The Last Assassin

I clapped my left hand over his mouth and pulled him back onto his heels. My right hand was already coming forward, the Balisong in a hammer grip. I plunged the blade in and out of his right side, again and again and again, hitting his liver probably five times in two seconds. I made sure to stay below his ribs and above his pelvis. A Balisong is at its best for slashing, not stabbing, and if I hit bone my hand might slip forward right over the blade. Then I came around under his zyphoid process and stabbed upward and to the left to lacerate his right ventricle.

I spun him around and slashed his face. He got his arms up but I didn't care, I was just trying to make the attack look personal. Then I pushed him away, and he spilled to the ground. The attack had been so sudden, and the pain likely so shocking, that he hadn't made a sound. From the wounds I had given him I knew he'd be unconscious from blood loss inside twenty seconds and dead in not much more than that. Even a paramedic team right around the corner couldn't save him now.

I continued around him, heading toward Bowery. I folded up the Balisong and dropped it in my coat pocket. It was covered in blood and so was I. Not a surprise and nothing I could do about it at the moment.

I ducked into an alley just west of Bowery, pulled out the phone, and called Dox. My hands were shaking.

He picked up instantly. 'What's going on?'

'Pick me up at Bayard and Bowery. Northwest corner.'

'Be there in less than a minute.'

'I'm a little messy.'

'Damn it, I knew you were going to do something by yourself. All right, I'll put some newspaper down.'

I looked at my clothes and thought, Better be the Sunday fucking Times.

'What are you driving?' I asked.

'Dodge Ram Quad Cab. Black.'

'Just slow down when you get to the corner. You won't see me at first.'

'Roger that. I'm turning on Bowery from Canal now. You should spot me in a second.'

I peeked out from the alley. There he was.

'I see you,' I said. 'I'm hanging up.'

I clicked off and walked out to Bowery. The passenger door opened and I reached it just as Dox was tossing a thick wool blanket onto the seat. We opened it enough to cover the seat and floor and I got in. Dox glanced at me and took off.

'Yeah, you are a mess,' he said. 'Good thing I come prepared. That blanket there has seen its share of bodily fluids over the years, mine and a variety of lucky ladies', but not any blood before that I know of.'

'I'll get you one just like it. There's a Salvation Army place north of Delancey.'

He chuckled, cool as ever. 'Where to?'

'The dumpster. If it's clear, I'm going to get rid of Wong.'

'You leave the knife near Chan's body just now?'

'No. That would be too obvious. Besides, I've handled it too much. It's contaminated.'

'Guess that means I won't be keeping it.'

'You're damn right that's what it means.'

'All right, all right, just checking.'

We headed back into the Village. I had been cold before, but now I was sweating. There were no police, and Waverly was deserted. Dox pulled up in front of the dumpster. I climbed inside and managed to hold Wong up against the side long enough for Dox to reach down from above and take hold of one of his wrists. We hauled him out, laid him down in the back seat of the pickup, and drove off.

'What are you carrying these days?' I asked him.

'You mean knife-wise?'

'Yeah.'

'Shoot, partner, you know I've got more blades than a combine. I've still got that Fred Perrin La Griffe we acquired in Bangkok, and…'

'I mean what's your primary. Right now.'

'Right this very second that would be an Emerson CQC-12 Comrade. Hell of a knife. You could cut through a car door with it if you needed to. Here.'

He reached down, eased the blade out of his pocket, and handed it to me. I opened it. Yeah, this would do. And then some.

Bodies that have been thrown into rivers resurface because gases produced by putrefying bacteria can turn the digestive tract and other areas into balloons. If you don't want the body to float, you have to puncture the balloons so they can't fill. The problem is, it's not just the stomach you're worried about. The phenomenon can occur in the limbs, trunk, face, and other areas, too. Preventing it entirely is therefore a grisly task.

We found a suitably dark stretch along the Hudson River piers south of the Holland Tunnel. Dox pulled off the West Side Highway, cut the lights, and pulled in behind an empty playground. The river was right next to us.

We dragged Wong out and dumped him on the ground. Dox started to lift him.

'No,' I said. 'I'll take care of it. You drive out of here and swing past every five to ten minutes. When I'm done I'll be waiting.'

'Come on, man, let me give you a hand. It'll go quicker.'

'I don't want the car here. It'll draw attention. Besides, I've put you at enough risk as it is. I'll be fine. Just go.'

'All right. I'll be back in five, and five after that.'

I nodded. Dox drove off. I hauled Wong into a fireman's carry and lugged him to the end of the pier, my breath fogging in the chill air. The body felt heavy as hell and I realized how tired I was.

I set him down as close as possible to the edge, took out Dox's knife, and started doing what was necessary. There were going to be some stains on the planks when I was done, no doubt. But dead bodies, lacking a beating heart, bleed a lot less than live ones. Besides, it looked like the city was in for another spell of rain. That would clean things up. And who was going to pay any attention to a dark spot on a Hudson River dock anyway?

I worked. I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but my mind kept offering up images from Midori's apartment. My son in my arms. Midori's expression as she handed him to me. I looked down at what I was doing and the contrast made me feel sick. The hope and wondrous sense of possibility I'd felt just hours earlier were receding with each stab of the knife. Just finish this. Just get through.

The whole thing couldn't have taken longer than a minute, but it seemed like more. When I was done, I pocketed the knife and paused, kneeling, to catch my breath. I leaned my head back and breathed the cold air and tried not to think at all.

I heard a car coming south on the access road paralleling the highway. I looked over and saw the outline of police flashers eighty yards away. A spotlight was trained over the water.

Oh, shit. Without another thought, I rolled Wong into the river and vaulted in after him.

I hung on to the edge of the pier with my fingertips, but even so I was dangling past my waist in freezing water. The cold hit my testicles like a blow and I struggled not to gasp.

I heard the car coming closer, closer. It seemed to be taking forever. Were they slowing? Looking for something? At something?

I looked down. Wong was already gone, sunk beneath the surface.

I listened but couldn't hear anything. Had they stopped? The spotlight lit up the pier and I was sure they had. I pictured two cops coming toward me with guns drawn. There was nothing I could do but hang there and wait.

Finally, the light moved on. I heard their tires moving past. I felt confused and couldn't tell how much time had gone by. I counted. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. When I reached thirty, I pulled myself back onto the pier. I dragged myself forward a few feet and lay there, exhausted. I couldn't feel my legs. If anyone came now I was doomed.

But they were gone. After a minute, I sat up. I sucked wind and tried to massage some life back into my useless limbs. I was shivering and my teeth were chattering like an electric typewriter. I realized I was moaning.