Killer of Killers (6 page)

The black-suited bodyguard jumped up enraged,
swiping overturned chairs and broken tables out of his way. Hunched
over with both of his arms bent, he seemed resigned to reassess his
strategy. He stepped forward once and then stopped. He stepped
forward again, and then stopped again. Trent resumed his back
stance and waited for the assault.

It came. Throwing roundhouses, upper cuts,
and backhands, TT exposed no opening through which Trent might
counterstrike. But even though the Samoan had size and strength to
his advantage, Trent’s speed and reflexes were far superior. He
ducked and sidestepped every blow that TT delivered. Not giving up
the offensive, TT maintained his barrage until Trent had backed
into one of the tables. Demonstrating the agility of an acrobat,
Trent leapfrogged the table, rotating in midair to keep his foe in
sight.

Trent thought the piece of furniture would
provide a break from the onslaught, as TT stopped on the table’s
opposite side. But in an impressive display of sheer power, the
Samoan strongman raised both of his fists and brought them down,
smashing the wooden surface asunder. With no more obstruction
between them, he stepped up the bombardment, adding kicks and
martial arts combos. It was an act of futility. Focused razor
sharp, Trent’s concentration kept his oversized opponent moving as
if in slow motion, and he was touched only by the wind of swinging
arms.

The attack ceased, and TT hunched his
shoulders, heaving swirls of air. Seeing his foe spent and
unguarded, Trent delivered a jump kick to TT’s mouth and then a
roundhouse to the side of his head. The huge Samoan didn’t even
blink. He merely formed a blood-curdling smile and wiped the edge
of his mouth with a shrug of his sleeve. “I am going to kill you
slowly, you son of a bitch. Very slowly. What do you have to say
about that?”

Up to this point, Trent had no intention of
using a death strike on the monstrous bodyguard assailing him. But
with his life threatened, he had no qualms about changing his mind.
“I kill quickly,” he replied.

With a roar, TT charged directly into a
circle throw. Trent grabbed TT’s lapels, planted a foot on his hip,
and dropped backward, catapulting the Samoan through the air,
upside down. It was a classic
Tomoe Nage
.

* * * *

Susie and Alicia, still peeking through the
window slot, realized TT was hurtling straight at them. In a panic,
they scurried away, screaming. Scant moments later, TT’s huge body
crashed through their door, which exploded into splinters
throughout the backroom.

Susie had retreated as far as she could, but
TT slid to within inches of where she and the other girls cowered.
Seeing TT recovering right next to her, she reached for a slice of
wood and broke it over the top of his head.

TT rubbed his crown and snarled, “Why’d you
do that?”

“That’s my boyfriend, you big bully.”

“Your boyfriend? Not for long.”

* * * *

Leaping up, TT stormed the now doorless
doorway, but Trent was waiting in a crouch on the other side of the
wall. He kicked his leg out, ankle high, tripping the galloping
goliath head-over-heels through several more tables, bulldozing
each one to rubble before he finally came to a stop.

With a rabid shake of his head, the
infuriated Samoan picked up a tabletop, still intact but for the
missing table legs. He blitzed Trent, roaring like a madman,
swinging the makeshift weapon sideways. Before Trent could roll
with the blow, it shattered over his body, bashing him to the
floor. Sure to maintain his advantage, TT grabbed another legless
tabletop and brought it down flush over Trent. The furniture again
smashed into countless pieces. Before Trent could recover, TT
grabbed yet another tabletop, raised it high, and a third time
pancaked him, scattering still more debris about the room.

Trent wasn’t out, but he was taking too much
damage. His ears were ringing, and his blood spilled onto the floor
just inches from his face. Recalling a strategy from his past, he
waited for TT to lift another tabletop, at which point he planned
to topple him with a scissors throw.

But TT didn’t lift any more tabletops.
Instead, he jumped on Trent’s waist and wrapped his hands around
Trent’s neck. Murderous rage twisted his face, framing the lust for
blood in his eyes. “I told you I was going to kill you slowly, you
son of a bitch. Do you remember that?”

Trent looked for an opening. Hunched
shoulders covered the scalene muscles of TT’s neck, and his chin,
scrunched onto his chest, shielded the soft part of his throat.
Even though Trent’s arms were still free, he was not in position to
mark a vital organ or nerve anywhere on TT’s enormous trunk. There
was an option available, however, if he could muster the strength
and speed needed to pull it off.

“I told you nice and slow,” the confident TT
said again.

Trent knew the man was taking his time,
having yet to employ full force to the stranglehold. TT was killing
him slowly, as he predicted, and Trent felt his life ebbing.
Summoning a final effort, he tightened his fists, thumbs bent at
the knuckle, and fired a bilateral strike, targeting the temples on
TT’s head. It was a double
Kasumi
—a brutal deathblow, which,
if executed properly, would puncture the temporal lobes and rupture
the middle cerebral arteries therein.

He gave it everything, yet the brute above
him still glared bloodshot eyes, gnashed blood-smeared teeth, and
thrust ever-swelling pounds of pressure into his throat. Defiant to
the last, Trent raised his hands to gouge TT’s bulging eyes, but
the vise about his neck loosened, and the suited giant fell
forward, dead from a massive brain hemorrhage.

Trent pushed the large body off his chest
with the strength he had left and rolled over, heaving endless
coughs and gags. His head spun so fast, he hugged the floor as a
long lost friend.

Finally, Trent sat up with his breathing
steadied only to realize it wasn’t over. A tingling in his skin
began slowly at first until its increasing intensity rivaled the
sensation of ants swarming a naked body. Attempting to brush the
invisible insects from his arms only swelled the prickly tide. His
vision blurred, and he dropped into nothingness.

* * * *

Seeing the fight was over, Susie came running
with the rest of the women, shouting, “My baby, my baby, what did
he do to you?”

The women crowded around the fallen fighters,
and Susie cradled the man of her affection. Streams of scarlet
crisscrossed his face for a tri-cut on the bridge of his nose and a
gash in his forehead. His brown hair was a tangled mop, matted in
sweat and congealed blood.

Standing with the others, Alicia put her
hands on her hips and frowned. “He’s not so cute right now,” she
said.

Chapter Four

Something Odious

The open window showcased a
dark San Francisco night sprinkled in colorful city lights.
Samantha’s vantage point revealed the elegant office in which she
sat to be many stories high in the city’s tallest high-rise. She
admired the view until a voice reminded her of the reason for being
there.

“You say this person is an expert
killer.”

The speaker was Karl Manoukian, a middle-aged
man who spoke with an uncommon accent from behind his large oaken
desk. Traces of gray laced the balding black hair strung over his
head, and his sallow complexion suggested a mixed and unclear
origin. Diamond chips lined the silver-rimmed spectacles that
windowed his dark and piercing eyes.

“He is,” Samantha maintained. She and Josh
sat in two comfortable chairs but didn’t relish filling them if it
meant being the captive audience of the city’s preeminent
businessman.

“You only make that assumption because you
think he’s some kind of a master martial artist,” Manoukian
claimed.

“Look, he killed Stiles, there’s no doubting
it,” Josh contended.

Samantha winced for her brother’s
insubordinate tone, but it didn’t surprise her. Josh had made a
habit of protecting her since childhood, and his defensive posture
seemed always automatic.

“You say that, but she didn’t see him do it,”
Manoukian countered.

“I have more than just circumstantial
evidence,” Samantha divulged.

“Oh, and what might that be?”

“This,” she said while pulling a ragged
object from her purse.

At first, neither Manoukian nor Josh seemed
to know what it was, but as she unfolded it, the object identified
itself. It was a very long belt, the kind worn by martial artists.
Remnants of black were still evident, but most of it had shredded
to a faded gray. Several Japanese characters embroidered in red
fancied both ends. Manoukian responded, “And that is...”

“It’s a tenth degree black belt,” Samantha
declared, “and it belongs to someone so advanced that the black of
this belt has faded by now. This man has been a black belt for more
than twenty years.”

“Where did you get it?”

“From his condo in Oakland. I tracked
fourteen addresses of men named Trent Smith in the Bay Area, and
when I determined which one was him, I paid him a visit. No one was
home, so I took the liberty to let myself in.”

“You are quite the detective,” Manoukian
admitted. “So tell me. Was there anything else?”

“No,” Samantha answered with a sigh. “Nothing
that provided any information about who he is or who he works for.
I found no evidence of family. There were no albums or photos, no
papers, no files, nothing. It looked like he just moved in. There
was no computer and no telephone. His mail only had junk, and his
bed didn’t even have covers on it.” After finishing her statement,
Samantha wished she left that last part out.

“So all we have is a name,” Manoukian said.
“You saw Stiles enter a restroom. You saw this Trent Smith enter
the same restroom. You saw Smith come out, and you found this
thing
in his home.” He nodded at the belt. “The official
report says Stiles died of natural causes. That means he could have
died before Smith entered or after Smith exited the restroom.”

“The official report states he died from
natural causes, but my own investigation uncovered the
real
cause of Stiles’ death,” Samantha explained. “It was a lack of
oxygen to the brain due to crushed internal carotid arteries. A
martial arts master can kill like that. The report also failed to
mention that Stiles’ left shoulder was dislocated when he died.
That’s more evidence of—”

“
Perhaps
,” Manoukian interrupted. “But
why? Did Soriah send him?”

“He doesn’t fit the profile of a Soriah
Special,” Josh advised. “He must work for someone else.”

Manoukian paused, but only for a moment.
“Interesting,” he said. “Is there any record of this man in the
police files?”

“Mr. Manoukian, the police have nothing on
him,” Samantha replied. “We don’t even know where he’s from, or
where he was born.”

“Samantha, please...”

“Yes, I’m sorry. Karl.”

“Thank you.”

Samantha was eager to make her point. “Mr.
Manou... Karl... You wanted Stiles. Trent Smith killed Stiles. I
think that makes
him
right for the job.”

“I can’t risk everything on what you
think
,” Karl retorted. “I need to be sure. I was sure about
Benjamin Stiles, but I’m not sure about this Trent Smith.” He
glared alternately at Samantha and Josh. “Besides, you say he’s an
average-sized man. He’ll never get close enough. Soriah only
surrounds himself with athletes.
Big
ones.”

“If Soriah knew this guy killed Stiles with
his bare hands, he might make an exception,” Josh surmised. “He’s
been known to do that.”

“No,” Karl snapped. “Stiles was the man for
the job. He was already part of Soriah’s network. Now that he’s
gone,
you
will have to do it. You were one of them. They
want you back, anyway.”

“I’m not a killer,” Josh argued. “It’s not
something I can do, even if I wanted to.”

“And thanks to me the world still believes
that. It’s why you work for me, is it not?”

“Josh quit working for Soriah,” Samantha
interjected, “because he found out what he’s really like, and he
doesn’t want any part of it.”

“But he
was
a part of it!” Karl
shouted. He calmed himself and continued. “When Mr. Soriah became
my partner, I thought his resources would be a boon. I believed his
money and influence would make our product available worldwide.
Instead, we have a monster on our hands, and he has taken us in a
direction I had never dreamed possible. It’s why Josh and I defied
him. He must be stopped. We have to be sure.”

Josh cleared his throat. “I am indebted to
you,” he said. “And I believe, as you do, in the betterment of
humanity. But how do we know it’s the
real
reason you want
Soriah dead?”

“Josh!” Samantha cried.

“Well, how do we know?”

“I can’t believe you. Karl saved your life.
You should be grateful.”

Despite Samantha’s response, Karl’s face
darkened and he shook his head. “You disappoint me,” he said to
Josh. “With one phone call I can put you in jail. Is that what you
want?” He lifted his desk phone.

Josh lowered his gaze and answered, “No.”

“Then you will do as I say. I took care of
your problem as a personal favor to your sister. She owes me
nothing, but
you
owe me in return. If you are a real man,
you will
repay
me.”

Samantha narrowed her eyes. “He’s not going
back there,” she stressed. “And you can’t make him.” She didn’t
want to sound impertinent, but the bond with her brother was blood
thick, and she knew that Karl Manoukian never enjoyed seeing her
upset.