Another chapter, another update. Thank you for all your reviews and welcome to my new readers.
Wen Huang had lived in Cuba since he had fled China nearly thirty years previously when he had learnt there was a warrant out for his death, his execution. He had taken advantage of an unfortunate situation, and had simply swapped one Communist regime for another.
To be honest, he rather preferred living under Fidel Castro. The perks were significantly better.
Huang had brought his wife with him to the island, and until her peaceful death two years ago, they had been content in their strange life. Now Huang spent his days brokering new deals, and preparing to pass on his thriving business to his two healthy, brawny, but terribly brash sons. He feared for their lives. He knew they were not as good as the sons as he had wished for, but they were his sons. They would inherit his world.
Huang made a good living selling weaponry. His outlook was a simple one, and one that did not interfere with his Buddhist principles. Huang did not kill. He merely was a tradesman who provided weapons for others. His weapons were the finest available, but he never laid hands upon them. To touch them would be to invite Death into his home, and he was not prepared to do that. He was not a killer, the men who fired his weapons were the killers. Did one call the man who made the violin a musician?
His successful business was ran from a non descript apartment building in a less than exclusive part of Havana. The buildings were ramshackle, and several were made from wood. Rats scurried down the dark, dank alleyways that ran between the buildings, and people only found their way there if they had a purpose.
Huang sat in his chair, a cup of green tea in front of him. It was his habit to drink a cup a day, in deference to his wife's preferences, and since her death, he had not found the strength to break the tradition. He was Chinese, it was expected of him.
And he looked Chinese too. He had aged in the time since he had arrived on the island, his gleaming black hair had turned a startling shade of white, as had his neat, pointed beard. But the look in his narrow eyes was still as sharp as ever, and his gestures were still filled with a refined elegance. Wen Huang had a reputation on this island, and it was a rare man who did not fear retribution from him and his own if they crossed him.
He sat quietly, sipping his tea, and contemplating the white feather on the table in front of him. It had arrived that morning, in a plain envelope with just his name scrawled on the front. For some reason, it offended him, and he used the edge of the envelope to push it further away from him. He was even more unnerved when he realised that the simple object also frightened him. There was magic in the feather, and Huang was a man who had been raised on stories of magic and sorcerers who could steal a man's soul. There was a devil abroad that night, a jinn, an evil spirit.
He didn't know how long he sat there, but when the door opened, he started slightly. Immediately, he was ashamed of himself, furious to have shown weakness in front of the stranger.
The tall blond man entered the room silently, taking no notice of the old man's surprise. He was handsome, the old man supposed, but there was a cruel set to the mouth, and a coldness in the green eyes.
The old man held back a gasp as the younger man turned to him. The face was scarred, running from the hairline, down the temple and the cheek and disappearing under the collar of his shirt. The man hesitated, realising what Huang was staring at, and he stood still, letting the man look. It made no difference to him how long this took.
Huang tore his eyes from the scars and composed himself. There was no sense in either embarrassing himself, or showing any fear of this man. But against his will, his eyes flickered to the damaged skin once more, and his thoughts once more turned to devils and evil spirits.
Without being asked, Alec drew back a chair, and sat opposite Huang. The room was silent as they stared at each other.
'Why are you here?' Huang asked finally, calmly, his voice betraying nothing but the still distinct accent of the country of his birth.
Alec reached into his jacket, and in answer, he placed his gun upon the table. The Browning DA glinted dully in the faint light of the room.
Huang sighed. 'I have been expecting this.'
'You knew I was coming?' Alec asked, his fingers lightly brushing over the barrel of the gun.
'No. Death. I have been expecting death for many years now. It was only a matter of time.'
'Yes,' Alec said simply, not knowing what else to say.
Huang picked up the Browning, lightly turning it over in his hand. 'You have chosen well,' he offered, his finger exploring the long trigger guard. 'The Hi-Power is too unpredictable. The mechanism often jams.'
'Its served me well,' Alec said, drawing the weapon back across the table towards him.
'And tonight it will again.' Huang said with a stoical shrug of his shoulders.
'I'm sorry,' Alec said, and was surprised to find that he genuinely was remorseful. 'My quarrel isn't with you but…'
'You have no choice.' Huang nodded sagely. 'I understand.'
Alec shrugged.
'Does it…' Huang cleared his throat. 'Does it have to be now?'
'Soon.'
'Is there time for a drink?'
'I suppose.'
Huang got to his feet, grateful that they supported him. He didn't want to show fear, he had been expecting this too long to be fearful, but he was an old man, and not as strong as he once had been. He made his way over to a small cupboard, and pulled a bottle of whiskey and two slightly dusty glasses out. The clink of glass on glass seemed very loud in the hot, silent room. A ceiling fan feebly pushed the stifling heat around, an open window offered no relief.
'How did you get in?' Huang asked, as he sipped his drink.
'Your staff were easily persuaded that I had an appointment.'
'I must choose my men more carefully in future,' Huang murmured, letting the irony of the statement hang in the air.
'Its so difficult to find good help these days,' Alec mocked gently. Huang watched him carefully, noticing the man's discomfort.
'If this is not your choice, then tell me, who sent you?'
For a moment, Alec hesitated, and then reached once more into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He threw a shining piece of metal across the table, and Huang picked it up carefully. His lips pursed.
'I had hoped that I had beaten him,' Huang sighed, dropping the gold ring to the table. It was in the style of a signet ring, the flattened oval showing a stylistic wolf's head in profile. It was Le Loup's symbol, and all men who were loyal to him wore his ring. 'I had hoped that I had escaped his notice.'
'You're too powerful for him to ignore,' Alec pocketed the ring once more.
'You flatter me.'
'I don't flatter.'
Huang's eyes narrowed. 'You don't like Le Loup?'
'Does anyone?' Alec picked up his glass, and threw half the liquid down his throat. It burned, and he relished the sensation.
'They respect him. But you don't. So why do you work for him?'
'He has something of mine. While he has it, I work for him. Doesn't mean that I have to like it.'
The two men sat in silence, the fan above them cutting through the humid air. Huang sighed suddenly, closing his eyes.
'I wish I had had more time to prepare.'
A dark smile flickered on Alec's lips. 'If you had time to prepare, you would have had time to run.'
For a moment the smile echoed on Huang's face. 'Yes. That is true. But what I meant, I have regrets. Many regrets. My sons… my sons are weak. I have worked many years, and now the respect I have worked hard for will be destroyed. My sons, they want the power, the respect, and the glory, the money, but not the work. They are weak. They will gamble it away. They will brag, and boast, and throw it all away on alcohol and whores.'
Huang paused, and there was a cold bleak look on his face. 'They will be dead within the year.'
Alec nodded, unsure of what to say. There was no room for sympathy here, and the old man didn't want any, that much was clear. His attention was caught by the feather on the table. Huang noticed his interest.
'I don't understand that,' he said, almost angrily, gesturing at the feather. 'It is an omen of some sort, something evil.'
'You're closer than you think,' Alec murmured. 'Le Loup likes to play games. It's his way of marking you. He sent one to me too…' Alec realised he'd let himself say too much, and he brushed the feather away.
'This 'something' he has of yours. It is precious to you?'
'My daughter.'
'Ah,' Huang reached into his pocket, and removed a cigar, a cutter and a lighter. 'She is young?'
'A child.'
'You think he will harm her?'
Alec's hand tightened on his glass, and Huang realised he had gone too far. He drew once on the now lit cigar and let the smoke curl around the inside of his mouth before exhaling slowly.
'Is it to be now?' he asked.
Alec nodded, reaching for the gun. Huang paled, but he stood easily, moving to the centre of the room. He struggled to his knees, his arthritic knees protesting.
'I had hoped that the end would not come like this,' he said briefly.
Alec moved behind him, gun in hand. He heard the faintest whisper, knew the old man was saying his final words, be it to his god, or to himself. The click as Alec eased back the safety seemed loud in the airless room.
He raised the gun, pressing it against the back of Huang's head. The position was too familiar, this wasn't the first time he had stood like this, gun in hand.
He felt panic rising in him, and forced it down, knowing that there was no way to refuse this duty. He hadn't been able to refuse before…
'I am ready,' Huang said quietly.
So am I, thought Alec.
