The Man Who Fought Alone

  He laughed sharply, like the crack of a handgun. “What rope and grapple?”

  “The ones the cops found in the Dumpster. You made it too easy. When you handed off the chops to Swilley, you could’ve given him the rope and grapple too. He could’ve ditched them anywhere.”

  That got his attention. He opened his mouth to laugh again, then changed his mind. His frown caught the shadows.

  “Swilley? Carliss Swilley? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never met the man.” He feigned a dawning surprise. “Do you mean to say you think I—?”

  I cut him off. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just assume that you left the evidence where the cops couldn’t miss it because you wanted to implicate Nakahatchi.

  “The part that really pisses me off—and I mean really— is killing Bernie Appelwait. Hong sure as hell didn’t deserve to die, but at least there was always a chance that he’d wake up in time to defend himself. Not Bernie.” For a moment rage constricted my chest. I had to fight it down in order to breathe. “He couldn’t have saved himself from you and Hardshorn with a fucking cannon, never mind a mere flik.”

  “Stop!” Sternway ordered. “Damn you, Axbrewder, stop.” Now I could hear him better. All I had to do was keep him angry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I hardly knew Appelwait. Hardshorn was just a man I saw around the fight club. Until he tried to kill you—until I saved your life—I never had anything to do with him.

  “You better have a good excuse for accusing me like this. If you don’t, I’ll sue you for harassment. Slander. I’ll call that detective, what’s his name, and have you arrested!”

  Pure bluster. I ignored it.

  “Here’s the way I see it.” I spat out every word so that he wouldn’t miss it. “You tell me if I miss anything.

  “You knew the chops were fake. That particular secret wasn’t hard to ferret out. Not for a martial arts god like you. But Nakahatchi didn’t. Watchdog didn’t. If you stole them, you could make a fortune selling them. As long as your buyers believed they were genuine.

  “That meant you had to get them appraised as genuine. But of course Watchdog’s New York expert wouldn’t do that, so you had to make sure he never saw them. Instead you approached Swilley, offered him a share of the take if he authenticated them for you.

  “He’s a greedy little weasel, and he jumped at it.”

  Sternway changed his approach. I guess he’d realized that righteous indignation wouldn’t work. “Do you have children, Axbrewder?” he inquired sardonically. “You should. You’re good at bedtime stories.”

  His sarcasm didn’t touch me. I understood it too well.

  I knew it was a sign of weakness—

  Keeping my voice loud—goading him to do the same—I continued.

  “Next you needed to make Watchdog nervous. They had to want a local appraisal before their expert could get here. And you already knew Hardshorn. You’d hired him to frame your wife so that she looked like she was trying to set you up for a fat divorce settlement. Now you had him bring a team to the tournament.

  “You weren’t particularly interested in petty cash”—I gave him another bloodthirsty grin—“although you always need money. You wanted to scare Watchdog, make them think ordinary security wasn’t good enough to protect the chops.

  “Naturally Hardshorn didn’t intend to risk getting caught, so you arranged to meet him in the men’s room, just in case he needed help.

  “Unfortunately,” I growled, “you didn’t expect me to tag the picks.” Sternway must’ve been Hardshorn’s spot. “Bernie caught you by surprise. He was probably already in the men’s room when you got there, flailing his flik at Hardshorn.

  “And he knew you.” Again I had to struggle for breath. The heat of the utility well and the sound of the rain seemed to clog my lungs. “That was his only crime. As soon as he saw you, you weren’t looking at millions anymore. You were looking at prison.”

  Fury mounted in my raw throat. “So you took his flik—right after he gave you that nice bruise on your left forearm, the one you keep hidden—and you crushed his larynx!”

  For the second time Sternway opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. Apparently he’d run out of jibes.

  Instinct told me that I’d set him up as well as I could. Now I had to blindside him somehow, hit him with something he didn’t expect. Otherwise he might never give me what I needed.

  “Afterward,” I informed him, “you went out to the lobby, blended in with Lacone and Deborah Messenger. Later you got the bag from Hardshorn, put the flik inside, and hid it in Mai’s house. You were still trying to incriminate her, make her look like she’d hired Hardshorn to frame you.”

  That shook him, I could see it. Obviously he believed that he could bluff his way out of anything I said about the chops and Swilley. But the fact that I knew what he’d done with Hardshorn’s gear-bag undermined his confidence.

  At last I’d found a vulnerable spot. Like the bruise on his forearm. I dug into it as hard as I could.

  “The cops have the flik now. They can prove it’s the murder weapon. Since you didn’t bother to clean it,” I explained trenchantly, “they’ll find Bernie’s blood on it. And the same fibers they found in his throat.

  “Once they match those fibers to your IAMA blazer, they’re going to fry your ass.

  “Of course, they don’t suspect you yet,” I drawled. “You’ve been pretty clever so far. But a friend of mine is searching your place right now, looking for that blazer.”

  Which was pure bullshit. I hadn’t thought that fast, or that far ahead, when I’d asked Deborah to call Marshal. But he might figure it out for himself. Or Ginny might.

  “And even if he doesn’t find it,” I added, “you’re still fried. You didn’t clean the damn flik.” That I knew for sure. “It has your fingerprints on it.

  “Really, it’s too bad you’re so fucking determined to punish your wife. Otherwise you might’ve gotten away with it.”

  Now I couldn’t read Sternway expression. He’d draped a shroud over his gaze. Instead of watching my face, he’d lowered his eyes to the center of my chest. Like Nakahatchi sparring—

  I probably should’ve pulled out the .45 right then. But he still hadn’t admitted anything. My connection to the answering machine—if it worked at all—had recorded nothing except my accusations.

  I needed him to say something I could use.

  “But of course,” I went on, “you didn’t realize any of that. You thought you were getting exactly what you wanted.

  “Sammy Posten panics. Lacone hires me. I help convince Watchdog they need an appraisal right away. Hell, you probably hung around with Lacone on Sunday to make sure he hired me.

  “Mission accomplished.

  “The downside is, I want Lacone to improve his security. A lot. You know all about my suggestions because you and Lacone are such pals. And you know he isn’t stupid enough to drag his feet once Swilley authenticates the chops. So you have to act fast—which means taking the chops and killing Hong.”

  If I hadn’t invited Hong to take a close look—

  “But first you want to get rid of me. Once Watchdog decided to bring in Swilley, you and Hardshorn would both be safer that way. That’s why you convinced me to go out with you Monday night. A big dumb rent-a-cop at a fight club—what could be more natural? Brain-dead Axbrewder catches sight of Hardshorn, chases him out into the alley. Then he’s dead. He can’t tell anyone that you helped Hardshorn kill him. Chances are the cops won’t even realize you were there. And they aren’t likely to track Hardshorn down. He’s safe unless you rat him out—which you won’t do because he knows too much.”

  I sucked thick heat into my lungs.

  “But you changed your mind.”

  What the fuck are you doing?

  “At the last minute you killed Hardshorn instead. That’s the only thing I really don’t understand. You had me right where you wanted me, and you let me li
ve.

  “Why?”

  Through the sheet metal obstruction of the rain, the echo of thunder in the catwalks, Sternway answered as if I’d invoked the truth from him with blood and sacrifice.

  “Because you were no danger. Him I couldn’t control.”

  Yes! Got you, you sonofabitch.

  Scornfully he explained, “You’re one of those big men with a gun and no real courage. If I thought you had the stones to get into the ring with Hardshorn, I would have let him break your neck. He had it all planned. But I knew you wouldn’t.

  “After that”—Sternway shrugged—“I couldn’t risk letting him kill you. You’d already used your phone. I could assume you told someone you were with me. Then the police would wonder why I hadn’t tried to help you. And if I only pretended to help, Turf would have gone berserk. He would think that I was setting him up. That I was going to testify against him.”

  I let triumph into my voice. “And since I’m a big man with a gun and no guts, you knew you could handle me.

  “Still, it must’ve given you quite a jolt when I told Moy that Hardshorn hadn’t killed Bernie.”

  Sternway didn’t react. I forged on anyway.

  “So you went ahead with your original plan. You’d already talked Lacone into letting you take me and the chops to Martial America. And of course you couldn’t stand in for him without his master key—which you copied before you handed it over.”

  He nodded indistinctly.

  “That gave you access to the chops.” I was winning. “Now all you had to do was wait until Swilley did his part. As soon as Deborah Messenger called Sue Rasmussen to discuss the problem, you knew how fast you had to act.

  “And you knew that I’d asked Hong to take a look at the chops. You had to kill him when you stole them. Before he told anyone the truth.”

  Shadows from the catwalk filled Sternway’s eyes. I couldn’t tell whether he regarded me with contempt or alarm.

  I locked my arms across my chest to contain my anger.

  “As for the rest—Your Sue is good at incendiary phone calls. Once you had the chops and Hong was dead, she started talking to people like T’ang and Soon, selling the idea that Hong stole the chops and Nakahatchi killed him for it. You wanted to stir up enough good ol’ ‘traditional hostility’ to convince the cops that they didn’t need to look any farther for motives.”

  Sternway had resumed his lethal relaxation. He stood like mockery, waiting for me to finish.

  Through my teeth I pronounced, “Which brings me back to my original question. How did you know you were going to need a rope and grapple?”

  He snorted. “That’s easy. I’m surprised it isn’t obvious.”

  For the first time, he shifted his position, took a step toward me. “T’ang told Sue Hong had changed his lock. He even told her Hong liked to sleep with his window open.” Another step. “It’s amazing what you can learn from people when they think you share an enemy like the Japanese. Or the Koreans.”

  And when Posten called Rasmussen, she let Sternway know. He returned to stoke the fires—all that talk about “Ninjitsu”—and keep an eye on me.

  Uncrossing my arms, I pulled out the .45 and pointed it dead at his face.

  “That’s close enough, asshole.”

  He sneered. “You won’t shoot me, Axbrewder. You said it yourself. No guts. And I’m unarmed. Even a coward like you can’t kill people in cold blood.”

  He started into another step.

  With my left hand, I chambered a round. Background noise dulled the sound.

  “Maybe I’ll shoot you, maybe I won’t. Unlike you, I’ve still got a couple of scruples.” Anger poured from me like venom. “But I’ve been known to let them slip on occasion.

  “However,” I admitted bitterly, “I’m a terrible shot. I could probably miss. Even at this range.” Not bloody likely. “So I took precautions.”

  I lifted the cell phone out of my pocket, held it up so that Sternway could see it. The connection counter hadn’t stopped. My link to the answering machine remained open.

  “When we left the dojo, I called a tape recorder. It’s been running the whole time. It’ll have a lot of background noise—rain, thunder, that sort of thing. But the crime lab can clear it up. When they’re done, you’ll be perfectly audible.”

  Abruptly a storm of fury seized his features. All at once he looked rabid and unstoppable, like he could walk through machine-gun fire, tear me apart with his teeth. But that passed almost immediately. Without effort he relaxed his shoulders, let the tension out of his hands. A twist of his mouth dismissed my precautions. Ready as a stick of dynamite, he flashed a glare into my face.

  “That won’t save you, Axbrewder,” he announced distinctly. “I don’t care how many lies you tell about me. I don’t care if you shoot me. You can’t hide the truth. Eventually the police will hunt you down.”

  That sudden change in his stance scared me worse than a direct charge. If he’d come right at me, I could at least have tried to whack him on the head. If nothing else, I should’ve braced myself.

  Instead I dropped the phone back into my pocket, steadied the .45 with both hands.

  “Oh, give it up,” I rasped back. “Maybe you’re too tough to die.” I sighted at his guts. “Maybe you’re the fucking Ebola virus of martial artists. But too many people know what I know. The cops have a piece, Marshal Viviter has a piece, the friend who found that bag has a piece.” I wasn’t about to say Ginny’s name. Just in case. “They’ll put it all together sooner or later.”

  “Lies,” he retorted. “You’re lying. I have to wonder where you’ve hidden the chops. You haven’t had time to take them far. If you’re as careless about that as you’ve been about other things, they may still be in your car.”

  “That’s enough!” What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t wipe out what he’d already said by accusing me. “Get down! Now! On the floor. Face first. I don’t want to kill you, but I do not mind leaving a hole you can put your fist through in your goddamn stomach!”

  He stepped back like I’d scared him—like he suddenly believed that I’d blow him away when scarcely a minute ago he’d actively dared me to shoot him.

  I didn’t get any other warning. I’d already missed too many danger signs.

  Out of nowhere a weight like the business end of an Abrams tank plowed into my kidneys. My head cracked back, my arms jumped at the ceiling. I held onto the .45 as hard as I could, but that didn’t prevent me from sprawling heavily onto the cement.

  My back felt like my spine had snapped.

  Sternway kicked at my right wrist, wrenched the .45 out of my fingers.

  “What kept you?” He didn’t sound angry—or even irritated. He sounded smug, satisfied. “Another minute, and he would have killed me.”

  A voice answered, “We had to be careful.” A man’s voice. “If he heard us coming—”

  Numbness washed everything away for a moment. Numbness and rain. It was never going to stop raining. Then the man’s voice came back.

  “—didn’t want him to kill you.”

  Whoever he was.

  Sternway said, “He has a phone, Sue. Left jacket pocket.”

  Sue? Hell of a name for a man. I’d always thought so.

  Hands rummaged in my pocket. The phone appeared on the cement in front of my face. I could almost focus on it. Then a foot wearing an athletic shoe came down, crushed it.

  “Did he use it?” A woman’s voice this time.

  Or not? With my back broken, I couldn’t be sure.

  “He says he did,” Sternway replied. “He says he called a tape recorder. It got the whole conversation.”

  “Oh, shit!” She sounded like she might be pretty when she was angry. “You didn’t tell him anything?”

  “Enough.” Sternway still sounded pleased. “Enough to keep him from shooting me.”

  “Jesus Christ, Anson!” The woman wasn’t pleased. Not at all. “What were you thinking?”

&nbs
p; “What was there to tell?” A man’s voice again. “I thought he wanted to—”

  Sternway had two rescuers. Definitely. At least two.

  “He did,” Sternway retorted. “I can’t explain right now. We don’t have time. We have to get rid of him. Before somebody comes looking for him.”

  “What do you mean, get rid of him?” the man asked. “If Sue hadn’t ruined his phone, you could call the police. I’ll go out to Essential Shotokan, use their phone.”

  “Shut up!” the woman barked. “You don’t understand. Anson’s right. We have to get rid of him. Now. We’ll explain everything when we have time.”

  I didn’t much like the idea that they’d broken my back. They could get rid of me all they wanted, but I did not want a broken back. And I couldn’t feel anything. Not anywhere.

  But when I told my right hand to move, it twitched.

  My numbness vanished in a sudden jolt of pain, as incandescent and irrefusable as lightning. Bruised bones, torn muscles, there was no distinction.

  It galvanized me like lightning. Without noticing how I did it, I squirmed onto my back. My wrist and kidneys hurt like the fires of hell, but at least now I could see.

  Outlined by floodlamps, a woman who looked exactly like a cheerleader I used to know in high school stood over me. Sue Rasmussen. She wore a warmup suit and athletic shoes. When I flopped over, she retreated a step, but she didn’t take her eyes off Parker Neill.

  He also wore a warmup suit. And athletic shoes. Uniform of the day. Neither of them was wet. They must’ve left their rain gear at the end of the fire escape corridor.

  Parker—

  Ah, Christ.

  He was the tank that ran me over. Rasmussen had the rep of a killer martial artist, but she lacked the sheer mass to hit me so hard.

  The cavalry had arrived, all right. For Sternway.

  Parker didn’t look at her. His attention focused on Sternway. Shadows and uncertainty confused his round face.

  “Anson—” he tried to say. “Sensei—”

  “Trust me,” Sternway ordered. He’d lost his smugness. His patience. “This will all make sense, I promise.