The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series: Books 1-3 (plus special bonuses) Page 9

  Master Wu spoke calmly, smoothly, as their bodies flowed in unison. “Meditation is the core of the Shaolin, but today no one has the discipline for three days or even three hours. Now, boys who dream of being Donnie Yeo or Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee populate the schools run by opportunists or fools who are only interested in fighting for fighting’s sake. They have lost the art of martial arts... Once I sat for three months meditating by a courtyard wall.”

  This was too much for Noah. Try as he might, he couldn’t maintain his cool. Composure erupted into laughter. “Sifu, I’d rather be Bruce Lee any day than sit by a damned wall doing nothing.”

  The pupil hugged his master, who finally opened his eyes. “I really appreciate your coming to my graduation.”

  There was a beat of silence, and then Master Wu flashed a wisp of contentment. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. It is good to see you at home again.”

  Noah rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, if the last half hour is any indication, it’s like I never left.”

  Master Wu frowned. “You’ve only been here fifteen minutes.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Chapter 4

  Tommy strutted with Garret down a noisy, colorful street in Hong Kong. An unlikely pair, the two were polar opposites of each other in appearance. Instead of Tommy’s portly and paunchy build, Garret was about as fit a physical specimen as someone in his fifties could be. He maintained his good looks and, if he ever gave up his day job, he could find a job in Hollywood as an older leading man.

  Tommy’s garish and gaudy dress could be described as peacock gigolo. Garret, on the other hand, with his tailored navy blue blazer, gray slacks and Italian shoes, was consummately conservative.

  They had walked this area thousands of times during their almost fifty-year association and had long stopped really seeing any of the locals or their activities, so familiar were they with the neighborhood.

  But not today... especially Tommy.

  He waved at Old Lady Wong hanging her laundry on a balcony clothesline amidst her pots of orchids. He bought twenty pirated DVDs from her son, a hawker on the street. From another sidewalk vendor, he purchased a large bag of Chinese deep-fried dumplings. From another, five pounds of charcoal-roasted chestnuts.

  He and Garret stopped at the end of a block and began handing out their loot to the delight of the mystified street people. They had never done this before... and knew they would never do it again.

  Garret spoke softly. “This is the crossroads, Tommy. You realize that if we keep going, there is no return.”

  “I’m all in... Are you having doubts?”

  Garret shook his head. “We have waited fifteen years to take our revenge on Chin. It’s torn my soul apart, especially not being able to share it with Olivia.”

  Tommy nodded. “Our girls. That’s the only worry I have. What will Chin do to them?”

  “We’ve gone through that, Tommy. We kept them out of Hong Kong long enough...they’re now too old for Chin to want to have sex with them and if we’re dead... they are useless to him.”

  “Do you think Noah can pull it off?” asked Tommy, tapping his heart.

  Garret pulled away Tommy’s tapping hand, turning his friend to face him. “It doesn’t matter what I think. We put our eggs in Master Wu’s basket and he is the only one we have ever been able to count on.”

  “But this is different. And a hell of lot bigger and more dangerous.”

  There was no disagreement from Garret. The lawyer murmured, “Que sera, sera.”

  What will be, will be. The next few days would unfold the culmination of years of planning and deception. There would be no more living a lie.

  They stopped at one of those buildings that seem to exist everywhere in the world. Nondescript in nature, there was always a queue of at least an hour for decked-out young studs, sexy sirens, and tourists in T-shirts and shorts.

  Garret and Tommy shook hands. This was hard. Both knew this was probably the last time they shared a quiet moment together.

  “Goodbye, my friend.”

  “Goodbye, Garret. Take care of Abby.”

  “Will do.” Garret turned and disappeared into the crowd as Tommy arrogantly pushed his way to the head of the line. The beast of a bouncer recognized him and immediately opened the door to let him in.

  “Good evening, Mr. Sung. Glad to see you again.”

  “You’re glad; I’m glad. It’s all good, paisano. All good.” Tommy handed the bouncer a hundred-dollar bill and gave him a wink as he entered.

  Tommy gave himself a pat on the back when he entered the room. It was his idea to keep the building’s shabby exterior. Part of it was that gambling joints were illegal in Hong Kong but a bigger reason was to create buzz, that elusive ingredient that seemed to mark a place as special. He wanted there to be the aura of mystique, of something taboo, a place for insiders only... The stark contrast between the outer appearance and inner luxury helped accomplish this.

  This gambling establishment was luxury exemplified. Not at all like the huge garish mega-casinos found in neighboring Macau or on the strip in Las Vegas where everything was faux, this place was the real deal: crystal chandeliers from Italy, genuine antiques from the Incas, the Tang Dynasty and Egypt and the piece de resistance, an original Picasso surrounded by other paintings from the Cubist era.

  Amy Peng, the proprietor, greeted Tommy with a kiss and a playful spank on the bum. Forty-two but with the figure of a twenty-year-old, she was ravishing in her long, red-silk cheongsam, the body-hugging one-piece dress of Chinese socialites.

  “You haven’t been here for two days. Naughty boy. You better not have found someone else.” She kissed him.

  “If I did, I’d never tell you,” joked Tommy as she escorted him to a private craps room.

  “Now you have to make me some money.”

  “Always.” Tommy took out five hundred dollars and lifted the slit in Amy’s dress. She had legs for days, and his fingers danced up them. He deposited the money into her panties and winked, grinning teeth of lecherous gold.

  “I’ll find you later, you dirty old man,” purred Amy.

  She left Tommy in the room with other high-end punters.

  He inhaled the familiar smell of Cuban cigars and expensive alcohol. Normally, his drink of choice was Hennessy Paradis, but tonight he ordered a bottle of Louis XIII Special Edition Rare Cask. At over $20,000 per bottle, he impressed even the most jaded gambling staff, a hard task to accomplish when you were accustomed to servicing the whims of the most pampered wealthy.

  Tommy’s eyes explored the room as he remembered the first time he entered more than twenty years ago. Back then, it was a piece of crap—just like the rundown neighborhood outside. As business and the size of the pocketbooks grew, he decided to keep the grungy appearance outside, while enhancing the appeal of the interior. He also never gave this gambling den a name.

  A ballroom-gown-wearing hostess showing her more-than-ample cleavage poured the elixir into a tulip glass. Tommy gulped it down, then took out a thick wad of bills.

  He handed it to the dealer. The slight Chinese man returned to Tommy several large stacks of chips.

  “Nice,” chortled Tommy. He pushed $10,000 worth of chips onto the Pass Line and the tuxedoed Boxman handed him a new set of genuine ivory dice.

  Swiveling his hips and shaking the dice high above his head, Tommy’s excitement was infectious. “Owoo!” he howled.

  “Owoo!” joined the other patrons, infected with the gambling disease that affected so many Chinese. From kids betting milk money on video games to high rollers who owned private jets willing to ferry them to Monte Carlo, Las Vegas or Macau, gambling was an irresistible addiction.

  Tommy blew on the ivories, then encouraged them loudly, “Come on, little babies. You can do it.”

  An onlooker, just as excited as Tommy, joined in. “Lucky, lucky, lucky!”

  Tommy flung the dice. Boxcars. Two sixes. A loser.

  “That’s go
od. That’s good!” cried Tommy.

  “Why is that good?” asked the curious spectator as the stickman pushed the dice back to Tommy.

  Tommy guffawed as he picked up the dice and started shaking again. “You don’t know nothing about craps, do you? One loss means that I’m that much closer to winning. You cannot lose forever.”

  The stickman had barely taken away his last bet of chips before Tommy shoved another stack onto the Pass Line—this time, he doubled his bet—twenty thousand U.S. dollars.

  Now things were getting interesting, taking the breath of other gamblers away. “Big mountain time. Time for the big mountain!”

  The hostess reached into her bosom and pulled out a pair of dice and handed them to Tommy. “I have been warming them up for you. Treat them nice, and I’ll treat you nice.”

  “Always and forever and tonight!” He eagerly stuffed a two-hundred-dollar tip between her breasts.

  Pulse now pounding like a jackhammer, Tommy barked out, “Come on, baby, come on. Boat’s coming in. Mountain man’s gonna climb to the top. Boat’s just waiting to dock. Lucky, baby, luck.”

  Tommy’s thrill was infectious, and the other gamblers joined in the shouting as Tommy kept shaking the dice.

  “Easy street coming,” and “Lucky charms, lucky titties,” and “Rocks are gonna roll.”

  Tommy feathered the dice onto the table. Unbelievable. Another pair of sixes.

  “Yes! Yes!” shouted Tommy, pumping his fist into the air. “Now it’s going to go my way!” Automatically, Tommy pushed $20,000 of chips onto the Pass Line and rolled again.

  Six and one.

  “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you?” barked Tommy, waving his finger at the excited group gathering around as a dealer pushed a stack of chips to cover Tommy’s winnings in front of him. Tommy pushed all the chips onto the Pass Line.

  Tommy, wiggling and jiggling, now took the dice and shook them above his head, then to his left, then to his right.

  He rolled—a pair of deuces on the dice-hard 4.

  “Omigod. Omigod. This is so good.”

  The point was 4 and Tommy pushed $88,000 of chips on the table as his odds and commanded, “$88,000 on 10. Split it up for all the hard ways!”

  Now others were joining in—hey, you got to ride a winner when he’s hot.

  “Yes! Yes!” Tommy looked around the table and saw greed in the eyes of the other players as they urged him on.

  Tommy stopped shaking and all eyes converged on him. What the heck?

  “Give me 6 and 8 for another $176,000.”

  Now everyone got the itch. Around the table, the onlookers yelled as they put their own side bets, “Hard 4! Let’s see them deuces! C’mon, Tommy. Do it!”

  Tommy rolled the dice—he hit a 5!

  “Great! Great! Nobody hurt, right?” Tommy pushed another $176,000 in chips to the Boxman. “5 and 9. 5 and 9. All the numbers! I can’t lose!”

  Tommy rolled an 11. He threw down another $288,000 in chips. “Press all my numbers!”

  “Big time, big baby, big pay!”

  “Rocket’s landing and we’re gonna ride!”

  “Mo-ney, mo-ney, mo-ney, mo-ney. MONEY.”

  A frenzy of gamblers just threw money on any numbers. There was now over a million dollars of chips on the table.

  “Tom-my. Tom-my!” chanted the crazy crowd of gamblers. Tommy lifted his hand with the shaking dice, allowing anyone that wanted to blow on his hand.

  Meanwhile, another half million in bets showed up on the table.

  Tommy shook the dice like a miniature dervish. He blew on them and released. The dice rolled fatefully down the table.

  Tommy rolled a four and three.

  Stunned silence.

  Everything was lost.

  Tommy glumly took his remaining few hundred dollars and gave it to the croupier. “Down payment for tomorrow.”

  Tommy turned to leave and bumped into Chin. Chin clamped a steely hand on the portly man’s shoulder.

  Dressed in a black silk Chinese jacket, the Tiger Master exuded sinister, tough strength.

  Tommy stuttered, “I... I... Welcome back, Chin. I didn’t expect to see you back for a week.”

  “Hunting was very good. I finished early,” stated Chin in a cold, emotionless voice. “Now I am hunting for money. My money.”

  His sober countenance betraying nothing, Chin’s impassive attitude unnerved Tommy. “What are you saying?”

  “If tonight is an example of what is happening to my funds, there needs to be some additional explanation.”

  Tommy wiped the sweat off his brow. “Additional explanation?”

  Although Tommy was easily fifty pounds heavier than Chin, with one hand the Tiger Master picked the gambler up off the floor as if he were a loaf of bread. In a single motion, he threw Tommy against the wall, knocking over the bottle of Louis XIII cognac.

  “At least five hundred million dollars is unaccounted for, so there is a discrepancy. I want a proper accounting tomorrow. With or without you, I will proceed, and I am happy to go solo.”

  “It’s all good, Chin. No problem. Everything’s okay.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” scorned Chin. He did a rapid about-face and strode out the entryway.

  Everyone gaped at Tommy nervously. He had dodged a bullet but the thrill was gone from the room.

  Clearing his throat, Tommy straightened himself out, brushing the wrinkles off his sleeves.

  “Hey, no worries. Time for some fun.” He took out a new wad of bills and threw it on the table. “Let’s go. Go. Go!”

  The dealer quickly took the money and gave Tommy another huge pile of chips. Tommy put a hundred grand’s worth on the Pass Line.

  The patrons gawked. How could he continue after threats like that? Was he crazy?

  No one from the quiet group joined in—but they still wanted to watch.

  Tommy reached in, grabbed a new set of dice from the hostess’s bosom, and in the same motion tossed them onto the table—a six and a five.

  A winner.

  The Boxman grinned and said, “Lady Luck’s back, Tommy.”

  Tommy raised his arms in victory and gloated, “She never left. She never left.”

  Shouts of “I’m in!” and “Me, too!” rang through the air and, unbelievably, there were more dollars at stake now than before. Everybody wanted to join the party, and greed-fueled adrenaline once again coursed through the room.

  What none of the rest of the patrons knew was that Chin owned this gambling joint. Every cent Tommy lost was going to him anyway. Furthermore, Tommy and Chin had played a variation of this little game of dangerous odds for years with always the same result. All the new patrons, blissfully unaware of what really went on, participated in what they thought was their turn of the Goddess of Luck shining on their fortune.

  Chapter 5

  Noah donned his martial arts uniform. It was identical to Master Wu’s, except his bore the Chinese character for Shaolin on the left breast.

  He turned to the wall behind Master Wu. His eyes fixed on a watercolor of a tiger entwined with a crane. Noah painted it many years ago as a gift to his sifu. Although it was crude and childish, Master Wu cherished it as his prize possession.

  Master and disciple shifted to face each other and made the Shaolin hand sign. Hands came together with palms touching and fingers erect and then brought to the chest. After that, they made three ancestral bows.

  Now the skirmish could begin.

  Noah approached his mentor warily. His right leg flew out toward Wu, but the sifu easily deflected this with a kick of his own.

  Noah attacked while Wu’s leg hung in the air, but the old man snatched Noah’s foot and with an effortless push shoved the new lawyer to the floor.

  “Focus, Noah. Focus.”

  Noah rose and advanced cautiously. Circling... circling...

  He adopted the position of a snarling tiger as if to hypnotize Master Wu.

  Undaunted and uncompro
mising, Wu glared back at Noah and countered with his own tiger stance. Right foot ahead of left, weight primarily on the back foot with a slight amount on the balls of the front. Both arms raised, one a few inches higher than the other. Readying for attack, Noah spread his fingers open and formed them into tiger claws.

  Noah struck at Wu’s back flank, but before Noah connected, the master wheeled around at light speed. He easily knocked Noah to the ground.

  As Noah attempted to get up, Master Wu pivoted and dropped Noah again.

  Noah leapt to his feet, then stepped backward.

  Master Wu’s palms touched together as if praying, and then his hands sprang out, pushing Noah, tripping him with his leg, sending Noah to the floor.

  Noah was panting now, but Wu’s breathing was still calm and relaxed as he resumed the ready position.

  As Noah lifted himself, a swirling, spinning Master Wu drove his legs into Noah with a rapid combination of left and right, sending him colliding with the floor.

  Noah, lying on his backside, gasped, “Where did you learn that?”

  “Did you think I took up knitting while you were gone? I created that. Thinking keeps you young. You should try that sometime.”

  “I could never do that, no matter how much I thought or practiced.”

  Wu took Noah’s hand and pulled his young protégé to his feet. “A sapling grows into a tree with deep roots and a thick trunk.”

  “I doubt it. I’m going nowhere.”

  “You did much better than I expected. Did you find someone to work out with in Los Angeles?”

  “Hardly. My routine every morning before brushing my teeth, taking a shower or going to pee was to spend half an hour on the drills you taught me. Same deal every day, sickness or in health, rain or shine, exam or holiday.”

  “That shows discipline.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t improve. I just stayed static.”