Red Sun: Swagger, #1 by Matthew Waite

Author:Matthew Waite
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: China, History, Geopolitics, Imperialism, Colonialism, Murder
Publisher: Matthew Waite
Published: 2022-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

As the ship carrying my opium left the wharf with my new nemeses, Heineken, and Takagi, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I’d been violently belligerent all day, so why stop now? It was strangely soothing, purging. Catharsis with fists.

I grabbed the hand on my shoulder and bent back two of its fingers, hearing a satisfying crack. I spun around to see the hand’s owner and watched as a policeman took two staggering steps back, grimacing and grunting, clutching his injured hand. Behind him was the smug face of Dickinson, in a sharply starched uniform. He must have changed his bloodied shirt. One of his cufflinks caught the sun and sparkled at me. He was standing a few feet behind two of Seoul’s finest, whose brown uniforms were anything but sharp, one of whom had one hand out of action.

Keeping my eyes on the policemen and Dickinson, my peripheral vision detected movement over by the warehouse to my right. The policeman’s squeals had apparently alerted some loafing dock workers nearby, and I was pleased to see them begin to saunter my way. I looked over and was even more pleased to see Ying among them, walking with his arms folded and a malevolent grin on his face. He’d made some money from our dealings, and I hoped that made him an ally of sorts.

I quickly turned my attention back to the trio in front of me and adopted the braced position again, silently thanking again that ship-board engineer, who I had dubbed the ‘Kung Fu Spannerman.’ The uninjured policeman took one halting step toward me, a scarred truncheon held up in front of him.

“Cyst and decease!” he said in English, which gave me a smile.

Dickinson shouted, “Arrest him, I said!”

I took the inexpertly swung baton on the upper arm. It hurt like hell. I ducked low and landed a blow with all my strength, just below his sternum. It knocked the air out of him, and he was neutralised until he could get his diaphragm working again. Usually, that takes about twenty seconds. He fell to his knees.

At that point, I had reason to bless Ying’s criminal black heart. At an almost imperceptible nod from him, dock worker cronies closed around Dickinson and donged him on the head with a crowbar. He dropped like a sack of oranges. I wondered if they’d killed him.

One policeman was holding his injured hand and the other still struggling to breathe. But they both stood up and fled. They knew when they were outgunned.

A ship’s horn blasted, and I spun around to see the stern of the Matsushima already three hundred yards from the wharf, steaming down the wide brown river, a trail of black coal smoke being blown eastwards. No one was standing at the stern rail.

Ying sauntered over to Dickinson’s prone body on the ground. Blood trickled down his neck. I saw his chest rise and fall. He was alive. “You want him dead? No one will find him.”

Ying’s offer was tantalising, but I said, “Thank you, but no.

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