The Killing Hands (20 page)

“Give me the details of the car.” I take out my notebook and a pen.

Moon bites her lip. “Nissan Micra 2002. Red. Plates 5EQ4500.”

Hana shakes her head. “Try again, Ms. Moon.”

Moon looks puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I was just down in your basement. There's a red Nissan Micra parked in your spot.”

“But I gave Mee the keys. She was using the stairs over there to get down.” Moon points to a set of stairs along the corridor.

Obviously, as soon as we buzzed, Mee ran that way, avoiding the front entrance altogether. But where did she go if she didn't drive off in her car or Moon's?

I
arrive at kung fu twenty minutes early and am happy to find Sifu Lee in his office, and alone. I knock on the glass window and he beckons me in.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“Not at all. How did it go today?”

I put my gear down on the chair opposite Lee. “Our Little Tokyo victim does have indications of
dim mak
.”

“Which points?”

I tell him.

He nods. “Kidney 22 and pericardium 6 are setup points. To exacerbate the effects of stomach 9 and heart 3. Have you had a chance to read the books?”

“Not yet. I had a quick flick and I've given the one by the doctor to the forensic pathologist working the case. I think we'll both be reading about
dim mak
this weekend.”

Lee nods again. “Well, if you've got any questions….”

“Thanks.”

For the first hour of class we work on blocks, before Lee pairs us up for thirty minutes of partner work. Tonight, Lee puts me with Marcus, someone I don't work with very often, and I'm immediately conscious of the difference in our skills and strength. Marcus may only be one level above me, but he's also six-two and muscular. I remind myself of what
I said to Williams—bulk doesn't matter in kung fu, not if you're fast and precise.

For the first fifteen minutes we work as a group, with Lee calling out strikes for one side of the room and watching the blocks the partners come up with. The first series of strikes he calls out is left jab, right hook, followed by a double undercut. I look for Marcus's first punch, watching his shoulders to see when the movement initiates. Even though it's tempting and logical to watch the hands, it's the shoulders that give away the start of a punch. His left shoulder moves ever so slightly, and the punch comes a few milliseconds later. By the time it gets to its target, my face, I've used an upper block to defend myself, bending at the elbow so his strike lands on the bony part of my forearm. Marcus doesn't hold back, and the punch sends small aftershocks through my arm—might have a bruise there, despite my conditioning. Marcus's right hook comes extremely fast after his left jab, and I put both arms up around my head to protect myself—similar to a boxer's defensive stance. For the double undercut, which is a difficult strike to defend with a simple block, I take a step backward and bring my forearm down onto his forearms as the strike hits the place where I was standing only a second before. I keep watching Marcus, and only just manage to deflect the roundhouse kick he sends my way.

“Hey, that wasn't part of the drill!”

Marcus grins. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

“Okay, swap,” Lee says. “And stick with the instructions.” He eyes Marcus disapprovingly. It's one thing to throw a kick when we're sparring freestyle, but to do it when I wasn't on the lookout could have been disastrous. Lee doesn't want any unnecessary injuries on his watch.

Once Marcus is in position, I move my body weight forward a couple of times as a fake, before lunging in with a jab. I follow it quickly with my right hook, and then the double uppercut. Marcus defends the strikes easily.

The next series of movements Lee calls out includes two kicks moving forward as an attack sequence and two straight
punches. I attack first, sliding forward and delivering a right-side kick aimed at Marcus's chest, followed by a front kick aimed at his groin and then a right and left punch to his head.

In the next sequence, Marcus moves in for a stranglehold. I wind both arms around the outside of his, and bring them down hard on his forearms just near the elbow joints, before his hands get a grip on my throat. We switch roles again, and Marcus has no trouble keeping me at a distance.

With only twenty minutes of class to go, Lee breaks us into two groups, one he can supervise and the other is taken by Steve. Marcus and I are in Lee's group, along with another five sparring partners. He gives each couple a few minutes in the center, with one person attacking and one person defending. This final exercise is freestyle sparring, allowing us to come up with whatever combination of strikes and kicks we'd like.

“A word of warning,” Lee says. “I know you've got your protective gear on, but please take it easy. I don't want anyone using full-out strength. Remember, this is a class, not the place to act like your life depended on your moves.”

We all nod before he calls the first pair into the center. Most people manage to connect with their opponents, even briefly. Marcus and I are the last ones in.

“Okay, you two. We've only got a couple of minutes left, so let's see what you've got. Sophie, you can throw the first strike.”

I nod and pop on my helmet, which is streaked with sweat and feels uncomfortably hot. Marcus follows suit, and we give each other a small bow. I use my footwork first, moving in fast so I'm close enough for an elbow strike to his ribs, while also making sure I keep my guard up to block any punches if he's fast enough to throw one before I get out of his immediate range. I make contact with the ribs and block his retaliatory elbow strike by pushing the palm of my hand down along my body as I move out. He moves into attack mode, sending a right hook my way. As the punch comes closer to my head, I block it with my left forearm but quickly bring my right arm under his to the outside, so his
elbow joint is sandwiched between my forearms on either side. In a fight situation, I'd apply as much conflicting pressure as I could, pushing my left arm away from me while pulling my right arm toward me. The result would be a broken elbow. But in this instance I hold the position for a millisecond and apply only the slightest bit of pressure to show I've got the lock on. While I've got his right arm, I sense his left coming toward the back of my head. I move away from him and into a lower horse stance, blocking the punch with my right arm. He's closed up the space between us now, and I decide to use that to my advantage, going for another close-range strike. I move through into another horse stance, this time so I'm directly in front of him, with my back to him, and push both my elbows back into his body, before moving back to the neutral side-on standing position.

My weight's not quite balanced when Marcus tries a side kick. I only just manage to block the kick before it connects with my hip. It may be a class situation, but now my adrenaline's pumping—I almost let the kick through. Marcus follows his side kick with an immediate crescent kick and I move out of its way by sliding backward on my back foot. I team the back slide with an outside block, just in case I haven't moved far enough away from the kick. This time Marcus misses me by an inch or two.

While his leg is still in the air, I take two quick steps to get me in range of his supporting leg. I carefully target my kick to the back of his knee. In a real-life situation I'd be going for the side of the knee joint to tear his ligaments, or even for his shin. My kick connects with the back of Marcus's knee and it has the desired effect, with his supporting leg buckling momentarily. However, his left leg hits the ground a fraction of a second after I've made contact, giving him time to recover his balance. I'm now behind him, and he immediately swings his upper body downward, like a pendulum, bringing his right leg up in a tiger tail kick that's targeting my abdomen. I block and move at the same time, but if he'd put his full force into that kick he would have
made contact and done some damage. Damn it. The only good thing for me is that kicks take a little longer to recover from than hand strikes, in terms of getting back into a balanced horse stance and throwing another punch or defending. So while he's still reasserting his body into position, I move in and deliver a tiger strike to his back, targeting his kidneys with the palm of my hand. I make contact, but keep the power down, so it's unlikely he'll even have a bruise there tomorrow.

“Okay, stop.” Lee claps his hands together twice, just in case his voice wasn't enough to get our attention.

We both turn around to face him and receive our verdicts, taking our helmets off at the same time. Sweat drips down my neck, back and between my breasts. I've definitely got my workout tonight. And that was only a few minutes of fighting.

“Excellent,” he says. “In a fight situation you both would have made contact with some good strikes.”

I smile, happy that I held my own with a more experienced and much bigger opponent. Maybe my private lessons are paying off.

 

Two hours later I'm in bed reading and still winding down when my cell phone rings. I instinctively look at my watch—11:00 p.m.

“FBI. Anderson.”

“You're looking for Mee Kim?” The voice is husky, male and softly spoken.

“Yes.” I sit up.

Silence. “You left your card with my wife today.” The caller speaks quickly. “You can find Mee Kim at 3560 Torrance Boulevard, in Torrance.” The line goes dead.

I jot down the address while it's still in my head. Eleven o'clock…Hana's my best bet. As far as I know, she's single—at least I won't be risking waking kids if I call her now.

I dial her cell number but get voice mail. So it's Ramos or Petrov—I hardly know De Luca and Williams. I decide on Ramos, only because I don't want to get the head of the
task force out of bed for a routine check, not until I know if this is a legitimate tip-off. I dial Ramos's number.

“Ramos.” His voice is alert, but he also sounds a little grumpy, like maybe I interrupted something.

“Detective Ramos, it's Agent Anderson.”

“Hey, Anderson. What's up?”

“I just got a tip on my cell phone. A possible address for Mee Kim tonight.”

“You gonna send a patrol car?”

My natural reaction is to investigate myself, but Ramos is right—we could just ask a patrol car to do a drive-by. On second thoughts I'll stick with my original plan. “I don't want to scare off Mee with cop cars, so I'll go myself.” I pause. “You wanna ride shotgun?”

“Guess you made me an offer I can't refuse.”

From the tone of his voice I think he's dying to refuse, but he doesn't want to leave me without backup.

“Sorry. I did try Agent Kim first. I know I'm taking you away from your wife and kids.”

“Don't sweat it, Anderson. Kids are asleep and the missus is about to hit the sack, too.” He takes a breath. “One car?”

“The caller said Mee's in Torrance, Torrance Boulevard. Where do you live?”

“El Monte.”

“I'm in Westwood, so let's make it two cars, but we'll meet somewhere in Torrance and then continue in one.”

“Okay. How about the corner of Torrance Boulevard and South Western Avenue? You know it?”

“No, but I'll find it.”

“Cool. Do any of her English students live in Torrance?”

“Don't think so. Hold on, I'll double-check.” I take the list from the Korean Cultural Center out of my briefcase and scan through it. “No. The caller said his wife had my card, so I guess she's one of Mee's students, but none of them have a Torrance address.”

“Maybe the center's database isn't up-to-date.”

“Let's go find out,” I say.

I change out of my shorts and T-shirt and into a pair of white linen pants and a dark blue singlet top. Next I slide into my shoulder holster, before putting a lightweight suit jacket over the top. The jacket only partially hides the shoulder holster and Smith & Wesson, but it'll do. Before I leave, I check my gun to make sure the ammo's full, even though I checked it this morning before leaving for work. While most people only check their guns periodically, I figure it's better to be safe than sorry. I release the magazine clip on my Smith & Wesson 910S, and check all sixteen bullets are present and lined up in the double magazine before shoving it back into the gun's butt. I also check the safety's on, and then slot the gun into my shoulder holster.

I've got a lot of questions for Mee Kim, but first off I just want to make sure she's safe and sound, with us. The fact that she's on the run can only mean one of two things: she's hiding something from us or she's running from someone else and for some reason doesn't trust us. While her story to Moon was fanciful, maybe it's based in fact—maybe she really doesn't believe we're law enforcement. Or perhaps she's worried that Ramos, Petrov or I are dirty. Either way, it's time for Mee Kim to come in before she puts herself in even more danger.

I follow my navigation system's instructions to Torrance Boulevard. I've still got a few blocks until South Western Avenue, but I scan for numbers. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes I cruise by number 3560. It's a shop front, Kyoto Deli, with what looks like a residence over the top. Maybe one of Mee's students owns the shop and is letting her hide out upstairs. I keep driving until I get to South Western. I'm surprised to find Ramos already waiting, leaning on his car under a streetlight. He's wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with his gun on his belt.

I jump out of the car and look up. “You been waiting long?”

“Nah. Couple minutes.”

“You must have broken some records to get here from El Monte before me.”