Crane (21 page)

The large door inside the pit flew open and Hok watched a tall, thick-muscled man with short black hair walk proudly into the pit wearing only a heavy loincloth. The crowd clapped its approval.

LaoShu continued. “The challenger hails from a foreign land known as Siam. He's a small man with a big heart. Don't let his size fool you. His techniques are as exotic as his language. Everyone, get ready for the Siamese Assassin!”

Hok saw a thin, wiry young man dance into the pit through the open doorway. His hair was also short, but unlike the Mauler, his skin was quite dark and he wore short pants that stopped above his knees. The rest of his skin was bare except for a narrow decorative band tied around the upper part of each of his biceps.

Hok stared at the young man's hands. Curiously, they were wrapped with rope. The rope looked very
rough and covered everything but his fingers, which moved freely. Hok assumed it would allow him to both grab things and make fists.

Hok leaned toward Seh. “Do you want me to tell you what I see?”

“Don't bother,” Seh replied. “Just tell me who is going to win.”

“The Siamese Assassin,” Hok said.

“What?” Charles said. “Are you crazy? The other man is huge!”

Hok shook her head. “That doesn't matter.”

“Huh?” Charles said. “What
does
matter?”

“See the shiny line running down each of the Assassin's shins?” Hok said. “All the hair has been worn off his legs in those spots.”

“So?” Charles said.

“You have to kick things like trees for years for that to happen,” Hok said, “and you have to kick them
hard.
Also, look how battered and bruised his elbows are. He uses them a lot. He's even gone through the trouble of wrapping his hands with rope. I've never seen that done before, but I'll bet it protects and strengthens his hands while delivering maximum damage to his opponent.”

“Rope on the hands?” Seh said. “Ouch.”

“I see what you mean now,” Charles said. “The Mauler is going to lose bad. He doesn't look like he practices at all.”

“That's not entirely true,” Hok said. “Look at the Mauler's ears. See how they look both puffy and
rock-hard at the same time? Sort of like the vegetable
hua ye cat
—cauliflower? That comes from years of having your head banged against the ground. The Mauler is a wrestler.”

“Wow,” Charles said. “That's amazing. So, you still think the Assassin will win?”

Hok nodded. “It looks to me like he practices more.”

A large gong sounded from somewhere near the betting table, and Hok watched the Siamese Assassin spring immediately into action. He raced toward the Mauler at full speed, leaping high into the air with a flying-knee attack.

The Mauler stood his ground and swatted the Assassin out of the air like he would a fruit fly.

The Siamese Assassin crashed to the ground.

The crowd roared with laughter, and Charles turned to Hok. “Are you sure about your choice?”

“Just watch,” Hok replied.

Seemingly unfazed, the Assassin jumped to his feet and raised his roped hands in front of his face. He began to taunt the Mauler in a foreign language.

The Mauler scowled and took two lumbering steps toward the Assassin, crouching low as though he were going to attempt a wrestling takedown.

In the blink of an eye, the Assassin shot forward and delivered a vicious low kick with his shin to a band of particularly sensitive sinews on the outside of the Mauler's lead leg, just above the knee.

CRACK!

Hok felt the brutal impact just as much as she heard it. The crowd gasped, and the Mauler howled in pain.

“Somebody is going to feel
that
in the morning,” Seh said.

Hok shook her head and watched as the Mauler lifted his damaged leg. As soon as he did, the Assassin shot forward a second time, repeating the technique on the Mauler's other leg.

CRRRRACK!

The second brutal kick echoed deep inside the pit and the crowd cringed as one, including Hok.

“Owwww,” Charles said, rubbing his legs.

The Mauler teetered, and Hok watched the Siamese Assassin step in close, thrusting both rope-bound hands up toward the Mauler's towering head. Hok waited for the Assassin's fists to collide with the Mauler's face, but that didn't happen. Instead, the Assassin wrapped his hands around the back of the Mauler's head and pulled his opponent's face straight down while jumping up and thrusting his knee skyward. The Assassin's knee collided squarely with the Mauler's nose.

CRUNCH!

The sound filled the fight club, and the Mauler wilted in an awkward heap, unconscious.

The crowd went wild.

Several crowd members began to jump up and down, waving their wager sticks high over their heads,
while others threw their wager sticks to the floor in disgust.

Ignoring the crowd, the Siamese Assassin dropped to his knees in front of his fallen opponent and bowed three times. Hok realized it was a sign of respect.

The pit door opened and the Assassin stood. Hok watched him walk out through the doorway. She noticed that he appeared to be walking into a dimly lit tunnel. He passed two men with
qiangs
who were obviously guards, and continued on until Hok couldn't see him anymore.

Hok continued to stare through the open doorway and saw a lone man approach from the depths of the tunnel. He wore a stained robe, long gloves, and a leper's shroud. The man strolled confidently into the pit without even acknowledging the guards and walked over to the Mongolian Mauler. He wasn't a big man, but he easily hoisted the large unconscious fighter over one shoulder and carried the Mauler back into the tunnel.

Hok realized that he was a one-man clean-up crew. He was probably dressed in that outfit to protect himself against blood, germs, and anything else that might rub off on him while he did his dirty work. Hok shivered. What a horrible job.

The crowd began to calm down, and LaoShu took the floor once more.

“How about that quick piece of handiwork?” LaoShu announced. “Or should I say, legwork? Ha ha! I guess big things really do come in small packages! If
you enjoyed that matchup, wait until you see what we have in store for you now. This next competitor is not a criminal, but a promising up-and-comer who is fighting for a position within our esteemed Emperor's ranks. He is undefeated in the pit with a record of six wins and no losses, and tonight he is the favorite. This man is known for his fast hands and even faster feet. Always on the move and constantly on the attack, he's been known to skitter across the pit bricks like a drop of rainwater on a hot wok. Don't blink! You might miss the whole thing! Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Kung Fu Crippler!”

Hok stared at the open pit doorway and saw a small, wiry man coming out from the depths of the tunnel. He raced round and round the pit in a tight circle, never slowing. His black hair was also cut very short, and he had a large bald spot on the top of his head. Sweat poured out of it like a fountain. The Kung Fu Crippler leaped to the very center of the pit floor and began a random combination of push-ups, squat thrusts, and shadowboxing punches.

The crowd went wild.

“What is he doing?” Charles asked.

“Wasting a lot of energy,” Hok replied.

Seh smirked. “I don't even have to see him to know that that man is a fool. Do you know who he is fighting?”

“No,” Charles said. “I didn't get to see the list.”

“Let's hope it's Fu,” Seh said.

“Why?” Charles asked.

“You'll see,” Seh replied.

The crowd quieted down, and LaoShu spoke again. “I'd like to present to you now the challenger. He's a sizable chunk of fresh meat that we're going to serve up raw for the Kung Fu Crippler! He may be young, but my sources tell me he's tough. You all know the rules. The last one standing wins! Guards, bring in the prisoner!”

Hok stared into the tunnel and saw the two armed guards disappear into the darkness. A few moments later, they reappeared, prodding the challenger with their
qiangs.

The crowd unleashed a series of boos and catcalls for the challenger, but they abruptly stopped once he came into full view. It was obvious that the crowd didn't know what to make of the man-child who stepped into the pit, snarling like a ferocious beast. Even the Kung Fu Crippler stopped and stared.

The challenger locked eyes with the Crippler and slowly began to stalk him.

“It's Fu, isn't it?” Seh asked.

“Yes,” Hok replied. “I feel sorry for Mr. Crippler.”

H
ok watched as Fu stalked the Kung Fu Crippler near the center of the fight club pit. The Crippler began to jump around again, shadowboxing furiously to the delight of the crowd.

Hok rolled her eyes and looked over toward the bettors’ table. A mob of people were wagering at a frenzied pace.

LaoShu cleared his throat and made an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, it seems there's been a huge interest in people betting on the Kung Fu Crippler now that we've seen his opponent. I will wait a few more moments before sounding the gong. Get those wagers in!”

Hok glanced down into the pit and saw that Fu
was now standing still as a statue while the Crippler continued his antics.

“Uh-oh, Seh,” Hok said with a grin. “Fu is locking in on his target.”

Seh chuckled.

“What's going on?” Charles asked. “Why do you two keep laughing?”

“Fu is going to eat the Crippler for dinner,” Seh replied.

Charles eyes widened. “Really?”

“He's not literally going to eat him,” Hok said. “Though it probably appears that way. Growing up, we had an instructor who looked and acted just like the Kung Fu Crippler. He even had a similar bald spot. We called him the Mosquito because he was small and always buzzing around. He never stood still. He taught hand boxing and believed the best way to fight was to constantly be moving. He said it made you a more difficult target. However, larger people like Fu often believe that moving all the time does nothing but waste energy. Fu hated sparring with that instructor. The instructor used to pick on Fu, buzzing around him and jabbing him with short punches, trying to get Fu to learn how to fight someone like him. Unfortunately for the instructor, Fu's training eventually paid off.”

“What did he do?” Charles asked.

“Fu was only ten years old at the time,” Seh replied, “but he managed to land a hard right hand to the instructor's jaw. The instructor didn't wake up for a week.”

“That would have been something to see,” Charles said.

Seh nodded in the general direction of the pit. “I wish I could watch. It's about to happen again.”

Charles scratched his head. “Seh, are you sure you don't want to place any wagers tonight? I could go check the bettors’ table and see what the odds are. If you think Fu is definitely going to win—”

“No, Charles,” Seh said. “Now if you don't mind, I want to listen to the bout.”

Charles frowned and slumped back into his chair.

LaoShu shouted, “All right, I can't take the suspense anymore! Let the games begin!”

The gong sounded, and the crowd roared.

Hok watched as the Kung Fu Crippler continued his crazy shadowboxing, now moving steadily toward Fu.

Fu planted his feet shoulder-width apart and raised both his hands. He formed a tiger claw with his left and positioned it in front of his face. He formed a regular fist with his right and cocked it behind his ear.

Fu growled, and the Crippler chuckled.

“Well, hello to you, too, Kitten,” the Crippler said.

The crowed erupted into laughter, but Fu didn't react. Hok knew that Fu had entered a trancelike state. Nothing would distract him now.

The Crippler moved forward to just beyond Fu's reach, and his own reach as well. He began to throw crisp jabs at Fu's head. The crowd went wild. Hok, however, could tell that the Crippler's punches
wouldn't connect. They were meant to test Fu's reflexes and see what sort of range Fu had. None of the punches were actually close enough to hit Fu.

It was obvious that Fu knew what the Crippler was up to. Fu remained perfectly still.

The crowd began to boo. They wanted to see Fu throw punches, too. A moment later, they got their wish.

The Crippler leaned forward and committed to a punch destined for Fu's temple. It was a looping overhand shot, and Fu could have seen it coming from a
It
away. He shifted his left forearm up to block the Crippler's right-hand punch, but it really wasn't necessary because his own straight right hand connected with the Crippler's chin first.

The Crippler's head snapped back so hard, his bald spot appeared to bounce off his spine. He spun once … twice … then fell to the floor, straight as a board, out cold.

The crowd sat silent for a moment, then exploded with a flurry of cheers, boos, and everything in between. Charles cheered so loud, Hok had to cover her ears. Seh even yelled out a few times.

Hok looked over toward the bettors’ table and saw a scattering of men race up to it with bamboo sticks held over their heads like trophies. They must have bet on Fu. Most of the crowd members, however, broke their wager sticks over their knees and hurled them at the Crippler, who was still clearly unconscious on the pit's brick floor.