeasing gesture. "I have been retained to get some information. Specifically, my client wants to know what you and a few of your colleagues do on the first Tuesday of each month."
"Well. Of all the damned gall. Young man, it would be much wiser if you did not pry into my business this way." The Pelican raised a finger and jabbed it at the young Chujiran. "I may be a man of peace but some of my acquaintances are definitely not. Take this as a friendly warning, meant for your well-being."
"Sure. I appreciate that. But I am obligated to ask."
Uncle Pao leaned past Sheng to peer at the Pelican. "I believe you have handled bets for many of my friends. The Ching family on Mott Street, yes? They say you have the greatest memory ever known."
"Well... I wouldn't go that far," the mastermind said with a pleased grin. "I do have a certain talent which I try to put to good use. Are you related to Ching Fan-Lo, by any chance?"
"Only through the marriage of second cousins," Pao answered. "But gossip is a hobby of the elderly. I hear that you never write anything down, that you keep the details of thousands of bets all in your head with never a mistake. Is this exaggeration?"
For some reason, the Pelican seemed to be warming up to Uncle Pao. "It's quite true. It's my one consolation in life. I was never athletic or skilled with my hands or lucky with women. My memory is my gift. Perhaps I will run into you in Chinatown at some point, sir."
"Ha ha, it is quite possible. I must say the weakness of my people is gambling. We will bet our last coin on which way a leaf falls in the breeze."
"So true," said the master of odds. "In any case, I must bid you both goodnight. It is prudent for me to move around. Bruno, let's go." As he reached up to pull the panel shut, the Pelican said, "I don't wish you any harm, Mr Argent, but you really should be careful who you approach in the badlands."
As the van backed up and exited the parking lot, Uncle Pao clapped his hands. >"This is better than a circus sideshow! Are there any more of these strange-looking criminals?"<
"Sure, dozens," Sheng replied in English. "Thanks for distracting the driver, Uncle. Even if Pumpkin-Face and the Pelican won't talk, tomorrow night they'll lead us to the answers just the same."
IV.
Back at the office, Sheng phoned Pete and Repeat, filling the schizoid gangster in on what he had learned. He assured Pete that he would almost certainly be able to track Pumpkin-Face and the Pelican's whereabouts that night. To his surprise and discomfort, Sheng then heard Pete demand to go with him. Along with a bodyguard. Although Sheng protested, Galliano persisted and finally wore him down.
Uncle Pao listened in on the office extension whether he was supposed to or not. Now, he hung up after Sheng did. >"Nothing goes easily, nephew."<
"You're not kidding," Sheng grumbled. "Fooey. Oh well. You know what, I'm closing shop for tonight. I've got enough to think about."
Uncle Pao rose and stretched, making abominable cracking noises from every joint as he did so. >"Where will you be?"<
"I think I'm going to my rooms at the KDF building. Get a few hours sleep," Sheng said. "I need to catch up with the team anyway. Sable said she had a few reports from other members she wants to fill me in on. I can also dig into KDF files to see what I can find about this bunch of nuts. Pete and Repeat, the Pelican, Pumpkin-Face.... Ugh. They're as hard to look at as actual monsters."
>"Then I believe I will remain here until eight," said Pao. >"I can nap on the couch and if another new client appears, I will at least get their name and situation for you."<
>"Thank you, Uncle,"< Sheng replied in Cantonese as he headed for the door.
>"Most likely, your new client will be a lovely woman in the full bloom of her youth. But you will not be here to meet her."<
Sheng laughed out loud and went out into the hall without further comment. Out on Canal Street, he waved down a stray taxi and rode to East 38th Street. No one seemed to be up at the KDF headquarters building. He punched in his code on the hidden keypad by the front door and went straight up to his rooms on the third floor. Seven straight hours of sleep did him a world of good. After a steaming hot shower and changing into more casual jeans and dark green T-shirt, Sheng trotted down the stairs to find his captain at her desk in the office by the front door.
This was the other half of Sheng's life. Most nights he could be found in his office at the Argent Investigations Agency, also known as 'Chuan Lo Tsing' ('Fist For Hire' in Chinese). But two days a week, he was on duty at the Kenneth Dred Foundation where he had stepped down to part-time status and he was also on call for the KDF in case of emergencies. So he was kept busy hopping from one crisis to another, which was how he liked it. 'Better to burn out than to rust out,' he thought.
The rest of that day was spent being briefed by Sable on recent KDF cases and then catching up on MIdnight War gossip. There had been a lot of weird events going on that summer, most notably Bane's close call with a Sulla Chun in New Mexico two months earlier. At three, Unicorn and Trom Girl returned from a disappointing hunt for a Skinwalker which had been reported upstate. They had found nothing, "not even a stray dog" as Unicorn whined. The four teammates ordered out from a nearby Italian restaurant and ate voraciously while talking. Finally, as dusk was approaching, Sheng announced he had to get back to the case he already had underway. He could not fill his friends in on details at the moment, but he assured them that so far events had been more colorful than dangerous.
Back up in his rooms, Sheng changed into a dark blue business suit with a lighter blue shirt and black tie, pleased at the tailoring. He was fussy about clothes, and the width of the lapels or where the cuffs reached mattered a good deal to him. Saying goodbye to his teammates, he started walking south as he thought over all the information he had taken in that day. Sometimes it sank in how uneventful his early life had been in that sleepy village in Chujir, a realm where electrical devices or internal combustion engines would not function and which remained at a medieval level. Once Sifu Tang Ming had introduced him to Jeremy Bane and then showed him this real world beyond, Sheng had been living at a gallop.
Enjoying the walk, he continued toward downtown at a moderate pace. What a bunch of screwballs he was dealing with, he thought more in amusement than unease. Pete and Repeat, Pumpkin-Face, the Pelican. Who else would turn up? Well, as long as it wasn't some murderous maniac like Sepulcher or Avathor, he wouldn't complain. He reached Chinatown and, even though he looked Asian enough that Chinese took him as one of them, he still felt alien. Uncle Pao was not really his uncle, of course. Sheng had explained about Chujir many times but the old man shrugged it off. As far as he was concerned, Sheng WAS Chinese and a nephew because by coincidence they shared the same family name. By now, Sheng had accepted this and come to enjoy the old man's cranky and unpredictable company.
The Hartwicke Building was over one hundred years old and looked it. Even after a thunderstorm, the windows were dingy and the stone blocks stained. Inside the recessed doorway was a board listing the building's occupants with a button to buzz them so that the glass door would unlock. Right between SUNNY DAY SPA and PERKINS BROTHERS BAILS BONDSMEN was his own ARGENT INVESTIGATIONS. During daytime, the door was often left unlocked and today it was actually propped open by a wooden wedge in a brave attempt to let some fresh air into the musty interior. Feeling warmed up and energetic after his walk, Sheng started briskly up the stairs but slowed as he neared the third floor landing. Something felt wrong.
Suddenly stern, the young Chujiran strode up the final steps with a pugnacious expression on his normally bland face. Now what? To his right as he reached the third floor, the frosted panel door to his office was wide open and before it stood still another grotesque denizen of the land beyond the law. This was a man with short blond hair and fair freckled skin, wearing a plain white T-shirt and slacks. He was of medium height, no more than an inch or so taller than Sheng but it was his arms and hands which inevitably drew attention.
Those bare arms were thick and sinewy, with long ropy muscles and tendons running from elbow to wrist. The hands were monstrous, twice normal size, thick-fingered and covered with white scars. When the man glimpsed Sheng, his hands opened and snapped shut like traps. "Glad you're here," the man said. "I been waiting fer hours."
"Where is the old man who was in the office?" Sheng growled with unexpected intensity.
"Aw, he's fine. Him and me, we chatted for a while. Look for yourself."
Peeking out from behind the big-fisted thug, Uncle Pao waved cheerfully. >"Hello, nephew! Just another work day, eh?"<
Relieved that Pao was not only unharmed but in good spirits, the man called Argent moved closer to the stranger. "I think I'd remember meeting you, pal."
"Maybe you heard of me. Casey Strangle. I been in the business a while. Listen, word is that nut Pete Galliano has you poking around in private business. I'll come right out and say there's no crime involved in that Tuesday night thing you want to know about it. No one is getting hurt. So lay off."
"Too late for that now," Sheng said. He stepped closer and, as he expected, Casey Strangle's huge paws opened and darted for his neck. They were stopped short in mid-strike as Sheng intertwined his own fingers with those thick rods of bone and hard flesh. The thug's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.
"Surprise," said Sheng. He could feel the goon's grip tightening on his fingers with a force that could easily snap bones of an ordinary hand. But he was drawing on his Argent power, channeling gralic force to enhance his strength beyond what doctors would say was possible. Sheng could use his gift to become faster or stronger or more resilient than normal, but he could only draw on one attribute at a time.
A long breathless minute held as the two men stood their ground, straining and concentrating. Fear rushed suddenly over Casey Strangle's face and he cried out as he released his grasp and fell back a few steps. "I don't believe it. My mitts are big enough to swallow yours but I could feel my fingers starting to break...!"
"There is more to strength than size alone," Sheng said, letting the gralic charge ease from his body. "Listen. I'm not out to arrest anyone or cause trouble. I've been retained to get some information. That's all. If nothing overtly criminal is going on, your friends needn't worry. You can tell them that."
The thug kneaded his massive paws together gingerly. "Goddam. How'd you do that? Some kind of Oriental secret technique like the death touch?"
"Never mind that. Just give the message to your pals," Sheng said. "I'd like to think that I have some reputation by now for standing by what I say."
"Yeah, sure." Casey Strangle moved past the Chujiran and started slowly down the stairs. His slumped shoulders and bowed head showed a sense of defeat that would have been comical had he not been such a brute who had abused so many others. Sheng waited until he clearly heard the street door slam shut before turning to see Uncle Pao grinning at him.
"Did you stay in the office all day?" Sheng asked. "You haven't been to your apartment since Sunday."
"Ehhh, Richard is getting difficult. Every day he has a new pain and a new symptom of some horrible disease. I sit there and listen to him worry. He is only three years my senior, you understand, but he has not taken care of himself as I have."
"Roommate problems among the elderly," laughed Sheng. "Oh well. Anything interesting happen other than that Casey Strangle guy showing up?"
Pao moved aside to allow Sheng to enter the office. The big semi-circular window behind the desk was black now as night had fallen. "A few phone calls. Nothing urgent. A threat from the Winter Snow school. That lawyer Taylor Worth wants you to sign some forms. Some one named Dolores wants to know why you never got in touch. Oh, and one MORE thing."
"Yeah?"
"That lunatic who talks to his left shoulder will be here at eight o'clock. Both of his voices sounded worried."
"Sheesh," muttered Sheng as he went to his desk. "I know I wanted to specialize in unusual cases but really...!"
V.
Sheng had not wanted to risk his beloved red Ferrari 458 Italia with such unstable passengers as Peter Galliano and his brutish bodyguard. Instead, he had taken one of the KDF cars. A silver Subaru Outback fitted with Kevlar body panels, bulletproof windows and a few useful gadgets. With the two gangsters in the rear and Uncle Pao cheerfully occupying the passenger seat, the conversation on the long ride through the darkened city had been surreal to say the least.
Parking on a side street near the Battery at the lower end of Manhattan, Sheng had pointed out a darkened structure which sat in its own parking lot adjoining the East RIver. It was a long low building with a sign on its roof which read OPENING SOON - HAPPY HARBOR SEAFOOD RESTAURANT. Five vehicles were parked in a row alongside the building, three being long elegant LIncoln town cars and another the specialized van belonging to the Pelican. The fifth was a bright canary yellow Maserati with a spoiler. As they watched, two men who had been circling the restaurant met and spoke together briefly before continuing their rounds.
In the front passenger seat, Uncle Pao studied the flat electronic device one final time. On its illuminated screen, a grid map of the neighborhood glowed as green lines. Two red blips blinked next to each other. The old man chortled and shut the scanner off.
From the back seat, a high querulous voice squeaked. Galliano said, "Sure, I'll ask them. Hey. My partner wants to know what kind of range these tracers of yours have."
"Sorry,"answered Sheng. "I am sworn not to discuss KDF equipment."
"But you stuck some sort of little gizmo under Pumpkin-Face and the Pelican's cars, right? And you followed a radio signal they gave of, right?"
Sheng made no answer. He held up a complex handgun with a needle-thin barrel and clicked its mechanism. "This might take a few minutes," he told the two in the back seat. "Everyone stay put. Uncle Pao can entertain with stories of his youth back in Hong Kong if you like. "
With that, Argent stepped out of the car, took three steps and seemed to evaporate into the night.
"Hey, what the hell? How did he do that? I was lookin' right at him " sputtered Galliano.
"The Japanese ninja and the Brumal of Androval stole their secrets of stealth from knights of Tel Shai," Pao laughed. "Some say even the Shaolin masters imitated what they saw Kumundu masters perform."
"Huh? What?"
"My nephew has learned arts that date back thirty thousand years," explained the old man with pride he never expressed in front of Sheng himself."
Ten minutes crept by with glacial slowness. The boyguard began chewing gum, which did not improve the situation. Then the driver's door opened from outside and Sheng stuck his head inside the car. No one had seen him approach.
"Gahh!" squawked Galliano. "Don't DO that!"
"It's all clear," Sheng announced, "So everyone follow me and don't make a sound."
With the three men getting out of the car and following him, Sheng led the way around the outer perimeter of the parking lot, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. When they started circling around to the rear of the HAPPY HARBOR restaurant, they passed a big man in dark clothing propped up against a tree.
Galliano's secondary voice started to squeak but Sheng shushed him vehemently. "Quiet, both of you," he hissed, " That guy will be asleep an hour yet."
"I heard about them darts you guys use," Galliano whispered.
They stole past two more of the drugged sentries before creeping up to the rear wall of the restaurant. Here was a propane tank and a dumpster. Two curtained windows were lit, with a plain wooden door between them. Sheng waved for everyone to stand well off to one side. Before he reached for the door handle, he willed his body to its most impervious. With bones dense as stone and skin like steel, Sheng swung the door open and immediately got smacked between the eyes with a .22 caliber bullet.
Even braced for the half-expected impact, his head snapped back and he swayed but stayed on his feet. "Hey!" he yelled, "Take it easy!"
Leaping up around the circular table in that room were five hideous figures and one gorgeous blonde. She was not much over five feet tall, with a shock of platinum-white hair and a silenced Walther P22 in one hand. "What, you again? Are the other Tel Shai nuts with you?"
"It's just me," Sheng answered, rubbbing the sore spot between his eyebrows. "Damn it. Dandelion, do you always shoot anyone who opens a door?!"
"Sorry." She didn't sound sorry. Lowering her gun, the most dangerous assassin of her era tilted her head quizzically. "Anyway, how did you even get this far? Where are all the watchmen?"
"They're fine, they'll wake up soon." Crowding up behind him, Uncle Pao stared at the crowd around that table. Aside from the very pretty Dandelion, there was the immense bulk of Pumpkin-Face, the grotesque Pelican and equally bizarre Casey Strangle. Also present was an obese man about sixty years old and those had not been not wisely spent years judging by the red bulbous nose and thinning white-blond hair. He wore a dark green suit with thin white pinstripes, a hideous carnation-red shirt with a floppy yellow bow tie and a white beaver hat with a tassel that swung as he moved his head. Violet-colored gloves with rolled cuffs were the final jarring touch. Next to Doc Valentine was a man who would have been unremarkable if not for the fact that his hands did not match his sleek Latino face or each other. Dos Manos had one hand that had belonged to an elderly Asian martial artist and the other had been taken from a member of the Night Gorilla sect of Danarak.
>"Five of the ugliest crooks you ever saw,"< Pao laughed.
In flawless Cantonese, Dandelion scoffed, >"I hope you're not referring to ME, Grandfather."<
>"Oh. Excuse me, young lady,"< said Uncle Pao. >"I did not expect anyone to understand my words."<
"I've been around," she said in English. "Hey, isn't that Pete and Repeat behind you? You guys have got some nerve crashing our game."
"Game... ?"
"Sure, what do you think?" Dandelion said. Without putting her gun away, she went back to her chair. Everyone else had settled down following her lead, but still watching the newcomers closely. The large round tabletop was crowded with playing cards, stacks of money, beer bottles and bowls of pretzels. Several of the masterminds had been smoking and using bottle caps as ashtrays.
In his inimitable drawl, Doc Valentine said, "Confound it, lads, as long as you have so brazenly intruded, you might as well play some poker with us."
4/5/2019
