Made Up As I Go Productions Presents
A J. Woo / Jet I Production
In
Hong Kong - Present Day. The city spreads out across its great lagoon like diamonds on black velvet in the warm summer evening, sampans swaying in the humid breeze. In the famous Wan Chai district, the red lights are burning, all the sleaze and glitter, the click and hum of nightlife flowing through this city, so vital that not even the Communists could hope to put a damper on it.
Tucked away off the main streets is one of the innumerable nightspots that the Wan Chai is known for, a three-story glass-faced edifice. A neon sign proclaims "Serpent Club."
Inside, a few score torpedoes and hangers-on lounge about as scantily-clad waitresses, uniformly in green satin, thread the crowd catering to whatever (relatively) legal appetites they may have. In a rear booth, two men in black suits are conversing...
"I tell you, Tony," says the first, an older man with graying hair, "We cannot keep going like this. All this endless bloodshed... we're tearing ourselves apart."
Tony -- a thin, rodent-like Cantonese with a slick-job coiffure that only accentuates his receding hairline -- fidgets nervously. "I agree, Sony, but... w-what can we do? This new competition... how do you reason with a m-m-madman?"
As the two speak, a man is making his way through the club. Tall for a Chinese, and lithely muscular, his long black hair falls to his waist. Clad in a green silk jacket tied off with a black sash, his eyes are hidden behind thick black shades. He flows unhindered through the crowd.
Sony shakes his head, "If he will not be reasoned with, Tony, he must be dealt with! Damn it, Tony... I am seventy-two this year. I want to see my grandchildren grow up. This must end, and quickly. If he will not reason with us, then perhaps the heads of the other families will. The old families, they must surely know what the loss of Kowloon means to all of us..."
Tony cringes a bit. "But... what will they say about him, Sony? The Dragon-"
A low, rich voice cuts through the noise of the club. "The Dragon-"
The tall man in green smiles cruelly.
"IS HERE!"
Hell breaks loose. Gunfire explodes through the club. A trio of Triad enforcers break from the booth closest to Tony's and charge the tall man; there is a strange, wet sound, and nine mismatched pieces hit the floor with a sickening slap. The tall man smiles, showing off his unnaturally white teeth, and raises a pair of cruelly sharp hook swords that drip with gore.
Tony makes a high, strangled noise as he looks at Sony, who watches impassively as the Dragon approaches. Losing his nerve, the smaller man screams, breaking for the door. The Dragon barely breaks stride; there is a switch as he passes his sword behind Tony's legs. The Triad boss falls to the floor, squealing.
The aged Sony rises from his booth, drawing a pistol. "Bastard...! You cannot hope to survive this... even if I die..." The Dragon nods. "And you will, I promise." Sony raises his gun and fires three times. They are good shots. Two strike the Dragon in the chest; the other strikes him right between the eyes, shattering his sunglasses. His eyes are an impossible deep jade color, and slit like a cat's. A trickle of blood runs down the bridge of his nose as he smiles again, and advances. Hamstrung, Tony Lau can only watch and play dead as the work is completed. The Dragon never once stops smiling.
Five days later.
Wan Chai in the late afternoon. The Serpent Club is closed; the sign outside says 'For Renovations'. The bullet holes in the glass facade tell a different story. A small, expensive black car pulls up to the street entrance.
A pair of long, perfect, golden legs slide out of the car, followed by a swaying, slender torso clad in an ebony cheongsam with vibrant gold and scarlet embroidery. Dark sunglasses hide the eyes on that perfect, expressionless face, and a long, thick braid of flaming scarlet hair sways sensuously behind her as she walks gracefully towards the club, looking around thoughtfully.
The other that steps from the car is not nearly as distinctive. A suit of red so dark it is almost black clings neatly to him, and with practiced ease Qiang-Wei Long buttons his jacket despite the balmy day, concealing the paired handguns holstered there as he looks around. Gunshot holes in the glass. Well, not exactly his idea of appealing decor. He somehow doubts it's the look Lau was going for, either. He glances over to the phoenix-haired woman who has also been called by Lau, but turns his attention back to the nightclub. Business first. Besides, she could probably kick my ass all the way to Lantau Island with one wrong approach. The Triads wouldn't be happy if I got myself in a body cast.
Qiang-Wei makes a quiet sound after a moment. "They must be waiting for us inside," he says simply, and moves to the door. He holds it open for Chou, more so that he can take a slow look around the street to see for anyone trying to observe the clandestine meeting. He doesn't like unpleasant surprises. Chou is already doing the same slow scan on the club, even as she enters through the door being held for her. One hand gracefully removes the shades; the other is out of sight.
Inside the door are four black-suited torpedoes; broad-shouldered Cantonese. They are making no pretense at all of hiding their hardware; two of them are carrying large pump-action shotguns, one a Daewoo K2 rifle, and the one that meets the newcomers at the door is brandishing an Uzi. He sizes the two up. "Invitations," he says matter-of-factly.
With a small flourish of her hand, Chou produces two elegantly calligraphed invitations from somewhere on her person. Qiang-Wei Long tries to see from where Chou produced the invitations, but once again is left mystified. He can never see enough of that little trick, though.
The guard examines both invitations, then scrutinizes both of their bearers, apparently comparing their faces to something. After a moment he nods. "Mista Lau is expecting you. Check your hardware." One of the shotgun guards steps up with a large steel hardcase. This guard appears to have no discernible neck, just shoulders. "You'll get them back when you leave."
Chou drifts gracefully past, a disinterested expression on her face. Not having any guns, she has nothing to check. There's a bleep from somewhere in the ceiling and the guard with the rifle raises it toward Chou, "-the hell?" The guard with the Uzi says calmly, "Your weapons, Ms. Chou. You come highly recommended, but Mista Lau is taking no chances, with... the climate being what it is. I'm sure you understand." He adds, pleasantly, "Mista Lau has done his homework on you, ma'am. Consider it a professional compliment."
Qiang-Wei Long gives a very slight smirk. Dutifully and slowly he opens his jacket, pulling first one of the matching Sigmas -- Baoying -- then the other, Rongyu, from their holsters, unloading and locking them open. Chou turns with an elegant swirl of braid and skirt edge, a considering glance thrown at her companion, then waits expressionlessly.
The torpedo looks at the two guns, then expectantly at Long. The tableau is held for a moment, before Long realizes the enforcer is waiting for his backup piece. What an unusual turn of events, he thinks, since it's customary to politely ignore the presence of backup weapons at such meetings. His curiosity is piqued even more when the torpedo asks for Chou's own fans. He nods once to Chou before, still slowly, reaching down to his ankle holster and pulling out the old PPK he started the Game with, performing the same unloading ritual before setting it in the case as well.
Chou produces two small, elegant, ivory-strutted fans from somewhere on her person, laying them lightly and carefully in the suitcase. She looks up from under her bangs at the torpedo holding the suitcase and smiles slowly. Somehow, even on her lovely face, the smile isn't pleasant. It's just... creepy.
The no-neck torpedo closes the case and nods. "I will be here when you leave." The well-spoken guard says, "Mista Lau appreciates your cooperation. He's in the main room. Mind the stains as you go."
Qiang-Wei Long pauses as he turns from the enforcer. "Stains?" he asks, before he can stop himself. Yes, indeed... definitely not the redecorating he would have picked. Chou expressionlessly watches the suitcase, quite still. After a second she turns and sways after Qiang-Wei into the main room.
The main room of the Serpent Club was at one time an expansive, low-ceilinged room floored in black-lacquered wood, with a long, glass-topped bar along one side. At the moment, however, it is a disaster. Bullet holes riddle every available vertical surface, and there are telltale black stains on the walls and floor, and in many of the booths. A few men in white overalls appear to be working on removing some of these. One booth in the farthest corner is a nightmare of strange stains and odd, slash-like gouges.
Tony Lau is sitting as far away as possible from that booth, in a wheelchair. Both his legs are bandaged to the knees. He starts a bit as the newcomers approach -- then, realizing who they are, waves them to the booth next to him. He appears more nervous than usual; he seems to be constantly glancing over his shoulder. His voice is a high, reedy tenor, and he constantly fidgets, always doing something with his hands. "I appreciate your p-prompt response."
Qiang-Wei Long manages to conceal a curious expression at the condition of Tony Lau. As a professional, it's not for him to ask what happened to Sony Yen Rai Lau, the Triad leader. Tony sounds even more on-edge than ever, he thinks, bowing politely at the invitation to sit. He lets the Triad boss speak in his own time, managing to conceal the little neck-hairs that seem to twitch whenever Tony speaks.
Chou slides with fluid grace into the booth next to Qiang-Wei, decorously tucking down the edge of her cheongsam. Considering how high the slit rides while she's seated, the action accentuates her golden thighs more than it hides them. She glances at her companion with a faintly raised eyebrow for a fraction of a second. Considering the attention she's getting (or rather, lack thereof), something extremely unpleasant has happened... like the death of the head of the Lau Syndicate. Interesting that he's not present.
Tony says, "I'll b-be up front with you both. Sony Y-y-yen Rai Lau is dead. M-m-murdered right here in the S-serpent."
Chou folds her hands gracefully together in her lap. Qiang-Wei can tell she's startled, however -- both eyebrows went up, and her tilted, almond shaped eyes widened momentarily. Who'd want to murder someone working for peace between the syndicates? She murmurs properly, in a low, smoky voice, "We share the grief of the Lau family."
Qiang-Wei's expression of surprise is not concealed this time. "This is... surprising news." he says, casting a glance to Chou and nodding. "Yes, we do. Sony Lau was well-respected and well-liked, even by most of the other triads." He nods. Their duty is clear, then. Find the perpetrator and deliver unto them baoying -- retribution -- and rongyu, or honor. "Who was the killer?"
Tony glances over his shoulder again, as if saying the name might cause him to appear. "Tsung Chi Lung," he whispers. "The D-dragon..."
Qiang-Wei Long considers. "The Dragon? He is based out of Kowloon, with his own gang. We know little of him down here, except that he has been expanding out of Kowloon and taking out his rivals. But... to kill Sony Lau, that is extremely bold of anyone, least of all him." Chou nods once, a thoughtful look on her perfect face.
Tony says, "Bold! F-f-f-fucking well right killing Sony was bold! Yeah, well... n-n-now I know why he can afford to be b-b-bold." His voice lowers to a harsh whisper. "He's n-not human!" Chou tilts her head, studying the frightened, injured man before her... somewhat like a cat studying a small bird.
Tony shudders at the memory, checking over his shoulder again. "He's really a d-d-dragon! A monster! Sony p-plugged him three times... and he just kept walking. It was awful... I had to w-watch him murder Sony... he's got these, these swords..."
Qiang-Wei Long straightens a little. Whatever happened, Tony was there and this Dragon character made him unutterably scared. Tony's always been considered high-strung, but not this bad. Long isn't sure how much of this to take at face value, considering Tony's obvious state of mind, but he lets the triad leader talk. To draw attention to his... state of mind would be inappropriate.
The rodent-like Triad boss leans forward onto the table. It rather unflatteringly highlights his receding hairline. "That's why I'm b-bringing in outside operators. I want Tsung Chi Lung dead. Kill him however you want, but I want him to die for what he did to us! I don't care how much it costs." He looks right into Long's eyes and says the three words that every professional killer dreams of hearing.
"Name your price."
Chou leans back a bit, her tilted emerald eyes a touch dreamy, and the faintest of smiles curling up the ends of her scarlet lips. Mmmmoney... almost as nice as killing. She considers for a moment while Qiang-Wei negotiates. No... it's not money or killing, after all. The thrill of the hunt is nicest.
Qiang-Wei Long doesn't smile, not with Tony looking right at him. That would be inappropriate. And he and Chou are professionals. He does a quick mental calculation, factoring in expenses, the stature of Tsung Chi Lung and what they might have to go through to get to him, not inflating the price too much despite the magic of those three words, since taking advantage of Tony Lau's state of mind would certainly reflect badly on them. In a smooth motion he pulls out a small, clean slip of paper and a pen, and writes out in neat characters their price. He slides it across the table to Tony Lau, wondering if the man will even look at the paper.
Tony picks up the paper, looks at it very briefly, and says, "Done. The D-d-dragon's head is a bargain at any price. Now g-go." Chou slides out of the booth with lazy grace, eager to get to work.
It's then that Long wonders if he shouldn't have asked for more. Then again, he has never had to argue about the price Chou and he charge for their services. It's a matter of professional pride that he's never had to negotiate their fees. He slips from the booth, giving a slight bow to Tony, and without another word goes to the front of the former nightclub, silently wishing the Lau syndicate a great amount of luck in getting this place in anything like working order again. He'll have to visit it after it's reopened.
Chou has been sitting silently in the little car, long legs crossed as she thinks. She turns to murmur throatily to her companion, "There's an exotic weapons dealer across the lagoon in the Night Market, in Yaumatei, that might know about strange swords."
Qiang-Wei Long nods, "A good thought. Let's check there first. While we're there, I'll make some calls to some friends of mine who might know where any survivors of this Dragon's hit went to for medical attention. They might not have gone to the legitimate hospitals, to avoid the police." Chou nods again, settling back into the comfortable leather seats.
The drive to Kowloon is relatively smooth, the effect of Chou's legs on Long's concentration notwithstanding. Traffic is light after leaving the crowded underwater tunnel, as Yaumatei is not the sort of place one wants to go after sundown. Just after dark, and the Night Market is already starting to come to life. The weapons-dealer's shop is a few blocks removed from Temple Street, so there's still sufficient space to wedge the small black sedan in near to the shop. The shop itself is a very unassuming brick facade. The sign painted into the window reads 'L. Di Wei, Antiques.' A set of gold-edged lamellar armor complete with snarling demon-mask glowers behind the sign, flanked by swords and nunchaku of innumerable makes and origins. The discerning eye may question the legitimacy of that gold, or the strength of some of the display blades. In short, a very typical seeming pawn shop.
Qiang-Wei Long slips from the car, locking it and making a cursory examination of the neighborhood as Chou steps from the car. He'd really like for there to be a car for them both to return to Hong Kong in, despite or perhaps because of the distraction Chou presents during such long drives, so he'll be watching the car from just inside the pawn shop's doorway, with the cell phone as he contacts his friends in the medical underground.
One graceful hand lowers Chou's dark shades slightly, as she regards the... rather artificially shiny blades in the window with a distinctly jaundiced eye. A moment later she follows her companion into the small shop. The gleaming embroidery on her cheongsam is picked out by the flaring night-lights, seeming to writhe with a life of its own due to her graceful movements.
Chou looks around for the shop's proprietor, putting her hands together and bowing slightly as she spots him. "Good evening, honored shopkeeper. I am looking for some... very special blades. Do you have any available?" Her voice is quiet, almost unassuming, in dire contrast to her form.
Mister Di is a weathered old man wearing a rather wrinkled round cap with a red star on the forehead. He eyes the two customers warily from behind his spectacles, "That depends on what kind of special, hei soy. What exactly are you looking for?"
Chou glances at her companion, then realizes he knows no more than she. To Mister Di she says pleasantly, "A matched set; very fast in the hands." She pauses, then says thoughtfully, "Fast enough for a malicious spirit out of Kowloon to block gunfire?"
Mister Di seems a bit nonplussed by this. "Manchu hook swords, hei soy? No, nothing like that, not here... no, no. I did have a few sharpening kits that might do for something like that, though... perhaps I can interest you in one?"
Chou shakes her head, "No, these wouldn't be Manchu hook swords." She thinks a moment more, then smiles slowly again, although it doesn't reach her eyes, "These would be... the Claws of the Dragon."
Di raises one grizzled eyebrow. "Oh, really? A wise man does not dig up a dragon's lair, as the sage writes." He folds his hands on the countertop. "At least... not without a very good motivation, hei soy?"
Chou smiles again, resting one golden hand lightly on the countertop near his folded ones, "This would be the same sage who recommended declawing the dragon first, hai?" She shifts gracefully, her hand moving away... discreetly leaving the folded paper money tucked under his hands.
The old man grins a bit, "Very wise, indeed, hei soy. No, I do not have what you're looking for... however... I sold a man a sharpening kit for just such a weapon a few months ago. I seem to recall hearing him tell his driver about the Jade Pool nightclub... might that help, hei soy?"
Chou nods slightly, still smiling faintly as she wishes the old man a good night and good fortune. She turns, heading for the door even as she gracefully slides her shades into place, her scarlet braid swaying lazily behind her small rear as she walks. Qiang-Wei Long nods.
There's a car pulling up across the street. No one's getting out. Chou watches from inside the small, dim store, then remarks casually, "Perhaps the sage would be wise to withdraw, should the dragon choose to pay a visit..." She turns her head and tilts down her shades to smile wickedly at her companion, "Yours or mine?"
Qiang-Wei Long steps back a little from the doorway as he tucks away the cell phone. I'd hoped we wouldn't be found this quickly. Then again, asking questions would have done that. But we haven't even asked any yet! "Indeed," he comments. "This is unpleasant." Then again, the man didn't seem at all nervous about dealing with us... "Not sure yet. It depends on when they strike." He glances to her. "Still not using guns?" he asks wryly.
Chou sniffs disdainfully, "Imprecise, messy tools of the West? Certainly not!"
It's right about then that someone pops out of the roof of the car. -- holding what Long recognizes as a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. Qiang-Wei Long blinks. Oh hell. "Down!" he shouts.
Chou's hand is almost a blur as she whips a dusty chakram off the wall in the window display. A practiced flip of the wrist, and it crashes through the windowpane, flying towards the grenade launcher's wielder. Before it's even come near its target she sighs softly, then says a little sadly, "Cheap material. Must be the Western influence."
The cheap weapon wobbles visibly in flight, and goes a bit wide. It strikes the weapon in the gangster's hand and bounces, striking him in the head. He shouts and recoils visibly. Unfortunately, this also causes the weapon to go off. The grenade goes streaking toward the shop, and with a terrific explosion strikes the back wall as it sails through the now-open window.
Qiang-Wei Long crouches in the doorway, cringing with the force of the explosion on the back wall. No time to see if the proprietor is all right. He whips out one of his Sigmas, Baoying, and fires on the driver's side window of the car. If they can keep the assassins from escaping, there'll be someone to question.
Chou is bouncing forward in a tucked roll, so the sudden blast of air from the explosion shoots her that much more energetically out the window. She lands lightly, springing forward towards the car. Her braid is a scarlet streak flying behind her, while her two open fans appear with practiced ease, like butterfly wings at the end of her outstretched golden arms. Qiang-Wei Long is meanwhile reminded again of why he so enjoys watching Chou at work.
The car begins to spin out and pull away; however, the first shots against the back windshield cause the car to screech to a halt, fishtailed into the middle of the street. Thugs begin to pile out, guns drawn. The grenade thug throws the empty weapon aside and begins to start extracting himself from the sunroof, which is a bit difficult considering his minor concussion.
Chou has landed towards the back of the car. She knows her companion well, so doesn't block his line of fire. Also, now the people in the car have to twist around to fire at her. She runs up the back of the car and over the roof, to slash with automatic precision as she passes the hapless man stuck in the roof.
Qiang-Wei Long bares his teeth a little, but his face is quickly a mask of professionalism as he draws Rongyu as well. His shots ring true. The two gunmen approaching him are downed quickly, his shots hitting them neatly in the thighs. We may need to question them, after all, he thinks. Both mooks crumple, falling strangely quiet in the streets. Smoke is starting to billow out of the blazing storefront.
The three mooks on Chou's side immediately size up their opposition, and wisely decide not to engage her at close quarters. Two gangsters draw Norinco M1911s, and the third, backing up a few steps, pulls up a Mini-UZI. All three open fire, unleashing a torrent of gunfire. However, the supple martial artist dodges and weaves through the hail of bullets as a shower of brick and mortar dust coats the sidewalk, the street echoing with the sounds of broken glass.
The gangster in the sunroof finally manages to climb free, swearing as he's pelted with a gout of spent brass from his less-restrained thugs. He scrambles onto the street on Long's side, drawing a very, very large handgun. He trains his revolver, swearing at Long, "Let's see you pull that stunt on Fast Eddie Lo!" Fortunately, his shots blast holes only in the street.
Qiang-Wei Long has only enough time to blink before concrete explodes around him. Fast Eddie Lo? He's been dead for six months, some gwailo named Coolhand took him out...! "Not bad for a dead man! Let's fix that, shall we?" He lets both guns spit fire at the should-be-dead gunman. Fast Eddie staggers as both guns tear into his chest, but he manages to stay upright, despite a heavy stagger. Strangely stagnant black ichor oozes from the wounds.
Chou lands gracefully, having leapt clear of the last bits of flying debris, her braid describing a scarlet arc about her spinning form. She spends no time still, though, whirling swiftly and lightly as a dancer. One outstretched leg catches an attacker sharply under the throat, snapping his head back. Before he's crumpled to the ground a fan slashes past another attacker, trailing a scarlet spray, while her elbow smack!s with an unpleasant crunching sound into the nose of the third. Her voice is throatily scornful, "'Fast Eddy Lo' indeed -- he's been dead for six months! You'll have to do better than that."
Chou pauses a fraction of a second, already looking at the staggering thing facing her companion, even as the last attacker falls heavily behind her, to snap her wrist lightly out. The last drops of blood fly free of her fan as she studies the ichorous, former man, then murmurs, "Ew. That's disgusting. What would your family think of you letting this happen to you, Eddie?"
Qiang-Wei Long stares for a brief moment at the black ooze coming out of Fast Eddie. That's not blood... With a look of disgust he raises one of the guns and plugs another round into... into the thing, hoping this one is enough to put it down. Unbidden, he remembers Tony's terrified recounting of how the Dragon took three rounds from Sony's own gun and kept coming.
Long's shot hits, but... Fast Eddie is still standing. This shouldn't be...! he thinks. "All right," he says, "this just got weird on us." Eddy swerves crazily as the Sigma tears into him again; the other side of the street is definitely visible on the other side of him now through the damage. He raises the Colt King Cobra once more and attempts to squeeze off a shot even as he begins to collapse.
Chou considers the creature, then flicks one hand out, sending a fan whirring towards the falling thing. It slices across the wrist of the rising gun hand. The hand falls off, clattering to the ground, still managing to squeeze the trigger one last time as it hits the ground, squirming obscenely... then the body collapses in a pile on the street.
The last shot in the Colt does nothing more than whiz past Long's head and demolish a nearby garbage can. The street is eerily silent but for the sound of the fire and distant sirens.
Chou paces silently over to warily regard the disgusting thing. She carefully wipes her fan clean on the clothing of one of the fallen men, then snaps her hands around in an elegant motion. When it's done, the fans are closed and put away. She looks over at her companion, "Sick magic?"
Qiang-Wei Long just barely twitches as the round sings past him, and he glances over his shoulder wryly before stepping up with Chou to regard the body of the thing. "Well... maybe Tony wasn't exaggerating when he said the Dragon took three rounds and kept coming."
Chou nods once, looking back at the body... then sighs. "Decadence. Time to go." She turns to head for the car. "Jade Pool now?"
Qiang-Wei Long nods, glancing back at the mooks he dropped earlier. "Yes, let's. Wait..." He pauses to crouch down and rifle the thing's back pockets, looking for a wallet or something with identification. If it really was Fast Eddie... the corpse has no identification. However, the inside of the undamaged wrist still bears the insignia tattoo of the Wen syndicate. If it is a copy, it's a very thorough one.
Chou glances over her shoulder, then at the fallen thugs. To Qiang-Wei she murmurs, "Ask that one who he works for. He's almost awake."
Qiang-Wei Long makes a small sound. "Wen. Fast Eddie's group...." He looks over to where Chou is indicating. "Ah, excellent. Thank you, Chou." He stands and goes over to the one she indicated. "Who sent you?" he barks simply.
This thug's shades are broken. Behind them, his eyes are obscenely black and sunken, like a corpse. He groans in a cracked, broken voice, "Hail the Bodhisattva anointed of the Dark... namu... namu... Tsung... Chi... Lung!!" With a burst of noxious green and black fumes, the corpse collapses as if it has been decaying for years. As if on cue, the remaining thugs burst into similar odorous conflagration.
Qiang-Wei Long grimaces as he staggers back, nose wrinkling. "Somehow," he says, "I think most Buddhists would be less than pleased to hear that."
Chou raises a disdainful eyebrow. "Bodhisattva? Truly disgusting."
Qiang-Wei Long says, "Let's head to the Jade Pool. If nothing else, we should get some new leads there."
Chou heads for the car, daintily picking her way around the mess and stinking flames. She produces one of the fans, waving it gently near her face as she slides into the car. Qiang-Wei Long manages to get himself moving after seeing Chou move like that. He's just glad he doesn't get that distracted when trouble starts.
Chou fastidiously smoothes her cheongsam across her thighs as Qiang-Wei starts the car, then reaches to retrieve a small purse. She pulls out a small perfume bottle, delicately touching its tip behind each ear, then at the inside of each wrist. She puts it away, then takes a moment to pat her hair back... then sighs, crossing her long legs and settling back into the leather seats. "So... it seems we shall be slaying evil dragons."
Qiang-Wei Long sighs as the car starts up, and pauses before putting it into gear. "I wonder what the Peking tongs are charging for slaying dragons." He sets the car going quickly down the street, with practice and experience letting him evade the inbound hooting wails of the HKPD cruisers. His nose twitches. "That scent is certainly infinitely preferable to those things. Chou, have you ever heard of things like that? And why now?"
Chou smiles demurely at the compliment, then considers Qiang-Wei's question, gently tapping one scarlet-polished fingernail on her lips. A moment later she gives her smoky-voiced, reflective reply, "Of all the tales I've heard... this sort of thing is usually the province of dark sorcerers. They're not usually interested in crime at large, though. As for the Dragon himself..." She sighs softly, reflectively, then continues, "I'm... vaguely reminded of a story about a half-breed, created when evil dragons chose to have their way with unwilling humans. But to create a monster so powerful as Tsung is rumored to be, the human would have to be most auspiciously starred. A princess, or a nun, or a great healer, or..." she scowls, her distant gaze darkening, then growls softly, "Or something."
For Chou, this is a rampant emotional outburst.
Qiang-Wei Long nods quietly. This is far beyond him. He casts a glance to her at her soft growl. That was a most unpleasant sound -- one extremely unusual to hear coming from her. He imagines it would be the equivalent of him shooting out the television last year. No; he corrects himself. For Chou, the equivalent would have been if he had gone to the TV station and pole-axed all the news anchors. "And the key question," he says, not wishing to pry. "How can we kill it?"
Chou has herself back under control again; her throaty reply is calm, "Traditionally, I have no idea. Pragmatically, I'd suggest purifying fire."
The drive is short. The Jade Pool is a high-dollar establishment just a little bit removed from the Night Market. A weirdly designed, almost pyramidal structure (which undoubtedly incurred the wrath of geomancers throughout the postal code), it is almost a mound, having rounded edges and being tiled in green, topped with a massive skylight.
Qiang-Wei Long parks the car, looking out at the building. It's probably one of the more unusual buildings in Kowloon. He's surprised he hasn't heard more about it. "It might be a bit much asking the British to spare some napalm, then. We'll have to come up with a suitable conflagration when it comes down to it."
Chou waits for Qiang-Wei to open her door when they arrive at the club. As he does so she straightens her dress slightly, smoothes a hand down one long, golden leg... then slides out with fluid grace. She tucks one hand neatly into Qiang-Wei's arm, well aware they've drawn all the attention still conscious in that area, and smiles sweetly at him. Her murmur is low, for his ears alone, as they head for the door, "There... someone should alert him relatively rapidly now."
Qiang-Wei Long tries not to look surprised; contact like this from Chou is rare enough. He keeps his thoughts entirely professional. "Doubtless," he says. "Tell me again why we're walking into the dragon's den?"
Chou says, "Easiest way to find him. From what we've seen he appreciates the bold heart." She reflects a moment, then adds thoughtfully, "Plus, I'm guessing he'll just watch this one. Facing us too soon, he'd lose face." Her small smile is a little grimly feral, and her tilted eyes are hard and cold as emeralds as she softly, almost inaudibly adds, "Bastards know about face..."
The Jade Pool is, in a word, hopping. It's obviously the hottest spot on the block right now, and a throng of beautiful (and less beautiful) young people is constantly coming in and out, keeping the door staff quite busy. One look at Chou convinces the bouncer on that side to let them through without a word. Inside, the bar is simply packed, a massive dance floor tiled with an enormous mosaic of a coiled dragon. The center of the club, underneath the skylight, is a vast koi pool lit with neon. One entire side of the club is a bar, and there are no less than four tenders on duty. The place is quite simply jumping.
Qiang-Wei Long looks around appreciatively. His grandmother, a practitioner of feng shui, would have had seven conniptions in a row at the shape of the building, but he has to admit this is a very attractive club. "I should have come to this place sooner," he comments to Chou. "This could easily be considered one of the top clubs in Kowloon."
Chou takes a deep, slow breath, then simply nods once at her companion's comment, her face once again expressionless. Qiang-Wei Long nods a very little. "He sent a message by coming to take Tony and Sony down personally." Once again he wonders just what lies in the closets of Chou's past that's gotten her so riled. But he hasn't worked with her this long that he doesn't know he shouldn't pry, unless he wants a well-shaped elbow in his chest.
Chou wanders with her companion, making sure they appear clearly at several points -- admiring the koi pool, getting drinks at the bar, weaving slowly through the crowd. During their spin around the floor the two several times notice a tall, determined-looking young man of definitely foreign features, though not gwailo, is moving through the crowd. He's wearing a high-collared black shirt, and his hair is standing up in a cloud of dangerously coiffured black spikes. There's an earpiece in his ear, and he seems to be casing the crowd out. Every once in awhile a staff member makes their way up and converses with him.
Qiang-Wei Long murmurs to Chou, "Maybe we'll attract more attention on the dance floor," he comments, making sure his jacket is closed in such a way that his guns will not suddenly be visible and startle some score or two patrons. Not to mention causing an 'incident.'
Chou looks faintly surprised, "Er... I hope you know how to lead, then? Or... are willing to dance solo?"
Qiang-Wei Long glances back at the dance floor. "This isn't exactly formal dancing," he comments. "It might be better for you to keep an eye out. Or you may be approached yourself while I'm out there." He grins wryly. "Try not to hurt them too badly. Wouldn't want to get blood or ichor on the floor, now..."
Chou's small grin is a touch relieved -- dancing isn't ordinarily taught to martial artists, after all! She simply nods, fading back a bit and looking around thoughtfully. Animated corpses don't faze her. Dancing publicly, however...! She assiduously keeps an eye out.
Qiang-Wei Long dances, which while (of course) he's keeping a professional mindset, he enjoys. In between jobs he dances often enough, but rarely while he's on an assignment. It's an interesting change of pace for him, as he lets the music guide his body through the motions of dancing, while keeping some part of his mind -- the professional part, the part he admits to being a killer -- is if anything hyperaware of the pressing crowd through which any number of threats might suddenly leap out. The pulsing techno beat that seems to suffuse every club this side of the Pacific takes on a meaningless, wordless rhythm that's carried more by the movement of the swaying, bouncing crowd than by any sort of chorus, and he finds it easy enough to dance -- and dance well enough to get a small circle of onlookers. He smiles to himself. Now, which will you approach, hey? he thinks. The dancing gunman in the red suit on the floor, or the drop-dead-gorgeous assassin at the bar? That'll tell us a lot about you...
The man in the black suit finally seats himself next to Chou at the bar, and orders a drink from the first tender to arrive. "Sapporo," he says. Chou tilts her gaze -- and her small smile -- just enough to check out the man next to her. It's quite appropriate in a bar, after all. He's Japanese, too, she's sure... especially drinking that ghastly foreign beer. Without returning the look, the man says in perfect Cantonese, "My name is Kazama, Ms. Chou. We understand that you have been making inquiries about our organization."
Chou smiles quietly to herself, but doesn't say anything, Let's see what he has to say first. Kazama takes an unhurried pull on his beer. "We would like to settle this matter as quickly and expediently as possible. The first move is yours, Ms. Chou. May we come to some arrangement?"
Chou turns her head to thoughtfully study the man. Hmmm... lithe enough to know some martial arts; the shirt could conceal weaponry. Not a pushover... but still a high ranking subordinate, she'd guess. She looks around casually, idly, to pick out ambush emplacements of backup. Almost as an afterthought, the realization also hits her -- true, he is Japanese, but still not bad looking. She taps one fingernail lightly on the bar top, a touch annoyed with herself. If she's going to 'pass,' she really must remember other women ogle distinctive men.
Chou glances over at the dance floor, waiting a moment to catch her companion's eye. When he looks at her she simply tilts her head once towards Kazama, then swivels to smile coolly at the Japanese man. Her words are simple introduction, as Qiang-Wei arrives. "My associate. Kazama. They wish to come to some arrangement." Then she apparently goes disinterestedly back to her drink.
Kazama says, "Mr. Long. I trust the door staff didn't trouble you overmuch. We don't normally get clientele with quite that much hardware."
Chou glances sideways with sly amusement. She's not sure they saw her companion at all -- which was entirely as the two of them had wanted it, of course. Qiang-Wei Long nods quietly as he sits. Arrangement. No other word has so many meanings to the Triads. Sometimes it means negotiating a peaceful coexistence. Sometimes it means bribing someone to stay out of your hair. And sometimes it means seeing the bottom of the lagoon firsthand for an extended length of time, sans dive gear. "An arrangement? Well... to make an arrangement we would need to have a place to both start from. What are you proposing?"
Kazama says, "Quite simply, we wish you to desist entirely from pursuing this investigation."
Qiang-Wei Long nods slowly. He thought it would be something like that. At least they're giving them the chance to pull out. Though they must know that would simply not be done. Interesting he said 'investigation'... "And in return...?" He's not being mercenary, as Chou must surely know; he wouldn't have named one of his guns 'Honor' if he reneged on contracts so easily. No, this is to keep this person talking so they might learn something more.
Kazama says, quite simply, "In return, my employer will choose to forget the disrespect that he's been shown and will likewise forget that the both of you ever existed. In short, Mr. Long, we are offering you the opportunity to continue breathing."
Qiang-Wei Long nods slowly. "Your employer showed... an interesting form of respect for Sony Lau. Though it was appropriate enough that he dealt with it himself, I do wonder why Lau was seen as... an obstacle."
Kazama says, "I don't pretend to speak for Mr. Lung, but I applaud your tenacity, Mr. Long." The Japanese takes another drag on his beer.
Qiang-Wei Long meanwhile runs through his list of contacts. Surely he and Chou aren't so well known that the Kowloon tongs know of them by name? He has to admit, though, they possibly are. He inclines his head. "We are flattered, Mr. Kazama." He glances over to the back wall of the bar; unfortunately there's nothing he'd trust to drink at this point, particularly from this bar, as awkward as it is to be sitting at the bar without a drink of some kind.
Chou slides her drink over. It's a bottle she opened herself. She murmurs quietly, "I'm done." Qiang-Wei's reflection looks back at him from the green-tinged mirror that curves behind the bar. Mr. Kazama appears to be the only black suit paying them any attention; behind their reflections is an unbroken wall of dancing people.
Qiang-Wei Long smiles quietly to Chou. "Ah, thank you." He glances at the mirror. Where are the other torpedoes? Are they that confident? "Please tell me, Mr. Kazama," he says, after taking a sip of the drink Chou slid over to him, "what incentive was Fast Eddie given to work for your employer? It must have been generous, worthy of your employer." Especially if it was generous enough, so to speak, to drag him back from the grave.
Kazama cracks a big smile at that. He finishes his beer and wipes his mouth. "Heh. You're perceptive, Mister Long." He laughs softly. "He was given the chance to continue breathing. If you'll excuse the joke."
Qiang-Wei Long manages t match the smile, despite the coldness settling around his spine. "Indeed. I should wonder, then, which choice he took. Because it seems to me that either way... it could be said he was still breathing."
Chou rests her chin on one small hand, tilting her head to regard Kazama. Her voice is idly curious, although her eyes are cool, "Has Sony Lau been given that choice too?"
Kazama shrugs and smiles. "I doubt it. I don't see what use a man that old could be, anyway. Regardless... I think I'm owed an answer now." He stands back a step from the bar. "What is it going to be, Mister Long?"
Chou leans back against the bar, one hand sliding Kazama's empty towards her now that he's moved back. She studies the bottle, lazily running a finger around the rim. Qiang-Wei Long glances to Chou. Even though his own answer -- despite undead and dragons -- will not change, he knows Chou's will be the same, but perhaps the look will be interpreted by Kazama as one of two partners checking with the other, while actually he's only checking to see if she's ready for whatever hell is about to break.
Chou nods to Qiang-Wei, then slides a finger slightly into the bottle. She glances at Kazama, and in one small, almost imperceptible motion the bottle flicks with blurring speed around her finger and towards Kazama. "No."
Kazama doesn't appear to move out of the way so much as gestures, as if to brush something away from his face. The bottle goes spinning into the crowd amid shouts of anger and confusion. "I thought that might be it -- kill them!" At Kazama's directive, one of the bartenders throws something from behind the bar to him. He snatches it out of the air, and turns, using his momentum to throw himself into a vicious heel-kick at Chou.
Chou leans abruptly to one side, and Kazama's heel whizzes past over her head. She straightens slightly, bringing one hand up blurringly fast -- and catches Kazama's heel, with a sharp, jarring crack! Gazing down his extended leg for a fraction of a second, their eyes lock -- and then he yanks free, stumbling slightly as he lands.
Qiang-Wei Long doesn't wait for any further sign; the bottle spinning towards Kazama is enough. He's already pulling both Sigmas out and takes advantage of Kazama's imbalance to unleash both Retribution and Honor on him; he'll take care of the bartender in a moment, but he may not get another shot like this at Kazama, thanks to Chou.
Kazama realizes, wide-eyed, there's no possible way for him to dodge at this range. He starts to raise his hands; there's a brief, high sound of singing metal, as the thing the bartender threw to him is revealed for what it was; a saya shaped like a walking stick, a cleverly-concealed sword sheath. Either the movement somehow drew him out of the way or he actually parried the bullets in flight... either way, Kazama seems unharmed so far.
The gunfire and swordplay has a distinct effect on the crowd. Screaming and shouting erupt as the crowd explodes into frenzied activity, rushing to and from the various exits, turning the dance floor into a melee.
Qiang-Wei Long hates fighting in clubs. Aside from never being able to visit them again, there's all the screaming and shouting of uninvolved persons as they go utterly panicked and try to run left or right or both directions at the same time. At least it clears out the club relatively quickly, he notes, as he fires another set of shots at Kazama.
Kazama, eyes on the gunman, swings his body low into a no-hands cartwheel, flipping himself under one blast and over the other as he tries to regain his balance under the relentless attack from both assassins. Long's shots career off into the club; someone screams as the bullets find a home. Qiang-Wei Long winces; that's another reason he hates fighting in clubs.
Chou moves like a colorful mirror image of the other, dark-clad man -- her body whirls into another no-hands cartwheel, matching his. Unlike him, however, ivory fans bloom from her golden fingers and slash out with blurring speed. Kazama staggers, his clothing torn. He snarls, pained. "Damn it! What are they waiting for -- I said kill them!"
Chou lands lightly on one foot, the other raised like a dancer; her arms arc smoothly towards him. Only her braid and the small tassels on the fans are swaying slightly -- she's rock-steady. Kazama snarls a bit, "If you want something done right..." He shifts his stance, hand shooting to the grip of his blade, "-you have to do it yourself! Awesome Downpour Cut!" Kazama's blade sings again, blurring almost imperceptibly in a wide semicircle as he moves between his two assailants. There's a click -- audible, even loud, against the din of the rioting club... and only then do the assassins realize he didn't miss.
Qiang-Wei Long blinks at the display, then winces, gripping his tricep where a clean gash has slit open the sleeve of his jacket and cut a gouge in his tissue beneath. Fortunately no artery has been cut. Damn... he's good! Gonna have to kill him quick or this is going to be a long fight.
Chou sways with a faintly startled look, catching her balance a moment later as she glances down at herself. She doesn't wear a whole lot ordinarily. She's wearing less now, although it is somewhat artfully tattered. She frowns slightly, refocusing on their opponent... and unbeknownst to her, a trickle of blood slides slowly from under her clothing, down her smooth, golden-skinned stomach... and out of sight again under another piece of her damaged cheongsam.
It's obvious why the security forces have been late in putting in an appearance -- the club has turned into a war zone. Patrons are crowding for the doors, trampling one another, and the entire dance floor area has exploded into a firefight. Also, it looks like one of the bartenders isn't running for his life. Seeing as a frantic patron is dragging him over the bar, however, he seems like a null threat at the moment.
Six security goons manage to break from the melee long enough to squeeze off a few shots. The mooks flood the bar area with gunfire, to little avail other than to shower the combatants with glass and liquor. One mook is suddenly set upon by a panicked patron, who knocks his gun to the floor. Qiang-Wei Long grimaces, managing to duck down and dodge the closer of the rounds which sing by him. Chou realizes she's being shot at. She kicks a large, nearby table over, giving herself cover, and refocuses on Kazama.
The bartender that hasn't yet fled, a young-looking Cantonese wearing a wide black shirt blazoned with flaming dice, manages to wrestle his way out of the chokehold placed on him by a patron, and drags a large shotgun out from under the bar. He clocks the patron with the butt stock, shouting, "Kazama! What the fuck is this, man?!" Kazama's reply is, "Shut up and fire, idiot!" The bartender seems to hesitate. "But the people...!"
Chou glances at the bartender, emerald eyes bright, and shakes her head once, slowly and deliberately.
The bartender looks around, seems to lose his nerve, and jumps onto the bar, running down the littered length of it brandishing the weapon (perhaps unwisely) as a club. He runs right past Chou, shouting as he goes, "Uh, sorry!" He skids to a halt, trying to swing the club down at Long, who seems to him the more obvious threat. It's a massive, wild swing... and doesn't even come close. The kid totters precariously at the end of the bar.
Qiang-Wei Long ducks down just past the swinging shotgun, and decides this kid won't die tonight, at least by his hands. It'd be like kicking a puppy. He sees the gleam in Chou's eye and lets her have the kid; Kazama is arguably the more immediate problem -- that some vitamin Lead might be able to help cure. He lets loose with both guns again at Kazama, trying to sidestep out away from the bar to get a better shot at the Japanese man.
Kazama staggers under the attack, bullets tearing into his flesh. He falls down, staggering to his feet with a very wobbly kip-up. "D-damn it..."
Chou smiles faintly as the kid chooses to run by her rather than fire into the crowd. A gentleman, in this day and age? Gracious, she never ceases to be surprised! She sweeps an arm out in a graceful arc, and one fan snikts closed and goes whizzing towards the teetering kid. She thinks having him down and out for the count would be far nicer than having to kill him. Besides... she's not being paid for that. The sweep of her arm continues around, her body following in a graceful downward sway, as she swings one spiked heel viciously at Kazama. Unfortunately, both her attacks miss entirely... and now she's down one fan. She sighs quietly to herself as her inertia whirls her back upright. She hopes she's not embarrassing Qiang-Wei.
The Kid yelps twice; once as the fan whizzes toward him- "Aah!" He flings himself into a back flip on the bar top as the fan sails under him, then again, "Aah, stop that!" as he springs on his hands again as the fan rebounds.
Chou doesn't look at the nice young Cantonese boy as she murmurs, loud enough for him to hear, "Go home; honor your parents."
Kazama manages to get to his feet, swaying visibly. His dark shirt is shiny with fresh blood; this man is obviously not dead. Yet. He looks like he's on his way, though. He unsheathes his sword and declares, breathlessly, "I... won't die... alone!" He heaves himself into the air, taking a vicious two-handed swing...
The swordsman seemed about to unleash a mighty blow on Long... but he's just not got it in him. He's too badly wounded... his leap falls short as he collapses to the ground at Long's feet. He looks as if he's trying to pull himself to his feet... and then just collapses.
Qiang-Wei Long frankly wouldn't be embarrassed by Chou if she decided burlap was something nice to wear to the Peking Opera. But then Kazama starts his attack, and he braces for it... and almost sighs when the Japanese man collapses instead. Instead he turns his attention to the security guards who are approaching. He simply stands there, glaring at the guards and hoping they won't do something foolish -- that they'll just walk away.
Chou leaves the fallen swordsman to her companion's decision. She herself whirls into a graceful, arcing leap over the table she'd kicked over earlier, landing in a dramatic pose to shout at the remaining security, "Begone!"
Six more security goons are making their way out of the back rooms. There are five goons currently facing down the assassins. The Kid, however, stands perfectly immobile in a somewhat painful-looking still life of a man about to take a flying leap. There is also one guard currently unarmed; he takes what he thinks is an impressive martial arts stance.
Chou has said her piece. If they attack, they'll get what they deserve. She turns to walk calmly back to Kazama, where she cautiously crouches next to him and murmurs softly to him alone, "Kazama-san... do you want an honorable death?"
There's a sudden quiet. Qiang-Wei Long does not take his eyes off of the security guards, not when there are twelve of them. He's not fond of those odds at all, even with Chou there. Behind the assassins can be heard a quiet chanting. It is the Kid murmuring, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." Kazama, however, isn't saying a word. If he's not dead already, he's unconscious.
Chou considers a moment, then looks up at the kid, wondering if he knows Kazama well enough to decide for him... no. No, it should be Kazama himself. She gets a glass of water -- an alcoholic beverage would sting like the devil! -then looks around at the frozen goons. A little sharply she snaps, "Did I not just tell you to leave?!" She goes back to ignoring them, gently dashing water in Kazama's face while being careful to stand out of the reach of a suddenly lashing arm or leg.
Kazama doesn't move. He still seems to be bleeding, and -- sort of -- breathing, but he doesn't wake up.
Chou sighs softly, then rises. "Perhaps we shall meet again on the field of honor. I wish you fortune in finding a better lord." She collects her second fan, tchs disapprovingly at the still-present Kid, then heads calmly for the nearest exit, waving a hand at the security for them to get out of her way. Qiang-Wei Long keeps his eyes glued to the security guards as he follows out along after Chou.
The Kid straightens up slowly as he sees the Mexican standoff developing... he glances uneasily between the assassins and the security. Then he stiffens abruptly as he looks with sudden horror at the mirror behind the bar. He takes half a second to weigh his options... then decides it's time to change his allegiances; he's a food service worker, not a gangster! He shouts to the assassins, "RUN FOR IT!" He dives away from the bar into the crowd, discharging the shotgun behind him. As he does so the glass mirror shatters, ten more gunmen exploding out of the glass.
Chou, who is closest, can see clearly: these newcomers have the same decaying eyes as the undead gangsters from Yaumatei. The Kid seems to understand the situation; he hits the ground running and is already burning sneakers as the dead-mook explodes in a cloud of noxious vapor.
Tune in to next episode for action adventure!