Keys in hand, Auron launched himself over the back of his convertible Alpha Romeo as bullets flew past his head.  Sliding into the drivers seat, he jammed the key into the ignition as he ducked low and pulled a standard military issue M1911-A1 .9mm semi auto from beneath the passenger seat.

FUCK ME!

To say the drop had gone badly was the understatement of the year.  He'd had a bad feeling about it from the get go.  Something about the location just didn't jive.  Jersey City was hellhole in his book.  The only place he liked less was Union.  He'd rather do a drop in the middle of fucking Queens for Christsake.

The place had few windows and was in a rather inconspicuous warehouse near the docks.  He had taken a spin around the building before deciding where to leave his ride and could only see one entrance or exit.  It had been a perfect place for a setup.

Auron turned over the ignition and heard a bullet clang as it punctured the beautiful cherry red lacquered exterior of his baby.

Oh, now you've pissed me off!  That's gonna take body work!

The raven-haired man turned and used the side mirrors to target as he raised the gun to clear the headrests and fired shots at his attackers.  Then, he slammed the car into first and took off like a bat out of hell.

Even money says Seymour's behind this little hoedown.  Fuckin' bastard.  I'm gonna get his ass if it's the last thing I do…

The tachometer on the dash was pushing red as Auron hauled ass away from the fray.  He was sure someone was going to try and follow and he had to get on the highway quick.  He slammed into second and whipped the car around a corner, heading for the exit gates.  Auron was smoking when he hit 169 headed for the Bayonne Bridge and Staten Island. 

A quick tour should lose anybody and then I can get home.  I'll stop somewhere and use a payphone to update the handler.

Something was stinging Auron's left shoulder and he felt a little warm.  He took his eyes off the road a second to look. 

Well, SHIT!  Just fuckin' great!  I'm gonna have to get that stitched, and my new leather coat is toast.  Can this day get any worse?

The coat, in fact, was probably what saved Auron from a more substantial wound.  He growled as he paid the toll for the bridge and flew into Staten headed for 440 and down to Pleasant Plains and Wolfe's Pond Park.  After a quick stop to make his phone call, the wounded man checked the damage to his vehicle.  A few puncture holes in the right side panel that could be repaired at a local body shop without questions.  Taking 278 to the Verrazano-Narrows toll bridge and Brooklyn, it wasn't long before he hit the Brooklyn bridge and slid into Chinatown. 

Now.  Time to get this arm taken care of…

He stopped at a small shop off Columbus Park, and stashed the car in an alley.  Darting inside, he spoke in fluent Cantonese to the small woman at the desk.  After a little chatter, Auron was taken to a back room where an older man with round glasses and white hair greeted him.

"Auron-san!  Konnichiwa.  Do you like the new receptionist?  Just in from Hong Kong.  Nice, ne?"

Auron laughed.  "Yes, quite a sweet ass on that one, Masao-san.  You send for her, or just get lucky?"  The raven-haired man knew his doctor's predilection for youthful petite Chinese women.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the old man said as he grinned from ear to ear.  "So, what brings you to me without an appointment?  That?"  Masao pointed at the hole in Auron's jacket.

"Hai."

"And I suppose I am not to ask how you got a bullet near your arm, ne?"

"Hai"

The old man sighed.  "Auron-san, one day you are going to have to stop this foolishness.  You are getting too old."

"And you are getting too old for sweet cherries from China, but I don't see you slowing down," he responded.

Masao shrugged.  "Get the coat off and we'll see how bad it is.  I'll get my needles."

A few minutes later Auron was stripped to the waist.  His arm had been cleaned with antiseptic and the wound prodded to be sure there were no fragments.  Now, Masao was placing thin needles in various locations while Auron breathed deeply.

"Can you feel this?"  Masao pressed his fingers against several spots around the wound.  Auron did not flinch or move.

"Feel what?"

The doctor nodded to himself and made swift work of stitching up the laceration.  He then removed the acupuncture needles and admonished Auron a final time.

"Don't let me see you in here with those ripped out.  Restrict your range of motion with that arm for about four days.  That means no dojo for you.  If I see you at Takashi's when I walk to and from the office, I will be rather upset.  Come back on Friday and I'll take the stitches out."

Auron made an impatient gesture as he pulled the leather jacket back on.  He didn't bother with the blood soaked shirt.  "Got someplace I can ditch this?" he asked.

Masao held out a hand.  "I'll take care of it."

Pulling his wallet from the back pocket of his pants, Auron slid out a hundred.  He handed it to Masao with the shirt.  "To help keep the honey in lipstick, Masao-san."

The old man shook his head.  "If your parents were still alive, Auron-san, they would be dead from shock."

Auron chuckled and grinned as he went out the door.

--------------------

Auron took a cab to 54.

He'd left his little Spider at a body shop in Little Italy to have the bullet holes repaired.  Alexander never asked questions as long as you paid him cash.  He gave the key to the middle-aged shop owner and said "LeDonne, I expect her back in the normal pristine condition."

He got a nod in response.  "Want a ride home?  I'm about to close up for the day."

"Sure.  Saves me some cab fare."

So, Auron was standing outside the club in his black Sergio Valentes and a red silk shirt open to the waist.  He'd been sure to put a small supply of coke and quaaludes on him before heading out the door for the evening.  He wasn't looking to push, but a lot of people knew he carried.  Better to have a little available for sale than have questions asked.

He strode past the line of people waiting to enter the club and walked up to Kimahri. 

Damn.  I will never get over how huge this mother fucker is.  The NFL is really missin' this man's black ass.

As a "Master of the Velvet Ropes", no one got in 54 without getting past the huge bouncer.  Kimahri was an impressive man.  Not a bit of fat on the six foot ten frame and built like a brick house, he had played college football until a particularly shit tackle had blown out his knee.  Four surgeries later, the doctors told him he'd never play again.  Now the man lived with his grandmother in the Bronx, taking care of the lady and working 54. 

Kimahri flashed a grin at Auron as he approached.  The two couldn't be called friends, but they had an understanding.  The former ball player liked Yuna and looked out for her when Auron wasn't around. 

"Hey, brother.  What's shakin?" the half-Japanese man inquired.

The so-black-he-was-almost-blue skinned Kimahri shrugged and pointed to the line.  "The usual"

Auron did a quick glance.  Nothing really spectacular tonight.  People had been known to try almost anything to get in the club.  They offered money and drugs.  They stripped naked and performed oral sex on the street.  Once, Auron had seen two women go at it in front of Kimahri so intently that he'd almost gotten off just watching them.  It was amazing what some people would do to get in 54.

"She inside?" Auron inquired.

Kimahri just nodded.  He knew whom Auron was talking about.

The raven-haired man sighed.  "Look, I need some help.  She can't leave tonight without me.  I need to have a talk with her.  Her father is gonna drive me fuckin' crazy if I don't get her home by morning."  He looked up into Kimahri's face.  "Can I count on ya?"

White teeth flashed in an almost catlike grin.  The deep bass voice said, "No problem, man."  He jerked his head to the side, indicating that Auron could go past and enter.

Auron thumped the ex-ball player on the chest with the back of his hand as he left.  "Stay cool, jack…"