Manipulate Page 3

  She pored through her jewelry box and picked out a navel ring with a revolver hanging below the jewel. She slipped it through the hole above her navel, then stepped to her full-length mirror. Even she had to admire her hot bikini body.

  Eschewing panties, she slipped into a black leather mini-skirt. Examining herself again in her mirror, she saw the outline of what men considered one of the most glorious asses in New York.

  As a final touch, she liberally sprayed cheap perfume on her lithe arms and legs, then put on a sheer, short lavender top that exposed her dangling navel bling. The translucent material allowed for a full view of Queenie’s luscious, contoured glamorous breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  Over the top? Tacky? Absolutely, but that was because Queenie knew that Alexei was not much for subtlety. Trashy tramps were his style and her calculated pornstar look was perfect.

  Now she was ready to see Alexei.

  Throwing a hand-made feather boa over her shoulder, she exited her apartment.

  Don’t let him see you sweat. Don’t defend; attack.

  She thought about her father’s words and nodded.

  I control…always.

  A Voice from the Dead

  Shanghai

  As his fingers applied pressure on the top of Sam’s ears, JJ looked up to see Noah black out and fall to the floor after the snow globe struck his forehead.

  This was not good. Although he heard people screaming and calling 911 for assistance, JJ, a veteran of many concussion and physical trauma incidents through his twenty years of brutal martial arts training in Heaven, knew that any head injury was potentially dangerous.

  Injury management for Noah and Sam had to begin immediately. If the lag time between incident and treatment was too great, the possibility of neurological damage rose exponentially. Every delay could mean the difference between life and death, being a paraplegic or having normal functioning limbs.

  Seconds, milliseconds counted and he couldn’t wait for paramedics to arrive.

  He bounded to Noah and picked him up, then raced back to Sam. Gently placing the unconscious Noah and Sam side by side on their backs, he seated himself between them. He began acupressure, the Chinese system of applying physical pressure to acupuncture points with the goal of clearing blockages of qi (life energy) in the meridians of the body. One hand kneaded Sam; the other worked on Noah.

  This may have been the first time in history that one person treated two people simultaneously in this fashion.

  Within a minute of JJ’s strong fingertip and palm manipulations, Noah’s balance of yin and yang was being restored. Inflammation and swelling were diminishing. Noah began stirring and, as he regained consciousness, a wave of nausea swept over him. Trying to force himself to focus, he could see a blurry image of Sam that remained unresponsive. Through the fog, he slurred, “Leave me alone. Focus on Sam, JJ.”

  “I can’t do that,” said JJ. “You need help, too.”

  “Just give me some Tylenol, an ice bag and I’m good to go.”

  “Shut up! You’re not Superman,” said JJ grimly, deeply troubled. He had seen too many impatient martial artists get back into combat before they were ready. This often worsened problems and JJ wasn’t taking chances.

  But Noah’s groggy diagnosis was correct. Sam’s condition was worse than his own. The blast had rocked the teenager hard and there was little movement. At Heaven, JJ noticed that younger acolytes who received injuries less severe than Sam often took longer to recuperate, especially if treatment was delayed. Problems included personality changes, extreme or sudden fatigue, inability to see properly, insomnia, and stubborn headaches.

  “Let me take over,” said a voice coming from Noah’s direction.

  JJ glanced over to see a paramedic kneeling beside the foundation president. “Thank you.”

  Twenty minutes later, the ambulance beelined toward the hospital. Noah’s condition had improved sufficiently, allowing the paramedic and JJ to concentrate their efforts on Sam.

  Noah forced himself to think through the cobwebs clouding his thoughts. Things were escalating. First, he got the cryptic call from Chin. To discover that the tiger master had escaped death was alarming. No one should have survived the fiery inferno at Macau.

  Then there was the attack at the airport. Noah could hear Chin’s voice echoing, “Hello, Noah. Looking forward to seeing you again,” and the voice of his attacker yelling, “Where is my master’s money?”

  It seemed impossible but there was no other explanation. Chin had somehow survived the inferno at the Tiger Palace and was now intent on getting his stolen funds back. But how? Was the Triad leader sufficiently healed to lead a charge himself? Did he have a reservoir of funds to launch a major offensive against Noah?

  Whatever it was, Chin had announced he was back.

  And that had Noah scared shitless.

  At the Healthway International Center, JJ handed over the reins of Sam’s treatment to Dr. Pang, the attending ER physician. Like many Chinese doctors, Pang was trained in both Chinese and Western medicine and understood JJ’s treatment approach.

  Dr. Pang directed the group in Sam’s evaluation and hoped-for resuscitation. Pang’s health care providers managed Sam’s airway, monitored his vitals, and obtained blood samples.

  Noah watched on helplessly, frustrated that he could do nothing to help the still unconscious teen.

  Seeing this, with a flush of awareness, JJ realized Noah needed a distraction. He sidled up to him and asked, “How did you meet up with Sam?”

  His gaze never leaving Sam, Noah spoke wistfully. “Through my best friend Chad. He did everything he could for kids. When I got back to Hong Kong after law school, we went to the basketball court where we had played hundreds of pick-up games.”

  Noah twisted his lips into a wry grin. “Chad wasn’t that enthusiastic about the game but he knew everyone else was. Basketball was an excuse to make friends and hang out with kids. Rich kids, poor ones, and especially any kid that needed a hand…. Like Sam. Sam’s dad was in jail; his mom was a drug addict. Chad refused to let Sam become another victim.”

  JJ’s calm voice hinted at his empathy. “I think I would have liked Chad.”

  “Everyone did.”

  “So, when Chad died, you took over Sam’s care?” grilled JJ.

  Noah nodded. “Yeah. I made a deal with his mom. She’d regret that now if she saw this.”

  Suddenly, Sam coughed and he forced his eyes open. He growled hoarsely, “I’m in the room right beside you, Noah. Can you stop talking so damned loud?”

  Noah glanced upward, offering a silent prayer of thanks. He grinned at Sam’s sudden return to consciousness. “Don’t you ever stop complaining?”

  “How can I? You’ve got so much to learn and you’re a lousy student.”

  “Like how?”

  “Like how you screwed up with Olivia. You should have jumped on a plane and followed her to New York.”

  Sam’s to-the-point comment struck a nerve. This was something Noah didn’t want to talk about. “She didn’t want me to.”

  Sam croaked, “Noah, she’s testing you. Go after her.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass. I like you better when your mouth doesn’t move. And Olivia made it pretty clear she was not interested in me or anything connected with me.”

  JJ, who had listened with fascinated curiosity, offered with the naïve voice of inexperience, “I think Sam’s right. She’s testing you. Why don’t you give her a call? Invite her to meet you at the top of the Empire State Building. Just like Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan did in Sleepless in Seattle.”

  Flanked on both sides by friends peppering him with unwanted advice, Noah bent his head to face the floor and grabbed handfuls of his hair. “Oh, so now the guy who’s been a celibate monk for all his life is an expert on the female psyche? I should never have let you have access to my Netflix account.”

  Sam coughed. “If you don’t want to call her, Noah, I will. Give me the pho
ne.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “I can arrange that, too.” Sam lifted cocky eyebrows at Noah.

  The hospital orderly who had cleaned and sanitized the bathroom in the private room put her supplies onto her cart. After exiting the room, she continued past the next patient room and halfway down the hall. Sure that no one was watching her, she fished out the cell phone from her uniform’s pocket and sent a text message.

  Hong Kong

  In an ultra-private room equipped with enough medical gadgetry to rival anything offered at the Mayo Clinic, the still-heavily bandaged and recuperating Chin heard his cell phone ding. He slowly and painfully reached for the phone on top of his chest and studied his new message.

  Noah has an old girlfriend in New York called Olivia who dumped him. He’s still interested but he’s too chickenshit to make a move.

  Despite the agonizing effort it took to move, Chin’s lips curled slightly upward. He now had what he had been looking for—an angle. The question now was, “How?”

  His eyes narrowed into slits as he considered the options.

  Killing Noah or any of his posse would have been pointless—he would never get the money that Noah had stolen from him back if they were dead. He had tried direct brute force and come up short. If he was ever going to see his money again, he was going to have to use a side door or a back entryway instead of barging in through the front.

  And then he had it.

  Brute force wouldn’t work but guiding actions would.

  Manipulate.

  But he wasn’t in any condition yet to do anything.

  New York wasn’t his home turf. It wasn’t Chin’s territory; it was Queenie’s.

  She was hungry. There was no more King and she wouldn’t be able to bullshit Alexei forever. This could be her ticket to ride.

  He forced himself to sit up. It was time to make a few calls. Let’s find the hot buttons.

  Cat and Mouse

  Brooklyn, New York

  Even when she wasn’t dressed like a hooker in heat, Queenie attracted attention, but now? She would have been in the top echelon at a former New York governor’s Emperor Club where girls earned upward of thirty thousand dollars a day.

  Getting out of her cab, Queenie sauntered into his busy Brighton Beach restaurant, Kandinsky’s, named after Wassily Kandinsky, the Russian painter who was credited as the pioneer of modern art. Bypassing the serving staff and patrons, she buried any trace of her churning inner turbulence as she strode to the back and, without knocking, opened the heavy door and walked into Alexei’s wood paneled office.

  “Get out,” she ordered Raoul, one of the thugs in Alexei’s goon squad who was going over details of a hit with his boss.

  Alexei nodded. Raoul stepped back to the wall as Queenie planted herself in the chair opposite the burly Alexei, allowing the always horny Eastern Slav’s eyes to devour her.

  She hated this room. It reeked of stale cigarette smoke, body odor, and leftover booze. Some of it was ingrained in the walls, but most of the stench came from Alexei. Queenie hadn’t figured out if basic hygiene was anathema to Alexei or some random pugilistic battle in Chechnya had destroyed his olfactory nerves.

  “I need more time,” began Queenie, hiding behind a machismo that concealed her fear. “The shipment is temporarily delayed.”

  The Russian mobster growled in accented broken English, “I give you cash prepayment for guaranteed shipment and delivery. This not good, Queenie.”

  “This is the first time this has ever happened,” Queenie said, trying to read his eyes, camouflaged by the dark lenses of his aviator sunglasses.

  “This was first time I give million bucks up front. I never do that for nobody.”

  “I’ll get it to you. Don’t worry,” said Queenie with stern confidence.

  When Queenie had offered him almost fifty percent off the regular price for Asian smack, the greedy and ambitious side of Alexei hadn’t been able to resist. Greedy because he wanted the extra profit. Ambitious because, as a mid-level Russian gangster in New York, he wanted to show those higher up the chain that he was now part of the big leagues with his money and connections.

  Queenie had one connection the mob boss respected—her father. If Alexei built that bridge to Asia, every one of his competitors would give him a seat at their table.

  She knew it and he knew it.

  Shaolin Triad leader Chin Chee Fok normally wouldn’t give small-potatoes Godunov the time of day but the Russian figured that if he built a relationship with his daughter, she would put in a good word to her father about him.

  “I always worry and you should worry even more. Just because your father and I are friends does not mean business is not business,” replied Alexei sternly.

  Queenie gripped the chair. She couldn’t let up on her act now. It would be disastrous if he suspected how thin the ice she was treading on was. “You want to do business with my father, you better start thinking like him. He makes big money because he takes big gambles. This is your test and it’s not even a gamble. Just a slight delay.”

  She knew how much Alexei wanted to get in on Chinese business. He’d heard how much the Asians threw money around and he’d been working on establishing a relationship with Chin for years. So far, Chin didn’t do business with him but the Russian figured if he proved himself through Queenie, he would prove to Chin that he could be an asset. That potential was keeping Queenie alive right now.

  “Anyone else treat me like you, I throw them with the other cheats, betrayers and backstabbers at the bottom of the Hudson River.”

  She snapped, “Are you trying to tell me that everything you do goes according to schedule? Do you not watch CNN and see the monster storms that have hit the Pacific?”

  There were no storms of any kind in the Pacific but Queenie counted on Alexei’s ignorance and pride. Ignorance in not knowing and pride in not wanting to admit it.

  “If there was delay, why you not tell me?”

  “Because we thought we could make up the time. Unfortunately, we couldn’t,” said Queenie with ice in her veins. “The boat is being repaired and we’re back on track.”

  Alexei removed his shades, revealing a nasty scar around his right eye socket and a left glass eye, courtesy of a captured Chechen who stabbed a hidden knife into Alexei’s iris, just before the then-young soldier took the rebel’s life. “What you gonna do for me if I give you the week?”

  Queenie noticed the veins in Alexei’s neck beginning to bulge, his heavy breathing and his face flushing with scarlet.

  He’s taking my clothes off. Good. Three years ago, Queenie had a momentary lapse from her vow of “drug celibacy.” She wound up starring in a video with a couple of hockey players from Russia…or maybe it was the whole team. She couldn’t remember and she refused to look at it. The damn thing went viral and now everybody, including the Russian boor in front of her, salivated at the prospect of co-starring in her next production.

  She tossed her boa over her shoulder, allowing Alexei a perfect view of her pointed nipples on top of her perfectly formed breasts through her transparently thin blouse.

  “I asked what you gonna do for me if I give you the week?”

  Watching Alexei’s good eye virtually popping out of his head, Queenie answered smoothly, “I promise that I won’t kill you.”

  Not the answer he expected. “You threaten me? I should take you now,” thundered the Russian. Alexei had worked hard since coming to America in the early eighties from Kiev. Worked his way up to security, to enforcer, to distributor and occasional hit man. Father’s connections or not, bedding her or not, damned if this bitch was going to disrespect him.

  As Alexei raised a threatening ham hock fist, Queenie suddenly vaulted at him from her chair and wrapped her boa around Alexei’s thick neck. She pulled on it like a garrote. Unlike ordinary flimsier boas that would snap easily, Queenie’s boa was strung together with nylon cord with a tensile strength of more than a thousand pounds.


  The Russian gangster tried to free himself but Queenie was deceptively powerful. Alexei’s eye bulged and his hands waved in the air. He struggled to speak but the words choked in his throat. As Raoul whipped out his gun and aimed it at her forehead, Queenie snapped, “Make a move and I’ll strangle him.”

  Instead of obeying, Raoul cocked the trigger. Queenie quickly stepped behind Alexei, using him as a human shield. She started pulling tighter on the Russian mobster’s throat.

  Watching his boss’s face turn bluish red, the marksman threw his gun in front of Queenie. “Don’t kill him.”

  The one-hundred-and-fifteen-pound Queenie knew she’d never get out alive with another half a dozen of Alexei’s men behind the door. It didn’t matter. She’d made her point. She relaxed her tenuous death hold. “He’s no good to me dead.”

  Alexei gasped. The rancid odor of his office had never smelled this good.

  Queenie glared at him. “Never forget I am my father’s daughter.”

  The last thing Alexei would do is forget. Chin’s ruthlessness and physical strength were legendary. He paled, knowing that the punishment this black widow spider had just inflicted on him was nothing compared to what would happen if her father came at him.

  “You got yourself your week,” growled the Russian, with an attitude puffed with bluster.

  There was frost in Queenie’s voice. “My father and I will remember that you threatened me. Don’t you ever do that again.”

  She strode out like a confident bitch that knew she had her man by the balls.

  Stepping out into the Manhattan sunshine, Queenie blew out a seemingly endless breath of air. Overwhelmed with the rush of relief, she knew she had dodged a large-caliber bullet. If Alexei weren’t so bedazzled with the prospect of getting into bed with her or her invoking fear with the name of her father, he’d have discovered that there was no way in hell that the renegade Shaolin monk and head of one of Asia’s largest crime syndicates was a threat to even a fly in his present condition. More than that, Chin’s criminal empire had been virtually destroyed. She was still shaking when she received a phone call with the now-familiar ring tone.