Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles by Larry Correia

Author:Larry Correia [Correia, Larry]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3, pdf
Tags: Urban, Contemporary, Fiction, Fantasy, Historical, General, Paranormal
ISBN: 9781451639087
Google: y0u0NAEACAAJ
Amazon: 1451639082
Publisher: Baen
Published: 2013-08-06T04:00:00+00:00

It didn’t matter that Sullivan couldn’t speak a lick of Chinese. Gangsters were the same everywhere, and Big Eared Du had a better stranglehold on Shanghai than Al Capone had on Chicago. His manner, the look on his face, the way he sat there, looking smug because he had something that somebody else needed and that gave him leverage, it was always the same with men like this. Du was a king, and the dark side of Shanghai was his kingdom. He ran the Yuesheng Greens, a criminal army nearly twenty thousand strong, and nothing big went down in this city without him having a piece of it.

The king’s table was the only thing illuminated in the vast space of the warehouse. There was a single powerful work lamp dangling over them. The smoke from Du’s cigar floated in the yellow light. He was skinny and oily, living up to his nickname with some stupidly big ears. And when he smiled, Sullivan counted three gold teeth.

The Grimnoir knights sat at one end of the table. The mobster and his lieutenants sat at the other. The rest of the warehouse was supposedly empty, but Sullivan didn’t even need to use his Power to know that there were men watching from the shadowed catwalks above and that there were probably rifles trained on their hearts the whole time. Somebody like Du didn’t take any chances. Sullivan wasn’t big on chances himself, so he used his Power just a bit in order to inspect the world around him, breaking everything down into its components, bits of mass, density, and forces . . .

Twenty men, all bearing long bars of steel and wood. No less than six of those were pointed at the Grimnoir, braced against the railing of the catwalk above. One of them was particularly heavy, suggesting a machine gun. Even the two pretty ladies who kept on pouring them liquor and bringing odd oriental snacks had small guns hidden inside their skimpy dresses. Sullivan didn’t drink the booze or taste the little cakes. Gravity couldn’t sense poison. The small army of bodyguards was far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to overhear the conversation. Which was wise, considering that the subject of their meeting would be considered treasonous, even by crime-lord standards.

Poor Zhao was translating. The burdens of responsibility were heavy. He may have been young, but it was doubtful if he’d ever actually been a kid. Sullivan could see that now. He’d listened to the American’s plan, gotten the pertinent details, and hadn’t hesitated to make a call. He’d picked a direction and run. Keep him alive long enough to gain some experience, and he’d probably go on to accomplish great things. Problem was, with what they were up to, the odds of staying alive that long ranged from slim to none.

The leader of the Shanghai Grimnoir had, as far as Sullivan could tell, told Big Eared Du exactly what they needed him to. They didn’t need the big picture.

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