Second Chance

Chapter 14 - Another Murder

Wing-mun was sceptical.

“I don’t like it,” he said, after Jake told him about the deadly crisis facing Lau Beng. “His story sounded rather unconvincing; it’s too … how you say this … straightforward and convenient? I smell a trap.”

“Trap or no trap, we’ve got to get to him!” Jake shot back. “Like you’d said, he’s the missing piece to the puzzle. Only he can tell us what the hell is going on.”

The mobster paused for a moment then said, “You are right. It’s a risk we have to take.” He turned to his two bodyguards. “Get the horses. We’re riding into town.” As Jake had to wait for another few days to take delivery of the new car and Wing-mun had returned the rental limousine to the hotel, the four-hoofed mammals were their only means of transport.

Evening had shown itself when the four riders galloped with astonishing speed towards the city. Jake was in front. After him thundered Wing-mun and the bodyguards. It was beginning to snow again. They watched the flakes, white and powdery, fall on the street lamps, on the tarred roads, and on the treeless hills. Soon the snow was thick on their clothing and above the horses’ knees.

Damn, the whole place is going to be buried with this white stuff soon and we might have to turn back; we can’t afford to rest even a minute, Jake muttered worriedly to himself when he heard Flash snorting deep and hard. The only consolation to this snowstorm is that there is hardly a breeze at all, it’s almost still.

But Lady Luck was against Jake. A couple of minutes later, he noticed the branches swaying and before long, the wind, with its mighty roar, came in rushing, strong gusts. So much so that it caused the snow to swirl into the riders’ eyes, making it difficult for them to see ahead. Nevertheless Jake urged himself to carry on, for the words “giving up” did not exist in his dictionary.

For Wing-mun, taking a breather was the last thing on his mind. He reckoned every minute’s delay would bring Lau Beng nearer to death’s door if he was still alive. Like Jake, he was eager to crack this case and no snowstorm, no matter how severe, was going to stop him.

Big Joe and Bulldog, stoic and silent as usual, followed closely behind the two friends.

Their hearts rejoiced when they eventually reached the city gates. At the same incredible moment, the wind died down and the snowstorm began to cease, as if acknowledging the four riders had defeated them. But it came with a price: the men, even in their extra woolly garments, were numb all over, and the horses had grown weary. In spite of that, they continued to make their way to the depot, this time riding at a canter.

It took them another twenty minutes to arrive at their destination which was located on the poorer side of the city. Here, the old, unsightly houses and flats looked as if they were in urgent need of major repairs; refuse was heaped up in piles in the streets; and there was a disagreeable stench in the air.

As they drew near to the opened main gate, they saw a lone part-wood, part-brick building surrounded by a barbed wire fence. The four men dismounted and checked the compound: there was no movement of any kind, and the streets, dimly lit by gas streetlights, was void of pedestrians.

“Are we in the right place, Jake?” Wing-mun asked in a disquieted tone of voice.

Jake answered in the affirmative and pointed to a small signboard clamped to the fence beside the gate. It read: Ban Loong Rice Mills - Depot.

“The depot looks deserted, which is strange,” Wing-mun said, pricking up his ears. Apart from the toads croaking at an unseen pond behind the storehouse, he couldn’t hear any other sound. “Where are the workers?”

“Maybe because today is Sunday and nobody is at work,” Jake replied, shrugging. He was getting rather tired of Wing-mun’s suspicious nature. “And it’s freezing out here. Nobody in his right mind would want to venture out from the warmth of his home, except morons like us.”

Wing-mun chuckled. “That’s putting it mildly.” He ordered everyone to draw out their guns before leading the way into the premises.

They walked slowly across the compound, letting their eyes adjust to the lack of light. When it was clearer, Wing-mun saw two bodies lying on the ground a few paces from where they were. Bulldog went over and looked down at them: they were in uniforms and half the head of the first one was gone, blown off by a powerful gunshot. The second one had blood oozing out from a hole in his temple. His eyes were open but he was not breathing.

Bulldog just shrugged; the horrific scene did little to faze the 40-year-old ex-soldier who had witnessed violence all his adult life. He got up and reported to his boss: “Security guards, Mr Tong, both dead. May I suggest you and Mr Lone stay put until Big Joe and I take a look around the depot? There’s danger lying ahead of us.”

“Danger? I don’t fear danger,” the mob boss scoffed. His rat-like eyes flashed. “Danger fears me. Let’s move. I am certain the killer is still here. ”

“Guys, look up there!” Jake interrupted, gesturing towards the window on the upper floor at the far end of the depot. “There’s someone waving at us.”

The men squinted their eyes, and under the luminosity of the streetlight, they managed to see a male figure. He was elderly, white-haired, and his furrowed face was plastered with fear. His lips were moving like he was saying something to them. Before Jake could make him out, he passed quickly from sight.

“That’s Lau Beng!” Jake cried in jubilation. “Thank God he’s still alive! But what was he trying to tell us?”

“I don’t know, perhaps he was calling out for help,” Wing-mun said, sharing his friend’s joy. “And that’s what we are here for – to get him out. So, come on, let’s finish the job pronto.”

But much to their consternation, they found the main entrance to the building locked from inside.

“Please stand aside, sirs,” Big Joe, the bigger and stronger of the two bodyguards, said with full confidence. “The door just needs a good kick to get it open, that’s all.”

Wing-mun gave the thumbs up and moved away from the spot with the other two men while Big Joe readied himself. That was when Jake noticed a piece of wire sticking out of the snow near the entrance; at once the colour drained from his face.

“Stop! Stop!” Jake yelled. “The door is rigged with dynamite!”

It was too late. Big Joe had already struck down the door with his foot. One blink later, the whole depot exploded in a big ball of fire. Big Joe was killed instantly. The impact of the explosion flung the other three men back several yards. Jake and Wing-mun, who were standing behind Bulldog, were shielded from the blast and escaped with only a few minor cuts on their bodies.

Jake was the first one to get up and he staggered towards Wing-mun, who was still in a daze. He helped the mobster to his feet and together they went to the spot where Bulldog had fallen. His bloodied body confirmed Wing-mun’s and Jake’s worst fears – he had sacrificed his life for them.

Wing-mun, always the tough guy with no room for sentiment, displayed a rare act of despondency when he knelt and wept beside Bulldog – he and Big Joe had been the drug kingpin’s best and most loyal bodyguards.

Jake, looking at the burning building, was heartsick too. Screaming fires had engulfed it, the flames simmering deep red and amber – no one inside the depot could have survived that. But not a second later, a great sense of terror overtook him and he quickly grabbed Wing-mun by the shoulder, forcibly dragging him away.

The top wooden part of the depot, now a blazing inferno, collapsed on the body of Bulldog – the two poor bodyguards had gone to a fiery grave.

During all the confusion, Jake failed to notice a masked man, dressed in black and armed with a revolver, charging towards them on a steed, the fierce beat of the galloping hoofs drowned by the heavy crackling of burning wood. By the time he realized they had company, the man in black had pulled the trigger.

Had Jake not slipped in the snow at that precise moment, he would have been dead. The shot missed his temple by mere inches. He wanted to shoot back, but discovered to his horror that he had dropped his gun during the explosion. He stared at the masked man helplessly and braced himself for the second fatal shot.

There was a bang. The masked man groaned. Wing-mun who was still armed, had shot him in the left leg. In truth, he had been aiming for the enemy’s heart, but in his haste to protect Jake, he misfired; he was never a dead shot with a gun. At the same time, Jake saw his pistol lying on the snowy ground a short distance away. He made a dive for the firearm and once he got hold of it, sprayed lead on his assailant. It was just a waste of bullets. The masked man had already taken off like a streak.

“That shooter must be Kit-son,” Jake cried, running towards the horses. “Come on, Mun Gor, saddle up. Don’t let the son-of-a-b***h get away!”

The two friends kicked their mounts into a lather and set off after their prey. Thundering through garbage-laden streets and winding in and out of alleys that smelled of piss, dung, and rotting flesh, they went after Kit-son who seemed to be moving further away from them with every gallop. Yet they relentlessly pursued him. Passers-by, rickshaws, and mule-drawn carts became a blur as the chase continued.

“We are losing him!” Jake said aloud to Wing-mun.

“Our horses are tired,” Wing-mun explained, looking grim. “They are in no condition to go any faster.”

Eventually, the masked man vanished into the dark of the night, much to their dismay. Jake and Wing-mun reined in their horses beneath the arch of the south gate, the same gate they had entered earlier, and looked at each other in frustration.

All of a sudden, gunshots were heard. It was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps running across the snow-blasted ground, rapidly getting louder. And they all were coming from the nearby woods, which were shrouded in thick fog. Guns drawn and ready to fire, the two friends sat still on their steeds, silent and alert, with their backs to the arch. They gazed into the fog that was slowly approaching them. Nothing appeared, only the enduring noises. Jake began to have the fidgets – he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.

“Do you see anything?” he asked Wing-mun.

Wing-mun didn’t respond immediately. He thought he saw a shadow. He strained his eyes, and the shadow seemed to be multiplying. Soon there could be no doubt: the shadows were figures of human beings – soldiers to be precise – and one by one, they emerged from the white murkiness. Judging from the dark-blue colour of their uniforms, they were General Tang’s troops, and the look of panic on their faces revealed they were fleeing from something. He reckoned that “something” must be Marshal Zhang’s army; the Manchurian warlord had launched an assault on General Tang much earlier than scheduled!

“There’s a battle going on; we’d better get our behinds out of here before we are caught in the crossfire!” Wing-mun cried, moving his steed round to the direction of the city centre. But the poor animal, overwhelmed by exhaustion, collapsed to the ground, bringing the rider along with it. After a weak snort, it remained motionless. “Bloody hell – it sure chooses a fine time to die on me!” he cussed as he picked himself up.

“Mine is not doing that well either,” Jake said; Flash was limping along on three legs. “Damn! We are really in deep trouble now.”

“No, there’s still one option left for us.”

“What’s that?”

“Run!”