“We’ll take a look,” Nick said softly, and glided straight ahead. Paula’s breath quickened as she followed him.
Behind them, at the end of the branch-off passage, Tsing-fu contemplated the smoke of his cigarillo and planned his forthcoming session with Evita.
And outside under the moonless sky Tom Kee’s weary horse toiled toward the end of the trail.
Shang stirred in his anteroom. He was not yet quite awake, but he had heard a footfall. He mumbled in his sleep.
Nick followed the curve of the passage in the direction of the sound and pulled up short. A soft light spilled from a room with a half-open door, and beyond that door someone was snuffling in his sleep. And also beyond the door… there was another door. He could see it from where he stood, a solid, closed door with a bolt across it. His pulse quickened. None of the other doors had been bolted shut. And none of the other doors had been guarded by a snoring man.
He glanced at Paula in the overflow of light. She was staring at the bolted door and her lips were parted. There was nothing of hardness in her face right now; only a kind of Oh God, Please, God, look that suddenly made him like her a whole lot more. He raised a restraining hand and slipped Wilhelmina from the special holster, a Wilhelmina made long and clumsy by the silencer he so seldom used.
Nick sidled into the cell-like room and all hell broke loose.
He had no sooner seen the incredibly mountainous form and raised the Luger when the vast shape rose with fantastic speed and leapt at him from the shadows. His head slammed back against a wall and Wilhelmina flew from his hands. An enormous bare foot slammed against his throat as he sprawled back against the death-cold stone and saw lights dancing where he vaguely knew there were none. Beyond the splintering lights and the red haze he saw Paula aiming her own tiny gun at the huge blubber ball, and then he saw the creature turn and swat the pistol from her hand. Nick gulped air and shook his head. The creature had its arms around her and was squeezing her with monstrous enjoyment, crushing her slim body against his own rolls of fat and muscle and grunting with hideous delight. Nick scrabbled groggily to his feet and slid Hugo from his sheath. He pounded at the fat back, thrusting Hugo in front of him like a tiny bayonet and driving it deep into a roll of flesh. The huge man-monster released one thick arm from Paula and slammed a piledriver of a hand into Nick’s face. Nick ducked and groped for Hugo, still quivering in the big man’s body, and raked the stiletto down sharply so that it tore a deep gash in the fat behind.
The monster turned on him in a lightning move and thrust out a hand formed into an axe-blade. It glanced off Nick’s shoulder blade as he sidestepped, but Nick knew it for what it was — a karate blow designed for instant killing. He spun on the balls of his feet and shot out his right leg in a savage kick that caught the fat one under the chin and stopped him for the length of one deep breath. Hugo dropped from his bed of fat and clattered to the floor. Nick lunged for it.
“Ah, no!” A tree trunk of a leg kicked him aside. He caught the kicking foot and jerked it savagely. It swung him through the air and flung him back against the wall. But this time he was ready for the fall. He rolled back on his hips and snapped both feet up and forward into the great bulk looming over him. The creature staggered backwards but stayed on its feet.
“Ah, no,” it said again. “You not do that to me. I am Shang! You not do that to Shang.”
“How do you do, Shang,” Nick said cordially, and sprang at him with a hand outstretched like a wedge of steel. It sank into Shang’s throat and came back at him like a boomerang.
Godalmighty! Nick thought, reeling back. The fat swine knows every trick of karate, and a couple more besides.
Shang was coming at him again. No — he was pausing. A great hand scooped Paula off the floor where she was reaching for a gun and flung her sideways. She landed in a crumpled heap. Nick leapt again, driving a vicious blow at the temple and another into the fat gut. Shang grunted and slapped his great palm against Nick’s head. Nick went down heavily, rolled over once, and came up panting. Shang was standing over him, thick arms outstretched, just waiting.
Tsing-fu frowned. He had given explicit orders that the men were not to talk while they were working, but now he heard their voices. Did he? He listened carefully. No. Nothing. Still, it was time to check on them and see what they were doing. And it was high time that Tom Kee returned. He stamped out his cigarillo and reached for his flashlight.
Nick rolled again and bounded to his feet. Shang grinned like an ape and swung a huge paw at him. Nick dodged and felt the half-blow smashing past his ribs. He backed away and unleashed a kick that landed full against its tender target between the trunklike legs. Another man would have doubled up and screamed. Shang yelped and fell into a crouch, fat arms reaching out to bearhug Nick around the knees. He caught one of them only; the other crumpled up underneath his chin and rocked him backwards like a bobbing balloon.
Shang laughed low in his throat. “You are insect,” he growled softly.
Nick felt like one. He stung again with a chest stab that sank into a cushion of fat and made the giant laugh again.
“Ho, see! I use club on you,” he rumbled. He reached down swiftly and grasped Paula by the ankles. She was less than half-conscious and her feeble squirm meant nothing to him; he swung her a couple of times like a baseball bat, picked up momentum, and struck at Nick with her helpless body — a Neanderthal using a woman as a club. He let go at impact and chuckled to himself.
Nick absorbed most of the weight and impetus with his outstretched arms, cushioning the impact for both of them. But he could not keep his balance and he went down beneath her, cursing quietly. The hairless ape came at him crabwise as he rolled free, swinging out a great leg in a side kick that could have scrambled Nick’s brain like raw egg if it landed. It didn’t land. Nick twisted away and saw the giant’s foot come down awkwardly, slightly off-balance, and he struck out viciously with his own legs. One foot slammed hard against one padded shin; the other snaked around behind the other thick leg and gave a mighty jerk. The man-monster went down with a grunting thud and tried to rise. Nick bulldozed a kick at the groin and leapfrogged up, swinging a booted foot even as he leapt. This time the blow sledge-hammered against the side of the thick skull and Shang’s head jerked like a punching bag.
It was cat and mouse no longer. Shang wasn’t playing any more and the slashing kick had barely dazed him. But it had helped. Shang clawed widely upward with one hammy hand and missed his target by inches. Nick backed away as Shang started to rise, and he leapt again as high as he could and then down with all his weight upon the bulging belly. He heard the ribs cracking and he jumped again, grinding his feet deep into the fat and the ribs and the guts. Breath wheezed and grunted out of the blubbery form beneath him.
Not very cricket, Nick told himself, and slammed down again with all his weight. His heels ground down in a pulverizing motion, churning savagely into the breastplate, into the heart, into the thickly muscled abdomen. Shang’s flailing arms brushed past his legs and plucked at them uselessly.
There was a hideous squelching, scrunching sound. Shang lay very still.
Nick bounced off his human trampoline. Paula, he saw from the corner of his eye, was on her feet and moving groggily toward the barred inner door. He looked down at the horrible mess he had made of the monstrous man and felt nauseated. Shang was very dead, and he had died painfully. Nick scooped up Hugo and the fallen guns and followed Paula into the dark cell. She flicked the flashlight’s beam into the corner.
A woman lay huddled on a stone bed, trussed with cord, eyes wide with terror in a gaunt face with oddly swollen lips.