SILVER SHADOW #10
"Hong Kong Nights" (Part I)
By Aaron Baugh

Hong Kong.

Former jewel in the Asian crown that Great Britian had worn throughout most of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.  Now, it belonged to China, and was a mishmash of Communist and Capitalist ideals.  The oil/water mix of the two ideologies translatd into the people of the island-city, and allowed for every conceivable mix of personages in between.

God, he'd missed it.

Jian Li Fong gave a nod to the tight-lipped clerk in the brown uniform with the red rank tabs at her collar.  If she'd relax the severe bun that her dark hair was in, she'd most likely be ravishing.  Still, she didn't say much to him as she forwarded him through customs.

Trudging through the airport, he marveled at the way he felt upon his return to the city of his birth.  It wasn't a case of remembering halcyon days of youth, but it was a feeling that he'd thought long dead.

It was more alive, made him feel more alive, than he thought possible.

Here, Jian Li Fong wasn't the pleasant stunt coordinator that he'd been in Pacific City.  He wasn't the steadfast martial arts teacher and friend to the youth of it's inner city.  No, far from it.  In Hong Kong, Jian Li Fong was a bastard, a thief, and a man to be feared.

With an uncharacteristic smile forming on his lips, he knew that it was time certain people remembered his face.  And certain other lethal parts of him.

* * *

Six Years Ago...

The paper sat in the dormitory lounge, untouched except for the movie section that someone had pulled out, plus the page where the word games were printed. The headlines screaming about a series of murder-rapes in Hong Kong went unseen, the students not caring or having grown used to seeing the terrible facts in print.  Facts were, there were now eleven girls who'd died in terrible ways, and the British government was facing flak from all sides as civilians, both Chinese and Anglo, pressured them for a solution.

No one knew what that solution as going to be, but for a nineteen-year old philosophy student who lived on the eighth floor, the solution was clear, and would be unveiled to the city in a few short hours.

'Enter the Dragon' played on the twenty-three inch television in the background, muted, but with subtitles playing.  Jian's roommate lay on his bed, absorbed in math that the younger student had no interest in tackling.  Instead, Jian flew through a wild array of punches and kicks, mimicking the martial artist on the screen that he idolized.  The six large posters of Bruce Lee on the wall were a constant reminder of what he wanted to do with his life.  If Jackie Chan could do it, why not Jian Li Fong?

Besides, he had an edge.  A very big edge.  Too bad he couldn't tell anybody about it.

*

Before dawn broke over the urban skyline of Hong Kong, a small figure ran through the streets, and anyone looking upon him who'd watched a bit of TV in the seventies recognized it as Kato, the limousine driver uniform-wearing sidekick of the Green Hornet.  The part was immortalized by Bruce Lee, and the show was marketed as the "Kato Show" in Hong Kong and China. Rather, the parts of China that got bootleg TV.

It was the perfect uniform for Jian to take up his dreams, and as he turned the corner and charged the Red Fury street gang, he smiled.

Thinking back on the fighting he did that day, it never occured to him that the Red Fury weren't involved in the rapes.  Hell, Jian hadn't done any investigations of any kind, but he liked to show off his skill, and whooping about, shouting like Bruce Lee, he mechanically tore apart the street thugs, leaving them bruised, battered, and with more than a few broken things.

But that wasn't the interesting part of his past.  No, no.  He and Hong Kong had a lot more to do.

* * *

The Present

A scowl darkened Jian's features as he strode into the plushly appointed office, frightening the small man in the expensive suit behind the desk.  As he pivoted on his heel to face the desk, Jian tossed a small-frame semi-automatic pistol to his left, the partially expended clip to his right.

Kemo Nguyen felt himself go cold, and he repressed the urge to urinate.  A man he thought dead had just stepped into his present, and had made short work of a security detail chosen more for their high price tag than skill.  Obviously, the pound sterling didn't buy what it once did.

Kemo licked dry lips and began to speak.  "Welcome back to Hong Kong, Li Fong.  We've missed your - ulp!"

Hands grabbed his collar and wrenched him out of his chair, slamming him up against the thick thermoplane glass that provided the office with a spectacular view.

Jian's face was only inches from Kemo's, and the small man began to babble, without a single word from his assailant.  "I can't tell you how they got there! They'd kill me!"

"And I won't?"

"Please," he pleaded, "there's nothing for me to tell you!"

There was a snap as Jian broke Kemo's left index finger.

Tears welled in Kemo's eyes, and he whimpered, but didn't scream.  Instead, he kept talking.  "No more...no more, please.  They said there was no way you would survive, that their plans were flawless."

"They were wrong.  They underestimated me, just as I underestimated you.  I though we had an agreement, Kemo."  And here Jian looked down at Kemo's feet, bent and crippled.  Only then did notice fully the wheelchair concealed behind the large wooden desk.  "I thought that not walking for a few years would have taught you.  Do you remember how I did it, Kemo?  How I snapped the bones in your feet?"

Kemo nodded.

"More," demanded Jian.  "More about the Triad.  One of their masters escaped, as did a few of their men. Where did they go?"

"Into hiding," spat Kemo angrily as the pain from his twisted finger worked its way through his body in waves.  "They've gone underground to marshal their forces and come for you again.  No mistaking this time, they're out for blood."

"So am I," whispered Jian in a sinister tone.  He gripped Kemo's left thumb.  "More."

"I can't - " and he gasped as Jian began to apply pressure, bending his digit to the breaking point, but not beyond.  "Ah - I  - c-c-can't.  I won't!" he said, screaming the last bit.  Kemo's teeth jammed together as his thumb cracked again, and Jian stepped back, letting the elderly Chinese man crumple at his feet, cradling his injured left hand.

Nguyen couldn't even bear his own weight on his twisted feet, and Jian stepped away from him, disgusted at his own failure.  As he stood silent in thought for a few moments, Nguyen began to laugh.

"He he, they were early, Fong.  You won't survive what they have in store for you.  One who is far beyond your skills, even."

"Go on."

"No," said the man, his eyes delirous with his own gloating or a side effect of shock due to the pain his body was going through.  "I won't, and you may take away my other fingers, too, if you like.  The Triad remains safe from your touch, Jian Li Fong.  And they will take care of me, this I know."

His face fixed in a snarl, Jian took two quick steps and scooped Nguyen up, twisting to slam him against the desk, his left forearm against his throat, choking him slightly.  "Heh," croaked the Triad agent, "was I your only lead?  Can you go anywhere after you kill me?"

There was a flash on Nguyen's glasses, a split second burst of yello-red that the shaded windows nearly blanked out.  As it was, Jian almost didn't move in time.  He jerked his head to the right and down, a burning sensation searing his left ear as a neat, red-rimmed hole appeared in Nguyen's head, off center and above his right eye.

Pulverized bone, blood, and gray matter spattered against the desk and as the sound reached Jian's ears, he was forward and behind the desk, his breathing elevated and his senses screaming.  He heard something else, and, risking another shot, moved like a blur across to the office entrance as a picture frame exploded into a million glass fragments.

The sound of footsteps on the staircase below reached his ears, and he looked over to the elevators, thankful he'd jammed the doors open to prevent their use.

Although whoever it was tried to be quiet, Fong still heard them, and there were more than just one. Pausing by the door, Jian crouched and put his unbloodied ear to the steel of the fire door.  Just a a few more seconds...

* * *

The seven-member team moved up the stairwell swiftly and quietly, pleasing Chin, their leader.  The first man stopped by the door as his partner moved up, a flash-bang stun grenade in his hand.  They looked at one another, and the first pushed open the crashbar as the second pulled the pin on his grenade and lobbed it into the open space.

He didn't expect a hand to shoot out and bat it back down the stairwell.

Chin saw the grenade bounce down six steps as if it were in slow motion, and as one, his team turned away, closed their eyes tight, and sealed their hands over their ears.

With a terrifying noise and blast of magnesium-flare bright light, the grenade went off, and as sound began to come back to the team, muted as it had been through the tissue of their hands, a figure was amongst them and two men were already down.

As the figure leapt the railing onto the next lower flight of stairs, Chin let off a quick burst from the Heckler and Koch submachinegun on his shoulder. Although the figure didn't stumble, the quick reactions of the Triad employee paid off.

A small bit of blood now decorated the far wall of the landing.

* * *

Jian exited through the underground garage, and quickly jogged up to street level, thankful that it was dark, his jacket was dark blue, and that the bullet wound wasn't too deep.  Already his ear burned, and the injury to his tricep and shoulder would slow him down needlessly.  His haste was due to the fact that he was chasing down a sniper, the sniper who'd killed Kemo Nguyen, and now was Jian's only link to finding the Triad boss who'd ordered his death.