Fiction: Group 4
Two hours later, a lone Chinese man in the faded yellow overalls of a harbour maintenance worker
approached the lone, green ship on the pier. The cargo ship was the size of a large ferry. There were a few
men stationed outside the ship, no doubt guards in the employ of the Triad.
‘Three guards, all looking bored and sleepy. This should be relatively easy. No lights coming from
the windows at all. I think it’s empty.’ Winston Lee muttered into his earpiece.
‘I’d prefer to be down there helping rather than waiting from a distance. I don’t have a long-range
weapon system, I’m leaving you exposed.’ West replied from where he stood, behind a pile of shipping
containers nearly a hundred feet away. He fingered the snub-nosed Beretta semi-automatic pistol at his
side, squinting at the three men. West was a good shot, but he knew his limits.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Wait for the keyword, I’ll keep their attention.’ And with that, Lee
staggered forward with the air of a drunken slob.
The three guards stopped in their tracks and stared at the intruder, a string of guttural Cantonese
expletives streaming from his mouth as he sauntered towards them.
‘
…okaihumkachandiulasing
… well hello my fine gentlemen how are you doing…’ Lee warbled as
he swayed from side to side in front of the gangsters.
‘Oh, Christ. Go away, pig, this is private property.’
‘Ugh… my stomach…’ Lee gagged and doubled over.
‘What-‘
‘Get back over there, you sick little – ‘ One of the guards lashed out with his hand, pushing Lee
away from him.
Lee hiccupped, stumbled once, then continued in his drunken tones, ‘Say, have any of you ever
been to Hawaii?’
The guard who pushed him started to say, ‘Oh for f-‘
Then West’s fist caught him squarely behind the ear. At the same time, Lee twisted and spun
around with a roundhouse kick that slammed into the temple of the guard directly in front of him. Both
men collapsed, unconscious.
The third guard gaped, and scrabbled for his gun. West grabbed his hand, twisted it upwards
clockwise, and broke his wrist with a loud
snap.
Before the man could scream, Richard formed his hand
into a blade and struck him in the throat. The guard gasped for breath, his face turning blue, then crumpled.
‘Nice one. Jujitsu?’
‘Krav Maga. Israeli martial art. Cheaper and dirtier than whatever stylish Kung Fu you seem to
have learned in China.’ West cracked his knuckles. ‘Shall we?’
‘This one has the key. Let’s go.’ Lee picked up a glinting copper key and unlocked the side door to
the ship. ‘I’m not releasing the ramp so watch your step.’
The two detectives leapt into the ship. It was dark inside, and the air was very stuffy. ‘Listen!’ Lee
hissed. They both went still and held their breath. Voices, faint as the sound of an ant’s footsteps, were
coming from the small corridor out of the room they were apparently in. It was too indistinct for them to
hear exactly what they were saying, so they just watched the shadows play across the light from the corridor,
in the small slit of the door.
The voices stopped. Barely a minute later, the light outside the door dimmed. Someone was
outside.
The door creaked. Richard tensed as a small rectangle of light appeared on the floor, with the
outline of a man there. The figure paused, then went inside the dark room, whistling.
Richard crouched, waiting for his moment.
The man flicked a light switch somewhere and grunted as light flooded the room. He blinked.
Quick as a shadow, Richard hammerlocked the smuggler from behind, his right arm pressing into his
trachea. There was a brief struggle, then the chokehold cut off the man’s oxygen supply. His eyes rolled
backwards and he passed out.
Lee tugged at West’s coat. ‘Smugglers usually keep their goods below decks. We should head
down. Hopefully, we won’t run into anyone else.’
It turned out that yet another crewman was heading up the stairs from the cargo hold. He ran
straight into Lee, their eyes meeting in a brief, startling moment. Then Lee’s palm shot forward, connecting
with the unfortunate man’s chin. He reeled backwards and tumbled down the stairs. There was a crack as his
neck snapped.
