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Part 7
Page 1
It was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday.
Market day. But the darkness had driven the crowds to the sides and dissolved
them into traces, and Tiananmen Square lay almost desolate.
But there he was.
Shujuan saw him before her eyes caught sight of
him. Seeing through people and buildings and streets. She had him
in her mind long before she got close enough to really see him, to see
what he looked like.
Expensive pinstripe suit. Burnt gold hair in messy
curls, and sunglasses.
He walked toward her, or at least in her direction.
He wasn't the type to approach someone. The slouch communicated that much.
The swagger added that he didn't care what he walked in to, either. It
didn't matter to him.
Shiny black shoes clapped on the brickwork and city-trained
pigeons scuttled to either side to avoid him, but did not fly off. Even
though he was not keeping his movements soft, even though he swung a great
black umbrella at his side. Even as he laughed when his eyes landed on
her.
And though the distance was still sizable between
them, she heard him when he spoke. And felt assured that she was the only
one in the world whose ears could somehow pick up the sound.
"So I guess you're one of those kids we've been
having problems with," he remarked loftily. His voice had a slight oil
to it, that tumbled and sang. Melodious under most circumstances. "Funny.
We can try all we like but we just can't seem to get you to stay down..."
Shujuan willed her teeth to unclench so she could
speak.
"What do you want with us?"
"Just to kill you," answered the Triad.
"That's it?"
"You irritate me," he explained simply, with a quiet
smile. "And oh, please, don't try for the 'helpless victim' approach. Remember
that it was your group that cast the first stone." He paused and
considered, giving a twirl of the umbrella tip on the ground. "It is
'yours,' yes? So you'd be the little leader. Are you really a girl?"
"These are our streets," Shujuan told him, not allowing
the distraction. She was faintly aware of the pain of her nails digging
into her palms. "Your people are the ones that struck first. For that,
we don't care what you throw at us, understand? We'll take anything your
thugs dish out."
"How long will your luck last, I wonder?" He spread
a hand. "There are only two ways to win a fight: skill, or blitzkrieg.
Those without skill are much better to rush their enemy as fast as they
can and hope their speed can do enough for them over the short term. Because
the long term? There's no such thing, for them. They will be run out, starved
out, and worn down to their last, if they bide their time. They haven't
the real strength to do anything but strike now, in the first opportunity.
You don't get second chances, girl."
And then he laughed again.
"What do you say," he offered, gesturing toward
her. "Sieze the moment you have now. Take me down and your problems are
over. That'll be the end of it. Would you let the opportunity pass you
up?"
Against her will, or maybe with her will, Shujuan's
feet moved forward. Light and numb and ghosting, as though carried along.
"Of course it wouldn't end things. That'd
be looking at it too simply," the Triad continued. He shook curls of hair
out of his eyes and smirked. "Only a kid would think that way. No, there
would always be someone else after you to even the score. You'd have the
hammer of the police falling down on you as well, mark my words. If you
thought you had enemies now, just think whom you would anger if you killed
me. Then this wouldn't be a game, girl. It'd be revenge. And that gets
much hotter blood flowing."
Footfalls sounded a little louder on the stone.
"And maybe you're all right with that." He stroked
his jaw. "Maybe you're prepared for all that hellfire. Maybe you don't
care what kind of shit hits the fan right onto you. But what about those
boys
of yours? Zhu came back saying how you called those kids were your 'family.'
So cute, really. You're that intent to send a whole 'family' to the morgue,
right with you?"
Trust me, I need you with me, you won't betray me
now, right?
We'll stay with you, we trust you, we don't want
to leave you alone.
Nothing's going to happen. We'll turn out all right.
We'll live. It's your life that's important, anyway.
...I'm going to get them killed if I don't hurry.
But her feet were feeling heavier. Invisible weights
were pulling on every step.
Have to end this now. Have to, or everyone'll...
"And if you survive, so what? Where will your life
be then? You chose to give up everything, a promise of total security,
for a trite little idea about how you want the world to work? And dragged
down three promising kids with you? Who could have protected you?"
You don't protect me.
You are protecting me. You fucking bastards.
So that's it. If that's what it takes. I'll protect
you too.
Something felt like fire under her skin. Coiled
up heat, every muscle twitching. Feet dragging. Heavier. Slower. Harder
to pull and lift and move, and the pigeons sidled away from her and she
was almost to him now, could see him perfectly, in crystal clarity.
"You throw away everything for the slightest little
fancy, don't you?" said the Triad, sighing and amused. "All or nothing?
Do or die? Atta girl. But I'm afraid..."
She drew up a fist...
"...You're not fast enough."
A click and a snap, slink of nylon, and whumph,
as the umbrella opened and unfolded. He swung it in an arc, and the ground
between them exploded in the alarmed thunder of wings. Pigeons flew up
in great droves, turned the air into a whirlwind; Shujuan brought the arm
up to shield her eyes, ducking and dodging as claws and beaks scraped and
scratched exposed skin and shredded through clothes. Tugged and pulled
and knocked and spun and blinded by the wind and the constant batter of
feathers--
Final burst of laughter, that same laugh she'd heard
last night after the first gunfire, the same damn laugh--
And then the air cleared. And leader of the Beijing
Triads was gone.
In the middle of Tiananmen Square. Broad and flat
and featureless and desolate, and yet he was gone. Completely out
of sight.
Shujuan's ears twitched. The unspent blood pumping
in her muscles shuddered and brought a frustrated growl up her throat.
Gone, goddammit. Gone right from under her. After
that offer extended to her, and how close she came to following through,
how she'd wanted to...
...Can you kill?
Who knew where that thought came from.
Can you kill? Not just
cause to die? Can you end a life? With your own hands?
Over and over again?
Her ears were ringing. Sharp and shrill. If she
touched a hand to them, she wouldn't be surprised if it came away bloody.
But it didn't. Hadn't the decency to.
What was this sound? That was so familiar.
...The shriek of glass as it splits, just before
the shatter...
And then sound readjusted itself. Realigned. Refocused.
Back to something calling itself reality. And things were cottony and diffused
and the stone picked up the echo of a dark marketplace, and someone shouting
her name.
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