Fiction: Group 4
‘Ouch,’ Lee winced. ‘This isn’t really going very well. Let’s just find the goods and be done with
this whole thing.’
And so they headed down the stairs and went into the cargo hold. ‘I wanted to arrest these men,
not kill them outright. Ah well. What else could go wrong?’ Lee grumbled.
He was answered by the distinct clicks of several guns being cocked.
‘You just had to say it.’ West shook his head. No less than five men were waiting for them in the
cargo hold. One was even clutching an Uzi sub-machinegun, leaning against a red storage container in the
middle of the hold. So much for China’s strict gun restrictions. A tall, thin man with a reedy voice stepped
forward.
‘Who do you think you are, waltzing in here, taking out my men and disrupting our business? We
saw you on our security cameras when you took down our sentries! You think this is some Western movie
where the good guy goes and – ‘
‘We generally let bad guys finish their monologues in movies.’ West replied glibly.
The leader of the smugglers smiled mirthlessly. ‘We have an entire squad of Triad hitmen on the
way. You’ll never make it out of here alive,
Gwailo
.’
‘You left out the maniacal laugh.’ Lee rolled his eyes. The two detectives shifted their weight
slightly, with Lee picking at a spot on the wall to attract attention. A heartbeat later, a series of rapid
gunshots rang out, reverberating throughout the small cargo hold.
Richard clutched his right arm. One of the smuggler’s men had caught him there with a shotgun
blast. Only a couple of shot pellets managed to hit, but it was still excruciating.
He gritted his teeth. ‘Lee, you alright?’
The Chinese detective nodded. ‘First stroke of luck today. You?’
‘Got a grazing wound on my arm. I’ll live.’ West flexed his arm and winced. ‘Did you hear
something else back just then in the firefight? I could’ve sworn it was people. Some sounded like children.’
Lee looked at him incredulously. ‘Never mind.’
In front of them, the smugglers lay dead, ragged holes drilled into their torsos and heads, eyes wide,
eternally staring. Lee shook his head.
‘Idiots. Well, let’s just relieve them of their goods and get out before the Triad hitmen get here and
blow us to bits. We don’t have much time.’
West nodded at the container. It was bolted shut. ‘Maybe one of these men has a key.’
‘Let’s not waste time trying to find it.’ Lee raised his gun again and fired a single shot. The bolt
snapped in half with a loud
ping
.
There was a muffled sound inside the container.
‘There it is again.’ Richard frowned. Puzzled, he strode over to the door and threw it open,
peering inside.
A dozen pairs of dark eyes peered back at him. West nearly started shooting again. ‘What in the…’
The normally cold and distant detective seemed taken aback.
‘What is it? What’s in… oh God.’ Lee’s expression turned into one of horror. More than ten
people were inside the small container. The smell of urine, sweat and filth wafted out from the tiny space.
These people had lived here for an indefinite period of time. A bucket, overflowing with vomit and faeces,
was propped up in the corner, its contents spilling out onto the floor. Nearly half of the people inside were
children. Most of them appeared to be from the Middle East, with brown complexions and large, dark eyes.
They all seemed frightened out of their minds.
‘So
that’s
the cargo. These men were smuggling people. Afghan refugees from the looks of them.
Poor bastards. Once you cast your lot with the Triad, it never ends well. Many die on the journey. Others
are forced to work off their debt. Women and girls as young as nine are forced into prostitution. It’s
disgusting.’ Lee spat. ‘Bloody Triads.’
Richard was silent for a moment. ‘We’re lucky we didn’t hit any of them in the fight. We need to
get them – ‘
Heavy footsteps sounded on the deck.
‘They’re here! The Triad hit squad! Quick – lock the door!’ Lee rushed towards the entrance. He
slammed the door shut and West slid the lock in place.
‘Damn it. We need another way out. Lee?’
‘Smuggling ships usually have a hatch in the cargo hold for dumping merchandise, just in case. We
could swim through.’
