White Tiger (4 page)

“Do as my uncle says, you fool!” Chen Song added angrily. “Are you an incompetent?”

Manning jammed on the brakes, and the tires squealed again as the Legend came to an abrupt halt. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a key ring. He held it over his shoulder to Chen Song.

“Make yourself useful and get to that black Friendee.” Manning pointed to the late-model Mazda van, one of Japan’s more ubiquitous transports, the equivalent of a soccer mom ride in the United States. “Back it out so I can park this car in that space. Be quick about it.”

When Chen Song hesitated, Manning turned and threw the keys at him. “Hurry!
Kuài dian
,
you idiot!”

Chen Song swallowed loudly and took the keys. “But I can’t drive,” he said finally, an admission that cost him much face, given the circumstances.

Manning didn’t know whether he should slap the younger man or just shoot him and his uncle and get out of the entire situation.

“It’s an automatic,” he told Chen Song. “Just start it, put your foot on the brake, slide the shifter in the center to reverse, and back out. That’s all you have to do.”

Chen Song grunted and threw open the door. He ran to the black, square-shaped Friendee and tried to open the driver’s door. He dropped the car keys while fumbling with the lock, then finally opened the driver’s door. Manning put the Legend in reverse and backed up quickly, giving Chen Song a little extra room. He watched as Chen Song groped about the cabin awkwardly, then finally got the Mazda started. Seconds rolled by.

This kid’s slower than a fucking glacier in February
.

“Shall I get out?” Chen Gui asked nervously. His hand was already on the door handle.

“Sit tight.” Manning ran a hand through his dark brown hair. His scalp was moist with sweat and the muscles in his shoulders and back were tense.

The Friendee’s reverse lights flicked on, and the van suddenly lurched out of the space, its front tires chirping as they spun momentarily on the concrete. The Friendee pulled out and crossed the entire lane, tapping the rear bumper of another Mazda, setting off its car alarm. The horn blared and lights flashed. Chen Song looked almost panic stricken, but he had enough presence of mind to put the Friendee in
drive
and lurch into a right-hand turn, giving Manning enough room to park the Legend. Manning gunned the engine and did just that.

“Let’s go!” he said to Chen Gui as he threw open the driver’s door. Chen Gui needed no additional hastening, though he did find it difficult to exit the Honda while still wearing his seatbelt. With a whispered curse, his pudgy fingers fumbled with the release. The belt snapped free and retracted into its recess.

Manning ran for the Friendee and threw open the driver’s door, then yanked open the van’s sliding door, shoving Chen Gui into the passenger compartment. He then tugged Chen Song out of the driver’s seat with perhaps more force than was necessary; Chen Song fell to his knees. The Friendee lurched forward. Chen Song had left it in gear.

“For the love of God!” Manning jumped in and stomped his foot on the brake. The Friendee lurched to a halt.

“Get down on the floor, where you can’t be seen! Chen Song, get in and close the door, damn it!”

Chen Song struggled to his feet and leapt into the Friendee, driving his uncle to the floor.

“Aiyah! Get off of me, you oaf!” Chen Gui screamed in Chinese.

“Sorry, uncle!” Chen Song apologized, groping for the door. He found the handle, and yanked on it with all his strength. The door slid forward and slammed closed.

Tires squealed as the silver Camry crested the entry ramp. The Fujianese were driving a little too fast; the car rubbed paint against a cement support pillar.

“Stay down!” Manning ordered, dropping the Friendee into gear. Hanging from the mirror was a blue New York Yankees baseball cap; he slapped it on his head, then donned his sunglasses. He braced the Friendee’s steering wheel with one thigh and shrugged out of his jacket. It was the closest he could come to a disguise.

The car full of Fujianese slowed after brushing the cement pillar, and it now ambled down the parking aisle as the car’s occupants looked for Manning’s Legend. Manning accelerated toward the exit ramp slightly; the car alarm was still wailing, and it wouldn’t take long for it to attract the gang’s collective attention. Manning hoped they would find his car and spend a few moments milling about it before trying to actively reacquire their quarry.

By that time, Manning intended to be far, far away.

###

“I don’t understand, where are we going?” Chen Gui asked hotly. He was still lying on the floor before the second row of seats, right behind Manning. “Aren’t we getting on a plane?”

“Not from Narita,” Manning answered. He maneuvered the Bongo Friendee back onto the Shen Kuko Expressway, heading back in the general direction of Tokyo. He kept his speed centered around 80 kilometers per hour. Not terribly fast, but not terribly slow, either. He figured if the Fujianese were still on them, he’d find out soon enough.

“Then where are we going?” Chen Gui demanded.

“Haneda. And from there, you’ll go to Kansai, then onward to Dalian.”

“
Dalian?!
” Chen Gui cried. “Why Dalian and not Shanghai? I
hate
Dalian!”

“Shanghai’s just a little hot right now, Chen Gui. You’d be better going into Dalian, and then lying low for a few days. I’ll arrange for transportation on the other side. I trust that Lin Feng is still the appropriate contact?”

“Yes, yes, Lin Feng is still
—
wait, you’re not coming with us,
Bái Hu
?”

Manning shook his head and checked the mirrors. “I’m afraid not. I don’t have a visa.”

“Wah! Poor planning on your part—what am I paying you for?” Chen Gui wailed.

“There’s no way the Fujianese can get to you in Dalian, so long as you’re still in good with Boss Tao,” Manning said. He checked his watch. He preferred to stay in the slow lane
—
that made for leaving only one side of the van open to a strafing run from a passing car, if it came to that. But the flight he had booked for his two charges would depart Haneda within a few hours, and it would take a good 75 minutes to get there. He had to burn up some time.

“Of course I’m still in good with Tao! That toad owes me more than I should have ever allowed him!” Chen Gui said.

“Then tonight you’ll collect on some of that,” Manning told the Shanghainese gangster. “Boss Tao won’t be able to say no, and in two days you’ll be back in Shanghai. The Fujianese might be able to tag you at the airport, but that’s the only chance they’ll get, and you won’t be there, anyway.”

“I see.” Chen Gui was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, there was a more respectful tone in his voice. “
Bái Hu
, your mind works in ways I can’t fathom. I’ve always acknowledged your professionalism, but now I must say I find it...respectable.”

Most Americans would have accepted the praise with pride; Manning knew enough about Chinese ways to be more mindful of how he responded.

“Thank you for your words,” he said in Mandarin, “but perhaps you should save them for after you get to Shanghai, yes?”

“My words are nothing,
Bái Hu
. I know what it is you value, and you’ll have it. As I said before, we Shanghainese are a generous people. You’ll see.”

“Can we get up now?” Chen Song asked from the very back.

“The
Bái Hu
will tell us when it’s safe to get up, Chen Song!” Chen Gui roared. “Now be quiet! I need to think of some things.”

For a moment, silence reigned. Then Chen Song let out a heavy sigh.

“But I have to piss,” he said, almost whining. “My kidneys are floating!”

Manning grinned. Japan had some very fine roads, but he was determined to hit every bump he could find on the way to Haneda Airport.

###

A little over an hour later, the black Bongo Friendee pulled into a parking space at Haneda Airport, just outside of Tokyo. It had been Japan’s primary international gateway, until the busier Narita International opened up some 70 kilometers to the northeast. However, Haneda still offered limited international traffic, though it was designated as the primary domestic hub serving the greater Tokyo area.

As they left the Friendee, Manning collected Chen Gui and Chen Song’s weapons. They most certainly couldn’t make it through the security checkpoints while carrying them, and they were no longer of any use. It was unlikely the Fujianese could catch them, since they still believed the two Shanghainese were in the Narita area. And even if they did have lookouts at Haneda, they would be covering the international terminal, not the domestic. The Fujianese couldn’t be everywhere, and it was doubtful the Japanese
yakuza
would wish to get involved in something as bloody as what lay ahead.

Chen Song demurred when it came to handing over his Beretta. He looked at Manning’s open hand as if it were a snake, his handsome face set in hard lines.

“Give him the gun, nephew,” Chen Gui said tiredly.

“I’d rather throw it in the trash can,” Chen Song spat, “than give it to this
yinwi wàiguórén!
”

The insult was more than Manning was prepared to take. Before Chen Song could do more than summon a nasty look, Manning clipped him in the right arm, knocking his hand away from his holstered Beretta. He then grabbed Chen Song’s wrist and yanked him forward; off-balance, Chen Song could do nothing more effective than stammer a quick curse before Manning snatched him up in
morote-jim
, a three-point judo chokehold. Even Chen Gui had just started to inhale to speak by the time Manning had flung Chen Song onto his back and shoved his head into the triangle formed by his left arm. Chen Song struggled at first, but Manning merely increased the pressure; he anticipated Chen Song’s strike at his eyes, fingers curled into claws. Manning blocked the move with his right fist, rapping his knuckles into Chen Song’s wrist. After that, it was over
—
Chen Song began to choke out, losing consciousness. To his credit, he did so without sound, but Manning’s senses were finely attuned and he could sense the microscopic muscle relaxations cascading through Chen Song’s body as his awareness ebbed.

“
Bái Hu
!” Chen Gui finally gasped. “People will notice!” He cast a worried look at the parking attendants, standing in the next aisle.

Ever the practical man,
Manning mused.
Only Chen Gui would be more worried about attracting attention than the fact a white barbarian is choking the life out of his nephew.

Manning release Chen Song before he lost consciousness completely. He came to his senses a few moments later as oxygen returned to his brain. Chen Song’s brow clouded with anger, and as he rolled to his feet, he reached for his holstered Beretta, eyes on Manning. It was no longer strapped to his side.

Manning lifted his right hand and showed Chen Song the weapon, still in its holster. Chen Song’s lips compressed into a thin, hard line. Even though the Beretta was mere feet from him, it might as well have been a million miles away. He could no more take it from Manning than he could jump to the moon.

“Never call me a filthy foreigner again,” Manning said. “You owe me far too much for that.”

“So you think,” Chen Song hissed.

“Enough of this fighting! We need to leave here, now!” Chen Hui snapped. “Chen Song, wipe off your pants
—
there’s dust all over them! You look like a street beggar!”

Chen Song looked down and slapped at the filth on his dark trousers angrily. He avoided looking at Manning as the taller man tossed the Beretta to the Friendee’s rear floorboard.

“
Bái Hu
, how much time?” Chen Gui asked. He checked his watch nervously.