Nine Dragons - A Beatrix Rose Thriller: Hong Kong Stories Volume 1 (Beatrix Rose's Hong Kong Stories Book 2) by Mark Dawson Page B
Authors: Mark Dawson
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accommodation that would appeal to a gweilo .
He spoke in awkward, guttural English. “Woman who live there. You see?”
“No,” Beatrix said. “Not for several days.”
“Sure about that?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Know her?”
“No. Not at all.”
The man looked at her. “I good at smelling bullshit, gweilo .”
“Why would I lie?”
“And where girl?”
“What girl?”
“Girl from flat. Young girl. Where she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play stupid, miss.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
She tightened the grip on the Glock. The man with the shotgun was the one she was most worried about. A spread from short range like this would take the door out and anything that was behind it. He was behind the two men with cleavers. That was good and bad. He wouldn’t be able to shoot without taking them out, but, conversely, he was shielded from her. This was delicately poised.
The man in charge reached a decision. “Open door.”
“Why?”
“Open door,” he snapped. “Open door now or we kick door in.”
“Okay. Take it easy.” She pushed the door closed and quickly slid the Glock into her waistband, the cold steel sliding down and nestling against the small of her back. She saw that the bedroom door had closed again.
Taking a breath, she slid the chain out of the receiving plate, let it fall free, and opened the door.
The man pushed it all the way open and hustled inside.
“Take it easy,” she repeated.
He looked around the flat. “Where woman?”
“I told you. I don’t know her. I don’t know anyone else here.”
She kept her back to the wall, hiding the pistol. One of the men with a cleaver came inside. The small space already felt crowded. Beatrix felt her options constrict.
“When you last see woman?”
“A while ago. Maybe a week.”
The man walked over to the bookshelf and took down Beatrix’s copy of Great Expectations . He opened it and flipped through the pages. Beatrix gritted her teeth in frustration. This guy was an amateur, and this was an amateur’s play. He was showing her that he was in control, that he didn’t care about social niceties by invading her space and interfering with her things. Trying to make her feel uncomfortable. It didn’t work.
She stretched out her fingers and then made fists.
His funeral.
She concentrated on the bulk of the pistol against her back.
“Girl, then. Where she?”
“I don’t know. How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know her and I don’t know her mother. I don’t know anyone.”
“Girl have video. You know about this? You know about video ?”
“No,” she said honestly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The man nodded at her answer, tossed the book onto the floor, turned away from her and started to the bedroom door.
Beatrix was all out of options. If they found Grace, they would take her away.
The girl would have no future.
They would probably kill Beatrix, too.
Nothing else for it.
She reached around, pulled the pistol and shot the man in the back. The bullet passed through him, painting a vivid splash of blood on the wall.
She kicked the front door shut, drew down on the man with the cleaver and shot him, too.
She heard shocked voices from outside.
Anger.
Confusion.
She aimed at the door and fired three shots through it. She heard a scream from the hallway. One fortunate shot, maybe another if she got really lucky. It would give them something to think about, maybe slow them down a little.
Three slants of light cut into the room from the fresh holes in the door. She turned the key in the lock. It wouldn’t keep them out, especially not with that shotgun, but even a few extra seconds might make the difference. She crossed the room to the bedroom door. She opened it, went inside and closed it.
There was nowhere to hide. Grace was in the corner, as far away from the door as she could manage.
“We need to leave,” Beatrix
He spoke in awkward, guttural English. “Woman who live there. You see?”
“No,” Beatrix said. “Not for several days.”
“Sure about that?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Know her?”
“No. Not at all.”
The man looked at her. “I good at smelling bullshit, gweilo .”
“Why would I lie?”
“And where girl?”
“What girl?”
“Girl from flat. Young girl. Where she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play stupid, miss.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
She tightened the grip on the Glock. The man with the shotgun was the one she was most worried about. A spread from short range like this would take the door out and anything that was behind it. He was behind the two men with cleavers. That was good and bad. He wouldn’t be able to shoot without taking them out, but, conversely, he was shielded from her. This was delicately poised.
The man in charge reached a decision. “Open door.”
“Why?”
“Open door,” he snapped. “Open door now or we kick door in.”
“Okay. Take it easy.” She pushed the door closed and quickly slid the Glock into her waistband, the cold steel sliding down and nestling against the small of her back. She saw that the bedroom door had closed again.
Taking a breath, she slid the chain out of the receiving plate, let it fall free, and opened the door.
The man pushed it all the way open and hustled inside.
“Take it easy,” she repeated.
He looked around the flat. “Where woman?”
“I told you. I don’t know her. I don’t know anyone else here.”
She kept her back to the wall, hiding the pistol. One of the men with a cleaver came inside. The small space already felt crowded. Beatrix felt her options constrict.
“When you last see woman?”
“A while ago. Maybe a week.”
The man walked over to the bookshelf and took down Beatrix’s copy of Great Expectations . He opened it and flipped through the pages. Beatrix gritted her teeth in frustration. This guy was an amateur, and this was an amateur’s play. He was showing her that he was in control, that he didn’t care about social niceties by invading her space and interfering with her things. Trying to make her feel uncomfortable. It didn’t work.
She stretched out her fingers and then made fists.
His funeral.
She concentrated on the bulk of the pistol against her back.
“Girl, then. Where she?”
“I don’t know. How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know her and I don’t know her mother. I don’t know anyone.”
“Girl have video. You know about this? You know about video ?”
“No,” she said honestly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The man nodded at her answer, tossed the book onto the floor, turned away from her and started to the bedroom door.
Beatrix was all out of options. If they found Grace, they would take her away.
The girl would have no future.
They would probably kill Beatrix, too.
Nothing else for it.
She reached around, pulled the pistol and shot the man in the back. The bullet passed through him, painting a vivid splash of blood on the wall.
She kicked the front door shut, drew down on the man with the cleaver and shot him, too.
She heard shocked voices from outside.
Anger.
Confusion.
She aimed at the door and fired three shots through it. She heard a scream from the hallway. One fortunate shot, maybe another if she got really lucky. It would give them something to think about, maybe slow them down a little.
Three slants of light cut into the room from the fresh holes in the door. She turned the key in the lock. It wouldn’t keep them out, especially not with that shotgun, but even a few extra seconds might make the difference. She crossed the room to the bedroom door. She opened it, went inside and closed it.
There was nowhere to hide. Grace was in the corner, as far away from the door as she could manage.
“We need to leave,” Beatrix
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