Who's Your Buddy…

By Zongshan Park

Mc Manus's apartment

Shanghai, People's Republic of China

Later that same evening…

It took me the better part of an hour getting to McManus's place. As I said before, when the public gets caught in the crossfire, both the MPS and the PAP take a very serious interest especially when the Triads are involved. Ran a Surveillance Detection Route to see if any undercover cops spotted my ungraceful exit from Riff Raff's. After switching trains twice on the Shanghai Metro, found an empty taxi on Yanan Zhong Lu. I used a lock pick and some old-fashioned elbow grease to boost myself a set of wheels. Riff Raff's had a decent CCTV setup; I knew it was only a matter of time before some sharp-eyed police inspector reviewed those recordings and got a good look at my mug. I needed to get off the streets pretty damn quick or I might become a permanent guest in Quing Pu prison.

As I passed a store front window displaying fine jewelry and Rolex watches, my reflection stared back at me. A worn, world-weary face with a pug nose that knew too much about the heart of darkness Joseph Conrad wrote about. Short, spiky black hair starting to turn grey that got buzzed twice monthly by an ancient celestial in Tongli. A lean, hard body attired in a black Hugo Boss suit sans tie. Hitting my early forties and wondering how the hell I fucked up so bad that living in a Communist controlled nation was preferable to living back in Chicago. Almost forgot the part about knee-capping the governor of Illinois, sodomizing his mistress, and putting the video on YouTube which received four million hits world-wide before it was taken down by the FBI. Yeah, I told you my memory wasn't what it used to be.

I pulled the BYD F3 four-door taxi into an alley behind McManus's apartment. If it wasn't for his live-in girlfriends, sisters too, I don't think the dumb Mick bastard could keep his place clean. He had other apartments before and all of 'em were sties. Even pigs wouldn't lay in those cesspools.

Exiting the vehicle, I scanned the street then the building's entrance. Too quiet for a Friday night.

The Ingram MAC-10 was slung underneath my suit jacket, the extra mags stuffed in the pockets.

I checked the nickel-plated Beretta 9mm and racked back the slide. Wasn't too sure about what kind of reception the goo wat jai that I knew had to be lying in wait for me but it would be definitely not be welcome at all. Felt the perspiration underneath my shirt and my stomach rumbled, a reminder that I hadn't eaten anything since lunch. Punched the speed-dial on my cell, McManus's ringback tone blaring Motley Crue's "Kickstart My Heart". The paddy jackass picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hey fucker," trying to sound humorous, "still trying to get the sisters to do ATM?"

"Screw you, Pierce. You're just an aging flamer who can't keep it up longer than a minute or two. Ever hear of Viagra? That little blue pill just might jump-start your non-existent sex-life, boyo. It even has Hefner's seal of approval. Just ask those Dahm triplets…"

McManus snickered at his jest. He was just as much a pussy-hound as I was, except I had better skills in bed. Ironically, we had met in Phuket, Thailand on a hit that was double-booked. Realizing that our employer had intended to double-cross us, we teamed up instead. A few dozen corpses and a raging inferno or two later, we made off with a couple of million dollars (U.S.) and blew a fortune on booze and even more barely legal beauties. If we paid more attention to Charles Schwab instead of coke, both of us would've been retired by now. God had given us a talent for mayhem and not much else. Go figure.

"I plan on it, you cocksucking piece of shit. Got a bottle of Redbreast whiskey for you. Want me to bring it up? Then I'll show you how a real man bangs women. I'll fuck those sisters of yours so hard and so deep, they'll forget your name asswipe!" My smile just got wider. I flicked the safety off of the Beretta.

"Come on up, Pierce. I'm getting a fierce thirst." The line went dead. Snapping my cell phone shut, I turned around back into the alley. The show was about to start and I intended to kick things off with a bang. Literally. I opened the rear passenger door of the taxi and took a pillow that had Disney's Mulan on it. Silently closing the door, I crouched down and leaned out to take a peek.

Found 'em all on the first try.

These dumbshits must have been 49ers, ordinary members of the 21k Triad. Bottom-feeders jostling for scraps from the more senior members. Two of 'em were guarding a couple of BMW 3-series sedans. Car doors were open indicating the dumbshits had just arrived and probably caught McManus with his schlong out. The guards had cheap suits and even worse knock-offs of Steve Madden shoes. The only thing not cheap about 'em were the SIG SG 552 carbines they carried. Needed to get closer fast but without alerting the others. Luckily for me a bus was passing through and I shadowed it for awhile until I was positioned behind the BMW. Slipped the Beretta back in my waistband, took out my Emerson Persian Tactical folding knife.

These two were having a smoke and bullshitting to pass the time, a big no-no when they're supposed to be looking out for a bad-ass killer and the others are upstairs securing potential hostages. Tossed a rock which broke a car window a few cars down. Watched Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-dumber argue over who's going to check out the suspicious noise down the street. Tweedle-dumb lost the argument, his head moving back and forth as if on a swivel, his eyes wide with fear. Obviously, not one of Tzu Lin's star pupils. Inched closer to Tweedle-dumber who lit up another Marlboro Red. As soon as his partner was far enough away, I reached up underneath his chin and jerked his head upwards as at angle. Then I savagely brought down the Persian Tactical, severing his vocal chords. Blood spewed from his mouth as he slid down the length of the BMW's hood. Cleaned the knife off, folded it, then clipped it to my pants. Moved on to asswipe number two whose hands were shaking as he checked out empty cars.

I brought the pillow along with me and the Beretta. Waited as he made his way back towards the BMW. Tweedle-dumb was moving past me when I pinned his SIG carbine with my foot, the impact snapping his trigger finger on the receiver. I smacked him with the pillow and squeezed the trigger. Five 9mm FMJ rounds rocketed out of the back of his skull, the report dulled by the stuffing of the pillow. He too slumped against the BMW. Guess the standards to be a brother in the 21k were slipping if this was the best they could recruit. Searched the car. Recovered a duffle bag filled with goodies. A couple of 9mm Glock 17C pistols. A .357 Magnum Smith & Wesson revolver. One Heckler & Koch MP7 sub-machine gun. And a Remington 1100 Tactical 12-guage shotgun. Win.

With plenty of ammunition for all said weapons and two Type-III Kevlar vests. Sweet. Secured one of the vests onto my torso and tossed my suit jacket. Added the Ingram MAC-10 and its magazines to the duffel then continued on my way whistling the theme song to "The Magnificent Seven". Wished I had another beer before I went upstairs…

As I reached the first floor landing, a goon stumbled onto the barrel of the Remington 1100 12- gauge and got blasted into the afterlife for not looking where he was going. As his brains were being sprayed onto the walls, I whipped out the Beretta and emptied the magazine into two more goons. Tossed away the Beretta, readied the shotgun, moved to the next landing. Butt-stroked another minion in the back of the head, the crunch of bone splintering under the impact, the minion's screams heard as he fell to his death from the balcony. Didn't see his partner who popped me twice in the chest with a Browning Hi-Power. Fell onto my back and I returned the favor with a 12-guage shredder round that cut him in half. He was still twitching when I continued upstairs. The rats came out from the planters and started in on his eyeballs. Lost my appetite for eating even though my stomach continued to rumble.

Upon reaching the top floor, the last goon had McManus in a headlock with a Ruger SR-9 pistol aimed at the big Mick's head. McManus was grinning at me although I could tell from the black eye and the bruises on his face that the asswipes tried getting him to reveal where the rest of the Ex-Pats were. I knew 'ol Irish wouldn't give up his mates like this. You couldn't trust this IRA prick with your wallet or your wife, but loyalty ran strong between us. Fuck with one, payback from the other. God help you if u fucked with us both… The last asswipe was yammering in either Cantonese or Mandarin of which I spoke neither. Doesn't everybody know that English is the lingua franca of business, illict or not?

"What's he saying Mick?" I kept the Remington leveled at them both.

"Fer fuck's sake, Pierce, you stupid asswipe! Put down the shotgun! Are you trying to get me killed?" McManus gave me a wink. "12-guage buckshot will definitely NOT improve my lovely face! How am I supposed to pleasure the sisters without me tongue?"

The goon was getting agitated. McManus was calculating if I still had the touch. Personally, I was getting tired. The shotgun was getting heavy, so I motioned I was placing it on the ground with my left hand. Triumphant, the goon moved the Ruger SR-9 from McManus's head towards me. Too slow…

Alexander the Great once wrote that speed kills. It made him a success and a legend. Speed made me a successful legend. One of the reasons why my broker kept me on speed-dial when contracts were available. One of the reasons why I was still breathing and so many weren't…

McManus elbowed the goon in the face and busted the idiot's jaw in the process. The big Mick then ducked and rolled out of the way of the sleeve knife I threw underhanded at the goon. Its momentum drove the knife hilt deep into the goon's heart. He tried to utter another phrase but McManus just stomped on face. He wiped his boot on the dead goon's suit.

"It's about time you got here. What did you do? Stop off to bugger a goat?" McManus rubbed my head like I was his favorite nephew. I slapped his hand away and flipped him the bird.

"Yeah, I did asshole." I grinned evilly. "Have you talked to your mother lately?…"