Lone Star 02 by Wesley Ellis Page B

had happened. He doubted that any of them knew enough English to inform the guard, even assuming they felt they had a reason to...
    Right now, time was Ki’s only worry. The atemi technique he had used against the foreman, the sudden sharp pressure against a vital nerve center, was much more silent and faster than any hand or foot strike. But whereas Ki could, from long experience, gauge how long an adversary would remain unconscious after one of his more violent strikes, there was no way to know how long the effects of an atemi technique would last on any given opponent. That the foreman would soon wake up wondering what had happened to him was a certainty, but how soon was the question.
    Ki kicked the billy club into the water, picked up the fallen clipboard, and strolled up the gangplank, past the scurrying coolies who now, kowtowed to him as if he were their new foreman.
    On board the ship, using the pencil attached by a string to the clipboard to scribble nonsense, Ki began to make his way toward the cargo hold. He came across three men in longshoremen’s canvas garb, lounging on the deck. These men were white, and content to merely watch the coolies work as they passed a bottle of rum among themselves. Ki stopped short, hoping to back off and come around another way before he was noticed, but it was too late.
    â€œWho the hell are you?” one of the men spat. “Where’s Willie?”
    Keeping his Stetson’s brim low, Ki approached them. “Willie’s busy. I’ve been sent down to take a special tally of the goods.”
    â€œWe don’t know nothing about that,” another of the men muttered. “You just shove off before you get hurt.”
    Ki quickly scanned the clipboard. At the top was a printed form a half-sheet of paper long. In the space marked “Foreman” was scrawled the first name, Willie, and in the three spaces designated “Crew Supervisors” were written the names Tom, Matty, and George.
    â€œYou get off this ship, hear?” one of the trio now warned, rising to his feet and unbuttoning his coat. On the deck beside him was a baling hook. The man bent down and picked it up, all the time keeping his menacing scowl on Ki. As he straightened up, Ki noticed that the man’s belt buckle was an oval plate that framed a raised, nickel-plated M.
    â€œTake it easy, Matty,” he said, turning back the way he’d come.
    â€œWait a minute!” the man ordered. “How’d you know my name?”
    â€œSee you around,” Ki said matter-of-factly. He made a vague gesture toward the other two. “And Tom and George. I’ve seen you all around. No need to get so hot under the collar. I’m leaving. I’ll just tell her that it was you three who—”
    â€œJust hold on now!” Matty interrupted hastily. “Who are you going to tell?”
    â€œMiss Kahr, of course.”
    â€œOh, Christ!” one of the other two—either George or Tom—piped up. “Don’t do that, man! She’ll skin us for sure!”
    â€œDon’t I wish old man Burkhardt was still running things,” Matty winced, shaking his head. “He was all right, he was.”
    â€œBut Miss Kahr is certainly prettier,” Ki bantered. “What with those big, violet eyes of hers...”
    â€œYou talk like you know her pretty good,” Matty said thoughtfully. “Look, I’m sorry about before, but we was just doing our job, right?” He looked down to see the grappling hook still clutched in his hand, and hastily dropped it. “You go right ahead with whatever it is you’re doing, sir,” he continued, his voice now meek and mild.
    â€œRight, then,” Ki said crisply. “See you later, boys.” He sauntered past them, smiling to himself. Sir! But of course. At this point none of them would dare admit that they’d forgotten his name!
    Ki climbed down the narrow ladder, into the