Thai Horse (32 page)

As the two big iron grille gates swung slowly open, Varney slammed down the gas pedal. His car lurched forward and roared into Cohen’s driveway. His headlights caught one of Cohen’s men
before
the Cohen gunman leaped into the protection of the r
o
se garden.

Behind him, the assassins’ car, its tires screaming, roared through the closing gates
b
ehind Varney. Varney’s car skidded to a stop near the front of the house, jumped a small curb and crashed into the garden. He and Corporal Dow tumbled out opposite doors of the car. Behind them, Lung’s killers rolled out of t
h
eir car into the flower gardens, and as Dow stood up, t
h
e driverless car slammed into Varney’s machine. It hit th
e
rear fender, glanced off and screeched down the side of the police car. The sturdy policeman shrieked as he was crushed to death between the two cars. Varney, dazed, tu
m
bled from his car only to be cut down immediately by the assassins.

Inside, Sing and Cohen ducked behind a sofa as the door was shattered by a dozen bullets. Glass and lamps exploded in the room. Hatcher,
w
atching from the door of the bedroom, whispered, ‘Everyb
o
dy okay?’

‘So far, so good,’ was Cohen’s quick reply.

They could hear the rattle of the Uzis used by Lung’s men quickly answered by the deeper roar of the Mac 10’s. The night was ripped by gunfire and an occasional scream. Flashes of gunfire reflected through the windows like distant lightning. Cohen and Sing concentrated on the front door, in case Lung’s men
broke
through.

In the rear of the house, Lung and his two men quickly attached leather straps with spik.es on the inside to their ankles. They slung belts
—
like those used by telephone linemen
—
around the posts, jam
m
ed the spikes into them and started up.

Inside, Hatcher saw the first of Lung’s killers reach the top of the balcony, leap over the railing and charge toward the bedroom. Hatcher dived behind the bed. In the dark and the rain, the killer saw onl
y
movement in the room and fired a blast from his Uzi. The bullets ripped into the mirrored wall, and Hatcher’s
reflection
erupted in shattering glass. Hatcher dropped both lands on the bed and fired a short burst from his Aug. Half a dozen shots stitched the gunman from chin to belly. The shocked gangster was thrown backward as the bullets tore into him. He flipped over the balcony railing and dropped from view.

From the other room Hatcher heard another burst of Uzi gunfire. He ran in a crouch t
o
the doorway of the living room in time to see a second triad gangster zigzag into the darkened room, firing fro
m
the hip. Bookcases, vases, flowers and paintings exploded a moment before Cohen stood up from behind the s
o
fa and fired his .357 once. It hit the gunman in the chest, spinning him around, his gun still chattering. Blossoms of down feathers erupted from the sofa. Cohen felt a tug at his side, a sharp pain like a bee
-
sting. He looked down. My God, he thought, I’m shot!

The assassin felt the hot bullet b
u
rn deep into his chest and rupture his heart while his lungs flooded with blood. His body jackknifed and he fell forward on his face, like a man praying before Buddha.

As Hatcher rolled back into the bedroom he saw Lung vault the balcony. The mobster w-as silhouetted in the doorway, his face drenched with rai
n
, his eyes glazed with hatred. An instant later he saw Hatcher but not before Hatcher fired a burst at him. Lung jumped to one side but a round clipped his ear, which vanished in a spray of blood and flesh. Hatcher leaped across the bed and dived through the doorway, swinging the
A
ug as he did.

He punched Lung across the jaw, shattering it, and knocked him back against the railing. But the Oriental was tougher than Hatcher thought. He lashed out with his knife and nicked Hatcher’s slee
v
e. Hatcher grabbed Lung’s wrist, shoved it up, twisting it away from him, and the knife dropped from his hands
.
Lung
fl
ipped backward he grabbed Hatcher, and they both landed on top of the railing. Hatcher hooked his e
lb
ow over the wooden crossbar and caught himself. He
still
had Lung by the wrist, but the falling gangster snapped loose and dropped, twisting as he fell, trying to get his feet under him. He landed sideways, the heavy fall slamming the air out of him and smashing two ribs, Lung bounced down the slope to the edge of the grass.

He rolled painfully over on his face, his broken ribs searing with pain, the side of his face ripped by Hatcher’s gunshots. He pulled his knees up under him and staggered in a crouch, down the hill toward darkness.

Behind him, Hatcher wrapped his legs around the post and slid to the ground. He snatched up Lung’s knife, which was lying in the mud, and charged down the slope.

Lung leaped into the tall grass, but his broken ribs were more painful than he could bear. He fell with a cry and began crawling the last few feet toward the dark. He was almost out of the spotlight’s arc when he felt Hatcher’s iron grasp on the back of his collar, felt himself hauled to his feet, heard Hatcher’s rasping voice in his ear, ‘You son of a bitch, Hatcher hissed, ‘you should have died a long time ago.’ He placed the point of Lung’s own stiletto against the back of the gangster’s neck, pressed on it hard enough to break the skin. ‘You’ve got some questions to answer,’ he rasped.

Lung, humiliated and defeated, got his legs under him and lunged upward, ramming the knife deep into his own throat. His cry was like an animal’s. Hatcher pulled his hand back, but the knife was buried so deep the soggy hilt slipped out of his hand. He heard Lung’s gargling scream, the unmistakable death rattle, felt him shudder and fall limp.

Hatcher stood over him, still grasping his collar. Lung’s head lolled forward. Hatcher dropped the killer face
down in the mud. at his feet.

‘Welcome to hell,’ his shattered voice said as he stood over the dead killer’s body with rain pouring down his face.

HARD BALL

By daylight Cohen’s mansion had become a scene of frenzied activity. Six officers had finished photographing, interrogating and trying to piece together what had happened the night before. Photographers had taken pictures of bodies and cars and the remains of both had been hauled away. Now gardeners were at work repairing the damage in the front of the house.

An official car pulled in the driveway. Colonel Jeffrey Holloway got out and slowly turned on one heel, a 360-degree turn, surveying the battered grounds of Cohen’s home.

Holloway was not a pleasant person. The man who headed the Central District of the Hong Kong police was six feet tall, his white hair cropped almost Nazi-short, his face a thin, stern triangle dominated by almost blind-gray eyes. Even in the heat of the morning sun, his starched khaki uniform was unwrinkled.

He strode toward Cohen’s front door like a palace guard, so straight he almost leaned backward. He slapped one thigh with a riding crop, his symbol of rank.

Holloway sniffed about the house appraising the damage, then walked down to the open doorway to the guest room. Cohen, whose side had been nicked by a bullet, lay on the bed. Ping, the acupuncturist, leaned over him, placing needles here and there to kill the pain in the wounds, which a medical doctor had already repaired.

When Ping had finished his work, Holloway entered the bedroom. He ordered the man repairing the shattered wall mirrors to leave. Hatcher leaned against the wall and said nothing.

‘A gangland fight, two police officers dead, eight others dead. One hell of a mess, I’d say,’ he snorted.

‘You’re a little confused, aren’t y
o
u, Colonel?’ Cohen answered, still not looking at him. ‘My home was attacked by triad mobsters. How dare you co
m
e in here and imply that I instigated this mess.’

‘You’ve been asking for trouble for years,’ he snapped back.

Cohen lay quietly with the long needles protruding from his neck, stomach and knees. He lay there forming his strategy, deciding how best to handle the situation diplomatically, The old Tsu Fi had once advised Cohen, ‘Never force a man into a corner. He has no choice but to fight. Always leave a door open for him.’

Cohen sighed and folded his hands across his chest. ‘You’re walking a very thin wire’
h
e said to Holloway.

‘Is that a fact?’ the priggish officer said, raising hi
s
eyebrows..

‘Your man Varney was on the take,’ Cohen said flatly.

‘Ridiculous!’ Holloway snapped, his voice beginning to boil. ‘One of the finest officers on the squad.’

Cohen laughed at him. ‘First, ‘Varney tipped off Lung that Hatcher was in Hong Kong. Then he led the killers through my gates. And finally Lung’s own men killed him to shut him up.’

‘Absolute trash,’ the colonel bellowed.

‘Colonel, Varney visited Hatch
e
r yesterday morning at the Peninsula. Within two hours, Lung broke into the room to kill Hatcher. He missed because Hatcher was out here. Then Varney called Hatche
r
here and told him the Triad Squad wanted to take him into protective custody. Are you aware of all that?’

Holloway silently glared at Cohen through narrowing eyes.

Cohen went on: ‘When he a
r
rived at my gates he patched through a call to this number from his police car. Then he led Lung’s men in here. I’m sure all this can be verified by your own records. But I’ll bet Varney didn’t report Hatcher’s arrival in Hong Kong, because he reported it to Lung, not to the police. Or that he planned to provide protection for Hatcher, because he had no such intention. Check your radio operators. You’ll find he made a call from his car to my unlisted number seconds before they attacked us.’

Holloway’s anger began to slowly change to doubt. ‘Very convenient conjecture,’ he said uncertainly.

‘Not on your life,’ said Cohen ‘Hatcher thought the cops were tailing him, but they were actually Lung’s White Palm mobsters, who were tipped off by Varney. Or worse, men on your own squad who were on the take, too.’

‘You’re making irresponsible accusations,’ Holloway said menacingly.

‘The killers were waiting out there for us to open the gates for Varney,’ Cohen said with a sigh. ‘He led them in here.’

‘Circumstantial. It will be interesting to see what happens when you take
that
story to court,’ said Holloway.

‘Nobody’s going to court,’ Cohen said flatly.

‘Oh?’

‘Colonel, don’t give me that stiff-upper-lip shit. Are you interested in the truth?’

‘Truth? Hah!’ Holloway snorted.

‘Listen to me,’ Cohen snapped. ‘Hatcher threw off his tails on Cat Street. But when he got here, Lung’s people were observing the house. That’s how Varney located Hatcher
—
Lung
told him.’

‘And how would we handle that story?’ Holloway asked cautiously.

‘Simple. Report that Varney showed up in response to a help call,’ said Cohen. ‘He and his man died heroically trying to defend innocent citizens from being attacked by thieves. You give Varney a hero’s funeral and I forget the whole matter. Or
—
you can create the big stink. And we can back up our complaint with your own records. Which way do you like it?’

‘How dare you threaten me!’ Holloway snapped indignantly.

‘Threat, hell,’ replied Cohen. ‘It’s a solution to a very nasty situation.’

‘I’ll see you in hell first,’ Holloway said sternly.

‘Colonel, you’re bluffing,’ Cohen said with a bored air. ‘You have the perfect out, take it while you can.’

Holloway sucked his upper lip between his teeth. He didn’t say anything for several seconds.

‘Call your man in,’ Cohen said quietly. ‘I’ll give him the proper version of what happened.’

The mirrors had been replaced in the guest room and Ping had removed the needles and left when Tiana returned home and rushed to Cohen’s side. He put on a good act, wincing with pa
in
, speaking in a trembling voice.

‘Ngo jungyi nei,’
she whispered, putting her arms gently around his neck and caressing his face.

‘I love you too, darlin’,’ he said, winking across her shoulder at Hatcher, who sat on the edge of the bed.

‘Why are you not in the hospital?’ she asked.

‘Too tough,’ he said and then started to laugh.

She sat up sharply. ‘You are making a joke at me!’ she said angrily.

‘No, just kidding around.’

‘This is not for kidding around!’ she said sternly.

‘Tell her, Christian. Was I tough? Did I show some stuff here last night or didn’t I.’

‘He is your friend, he would say anything for you,’ she said, staring impudently at Hatcher.

‘The Occhi di Sassi does not lie,’ said Cohen. ‘Didn’t think I had it in me, did you, Christian?’ he asked proudly.

‘I thought the way you handled the colonel was more impressive.’

‘Routine!’ cried Cohen with a wave of his hand. He pulled up his shirt, displaying
his
bandaged side. ‘And look at that. The Purple Heart, my dear. I’ve been wounded in action. Another inch, and Buddha would have been sitting on the bed instead of y
o
u two.

‘I must see to the rest of the house,’ Tiana said, excusing herself. After she left
t
he room, Cohen scowled at Hatcher. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.

‘Five of your people died here last night,’ Hatcher said. ‘Just to protect me. I didn’t come
o
n this job to get people killed. History’s beginning to repeat itself. I should never have come here.’