continued from: chapter III: Pillow Talk
It was close to midnight in Chengdu. But that didn’t make much difference to prisoner no.4534. For her there were no days or nights. Just two and a half meals which tasted exactly the same. Suddenly there was a loud buzz and the door to her cell was pulled back and she saw the silhouette of a large man ambling in. The door pulled shut again.
Prisoner no. 4534 was seated on the floor, hugging herself, trying to keep the cold out of her bones. The large man plodded across and sat down on her cot. She was looking away. She didn’t want to make eye contact, but she kept stealing quick glances. The man looked like some inept government official. Fat, balding and burly. There was a an aura of sweetness about him. He smiled almost constantly. A large flashy grin which swelled up his pink rosy cheeks and revealed his slightly discoloured teeth. His shirt, two sizes too small was stretched to its limit. A button was missing. There were ketchup stains on the cheap tie which was loosened around his ruffled collar.He was like your uncle, the one that keeps pulling chocolate pennies out of your ears at Christmas.
“Well well well” the man said, “aren't you pretty”
He reached out and held her chin with his forefinger and thumb and started turning her face towards him. She immediately jerked her head away.
“Ooooh. Fiesty!”, the man laughed. A boisterous, booming laugh. As if he had heard the best dirty joke ever. “I’m Mr. Chong. What’s your name little girl?”
She wouldn’t say.
“Fine then”, the man pressed on. He pulled out a brown folder from inside his coat.
“Nice to meet you Ms. Juan Lei. Age 19. Mother, died at childbirth. Father fought for the People’s Liberation Army. Marine Corps. Impressive. Honourably discharged after a crippling knee injury during training. Owned a drug store in Yangying county, northwest of Beijing. Coached martial arts part time. Was found beaten to death in his store. Only daughter, Juan Lei, aged 13 was missing.”
He licked his fingers and turned the page. Taking a deep breath he continued.
“Shen Wong, the son of a wealthy industrialist and his two friends, Hsien and Lok were questioned over the killing. But the investigation ran dry and the boys were released. Instead it was suspected that the missing daughter probably had something to do with it. Maybe an unkown boyfriend.” He looked up “So what was it? They were drunk? Maybe wanted some cough syrup? Paracetamol? Money? Did you see it?”
The girl sat unmoved. So the man flipped some pages and continued reading.
“Seven months ago. Shen Wong died under mysterious circumstances. He was working late at his office and Wong Industries on the 46th floor. When he was possibly drugged, tied to a computer chair and wheeled out through the glass window behind his desk. A few weeks later, his buddy Hsien was found. He had been pushed out of his car, while returning home after a few drinks at a friend’s place. His tie had been stuck to the door, as somebody had driven around for several minutes. All that was left was a ball of flesh really. They had to identify him from dental records. Lok, had been under investigation for drug trafficking. He was under constant police surveillance. One night, soon after Hsien, they heard a piercing scream coming from his posh hillside retreat. The detectives had rushed in to find him, electrocuted in his spa, and a tiny figure running into the shrubs. They had cordoned off the area and captured a teenage girl.But not before she critically wounded one of the officers in the process. And that’s it! Now she has been tried. For four murders including her father’s. They are still trying to make up their mind. The death sentence? Or worse.”
The fat man held the top of the girl’s head in his hand and slowly but determinedly turned her face towards him.
“There we go. Such a pretty face. Now. I need you . I need people like you. That’s my job. Finding people like you. You’ll work for me. You’ll do whatever I say.”
The girl spat on his face.
The fat man moved with a speed that she couldn’t have imagined. He struck her somewhere in her neck. She felt like she had swallowed a rock. She couldn’t breathe. She flailed her arms around clasped at her neck. Wheezing and heaving. Trying to breathe.
The man slowly wiped the spit off his face. The girl was turning quite blue.
“Don’t ever do that again”, he said, “now stop sighing like a whore. Relax. Let it go. Close your mouth, count to three and breathe in slowly through your nose.”
The girl listened. She fought with her instincts and breathed in the way he said. Her lungs filled with air. Her head started to clear.
“Now. Let me finish. In return for you coming into my employment, your criminal will be expunged. Complete and unconditional. But you must keep up your end of the bargain. Don’t worry. I’m not going to rape you. You’ll be my soldier. Your country’s soldier. Is that clear?”
The girl kept silent. He stood up.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Not like you have a choice anyway. Either way you’re dead. I’ll come get you tomorrow.”

The next morning the warden released a statement. Prisoner 4534, Juan Lei, had died overnight, possibly of cholera. To contain the disease, her body and cell contents had been incinerated immediately.
For the next 4 years she had trained vigorously. Martial arts. Killing with swords, guns or bare hands. Trained in manners and etiquette. The arts, languages, geography and history. She was part of an ultra secret strike team for the Chinese Secret Service. But a more true description would have been – assassin, saboteur and spy. Her first mission had been a debacle. A double cross. Two senior fellow agents were killed. But she had come back alive. All objectives complete. Ever since then she was identified as someone a little special. Over the years she went on over a hundred missions in the farthest corners of the world, doing things most of us only see in our nightmares. Becoming famous without even being known.
And then one day she had broken.
Something had changed. Something was lost. Or maybe found. She wanted out.
But there was no way out. There never would be. Mr. Chong had promised her that a long time ago. So she made her own arrangements. For almost a year.
Then one day, while in a mission in Spain, she was gone. Vanished.
Somewhere along the line, she had found Poison Bay. She had found a mild mannered stock broker called Jeremy Pritchard. And she had found her home. The perfect cover. For the rest of her life.
But she had never stopped looking behind her. The faintest sound in the night would wake her. Cars backfiring would startle her. In the Boisen Bay busport, in deposit box no. 4534 she kept a gym bag stuffed with notes in a dozen currencies, six passports and an address book with the details of some people worth knowing.

Because she knew it would happen one day. Mr. Chong would find her. The man who had given her the name that was nothing more than a curse.
Xi.

continued from: Chapter III: A dark room

It was his second day at junior high when the Brad Kelly and his gang grabbed him by his collar and shoved him into the boy’s room. They were going to take his lunch money. Then his dignity. But before they could do anything somebody came in.
“You touch him, you die.”
The Kelly gang burst out laughing. It wasn’t the threat, but who it came from. A skinny, short chump. They knew him. Twisted Ed, who sat at the last chair and tried to keep his head down. They didn’t know he could speak.
Which left them completely unprepared for what happened next.
It was as though the little man exploded into a ball of fists and kicks. He attacked Brad like an enraged wildcat. He punched and grabbed and scratched at what he could.
But Brad was about 3 times his size. And there were three of them.
The boys fought back but they could not stop Ed. He was being beaten simultaneously by all three of the Kelly’s but it was as though he didn’t feel a thing. It was suicidal. It was almost comical to watch.
Suddenly, the youngest of the Kelly gang ran in.
“The Princi’s on his way.”
That broke them up. The boys immediately withdrew, rushing out their footsteps echoing in the corridor.
Ed was bleeding quite badly. There were deep bruises in his eyebrow and lips. The left eye had swollen to a bright purple.
But he still managed a smile.
“That’ll be the last of ‘em. Don’t let ‘em ever bother you. If they ever try to get you again, you let me know. Okay? I’m always here. Just remember. I always got your back kiddo. You’re my baby brother. Remember that?”

That was probably the last good memory O’Malley had of his older brother Edward. Soon after things started to change. As Bernard excelled in both the classroom and the playing field, Edward slumped to an all time low. He could not cope with studies. He wasn’t fit enough sports. Almost nothing sustained his interest. He would have wild bouts of anger, with prolonged periods of depression. They took him to the doctor. Things were not right. His IQ was marginally below “normal” levels. He had borderline autism. Traces of manic depression. And a dash of psychosis. Twisted Ed. Bernard had never really liked his brother. He always thought of Ed as an embarrassment, a burden. So he would distance himself. Always had.
Ed came home with tears in his eyes and he confronted their father. The long guarded awful secret was finally out.
Francis O’Malley had been a giant of a man, both in character and build. But there had been a dark night in his life as well. When even he had a made a mistake.
Her name was Gloria Sanchez. He hadn’t seen her after that night. And he had tried to forget about her. But one morning, almost 5 years later, they had received a letter. Gloria had died. But she had a son. Eduardo.
Francis’ son.
The little boy was to be put up for adoption. But she had said in her will that Francis should be informed. Francis’ hands had trembled when he had read the letter as tears ran down his face. He could not turn his back on his family. Eduardo was family.
Glenda O’Malley had been let down by her health all her life. She had always been frail, weak and seriously ill. The doctors had written off any chances of her bearing a child. Her heart wasn’t strong enough. When Francis broke the news to Glenda she had cried. Deeply hurt and disappointed by the an she had worshipped. But even though her heart was weak, it was large. Next week, they had adopted Eduardo and had christened him Edward.
But 2 years later, a miracle happened. They named it Bernard.
But now one of Gloria’s brothers had tracked Eduardo down and contacted him. The secret was out. Eduardo finally had the answer to why he had dark skin and hair when his parents did not.
The last time Bernard had seen Edward, he was sitting on his bed. His cheeks wet from crying. Weeks after his 16th birthday.
The next day he was gone.
Francis had torn apart Boisen Bay looking for Edward. He had found him too. But the son he had brought with love and care was gone. His name was Eduardo Sanchez and he spent time with Gloria’s drug dealing gangster brothers. He had become one of them. A dope pusher and user. A criminal. Menace to society. And there was nothing Francis could do about it. You can repossess your valuables, but you can’t repossess the most valuable thing of all. Your children.
Francis and Glenda O’Malley had died barely 8 years later. Two months between them.
Bernard had met Eduardo some years before. Sitting in a police station. Arrested for DUI. They had seen each other but neither would allow that to show. But things had changed somewhat. Eduardo was no longer a criminal. He was no saint either but he was trying. He had left his gang and taken up a job. Good honest work. And he was working at it. From time to time he would go back to his old ways, but something would again put him back on the straight path. O’Malley secretly kept tabs on him. He would walk by Ed’s apartment late at night, trying to catch a glimpse of him eating dinner. But he never met him. He was still too ashamed of his brother.
But suddenly now he didn’t think of all that. He didn’t think of all those embarrassing moments his retarded, violent brother had caused him. All he could think of was his second day at Junior High. And Brad Kelly. And the promise.
“I always got your back kiddo. You’re my baby brother.”
Ed had been there when he needed him. Now it was Bernard’s turn.

One balmy Poison Bay night, the 20 year-old home of the Pritchard family had been burnt down to embers. A gas leak of some sort. The enormous explosion had killed everybody. Jeremy Pritchard, his wife Michelle, the seven year old twins Jamie and Jane, and even baby Faye, three months old that day.
By strange coincidence, the family minivan had been stolen at the same time.
But the police got the facts a little wrong. The woman’s body they had recovered was not Michelle Pritchard. It was Lillian Choo - an illegal Asian immigrant who had started work as Baby Faye’s nanny that very day. Michelle had stepped out in a hurry to buy some tomato paste, for the Spaghetti Bolognaise she had planned for dinner. But she had returned in time to see a strange van marked “Handyman Clay” driving off in a hurry from her doorstep. It had struck her as odd but not odd enough. While she was trying to gather the stubborn cans into the weak plastic bags, it had happened. She had seen it. The entire left side of the house it exploded into one giant ball of fire.
She knew it was no gas leak. She had been expecting it all these years. But when it finally happened, it was unexpected. She had just stood there. Part of her had wanted to jump into the flames. Try to save someone. But all those months of conditioning had held her back. It wasn’t her time.
Michelle Pritchard was dead. Xi was reborn.
Clay, part time handyman, part time hitman and explosives expert, was paid a visit by Xi the week after while he was in his workshop. She had started with his fingers, crushing them in a vice, tearing them off with wire strippers. Unhappy with the results she had moved on to the mallet smashing in both his shins. After she had pulverized Clay's left knee he had become willing to talk. Once she knew all about Big Eddie, she had tied him to a chair in the kitchen. A gas leak. She would show him a gas leak. From Clay's stash, she had found a small charge of C4. She had then rigged it to 15 minute timer, taped it to his face and left.
The last room Handyman Clay ever painted, was a bright red.
Eddie knew most of that story. The crucial bits he didn’t know, Xi explained.
“Clay held out pretty long you know. He’s a tough guy. Was. Now you could try and beat him. But I wouldn’t recommend it”, Xi said and smiled.
“Now I just have two questions. Easy ones”, she reached behind Eddie’s head and undid something. Eddie felt the piece of rubber pop out of his mouth.
“Who and why?” said Xi.
Eddie tried to scream at first. But he couldn’t. The noose was too tight. The only thing that came out was whisper. He had had enough of this.
“Rot in hell bitch” he spat out.
Xi shook her head in dismay. Then with one swift motion she pulled out the needles holding her hair together. Her beautiful black locks cascaded down her shoulders. Eddie saw that the needles weren’t needles at all. They were tiny curly daggers.
The next moment Xi plunged them deep into his bowels.
Big Eddie gasped in pain and shock. But his windpipe was closed shut by the rope and he almost choked.
Xi just stood there smiling.
At the moment it hit him. He was going to die. One way or another. The only question was how soon and how painfully.
So he talked.
“I’ll tell you. I don’t know why”
The daggers twisted just a little. Big Eddie gasped again.
“I don’t. I really don’t. I just got Clay coz I don’t do kids. But I know who hired. It was Brother Morris.”
The grip on the daggers loosened.
“Who’s that?” Xi asked.
“Brother Morris. He’s a Habit. Up at Blackwood Abbey.” Big Eddie wheezed.
He saw it in her eyes. That look. Even in his pain he could recognize that look. It was fear. The Habits scared her, despite the monster she was. Big Eddie found that hilarious somehow. And he started laughing. A dry hyena laugh.
Xi smiled back and walked away. Big Eddie heard clicking sounds and then that whir of the winch motor. And he started rising above the ground. The noose tightened the nylon cutting his flesh drawing blood. He could see the little woman in red looking up at him. Like a toddler. And then she sprung up, unnaturally high and with one swift motion plucked the little daggers out of Eddie’s guts. Blood gushed out in a thick stream. The whirring stopped. There were more clicks and thuds. And then the sound of a car engine fading in the night.
She was gone. Leaving Big Eddie hanging 4 feet above the ground from a lamp post in the alley behind Philli’s Bar. The enormous man swung gently in the night as the blood and urine dripping down his trouser legs painted abstract stars on the asphalt.

continued from chapter II: The Whistler
O’Malley deliberately slammed the door.as he entered interrogation room 3. As if on que all the lights went out, except for the flickering table lamp.
O’Malley spoke.
“This is a dark room. The recorders, the microphones, the cameras are all switched off. Even the lights are turned off so that they can’t lip-read. It’s just you and me. What you say to me in the next three minutes, stays here. Nobody has to know. This is the only chance you are getting. The first and the last. Talk to me. Talk to me now. What are you doing Edward?”
The skinny man didn’t move. He sat with his head drooped, his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. O’Malley started breathing heavy. His nostrils flaring and the muscles in his jaw flexing with every wheezing breath. But still the man didn’t move.
“Talk to me Edward.” O’Malley shouted.
“The name’s Eduardo”, the man replied. Still not moving.
O’Malley thought for a moment that he was going to say something. But no. He just went back to being perfectly still.
“You know what’s happening, Eduardo?”, O’Malley said, deliberately drawing out his name.
“They are going to try you for murder. Not one. Nine murders. They have your car. Tomorrow morning the forensic geeks are going to tear it apart. They are going to look at every bit of that car under the microscope. And they are going to find exactly how many and which girls you’ve had in there. Strands of hair, eyelashes, fibres even friggin’ dandruff. They are going to find it.”
The man didn’t move. So O’Malley just continued.
“You know the only piece of evidence we found? It was a fruit knife. Victim number three. The killer had used it to slice up the nylon cord. No fingerprints. But there was DNA. Not the victim’s. But somebody had cut themselves once with that knife while eating an apple or whatever. And we have his DNA. Tomorrow morning they are going to stick a bud in your mouth and take your DNA. And they are going to compare it. And they are going to nail you. You understand me? You know what DNA is don’t you? You can’t be that stupid.”
O’Malley leaning over the table. His enormous bulk bearing down on the scrawny looking man.
The man finally looked up to find O’Malley’s smoldering eyes burning into his soul.
O’Malley knew he had him now. He pushed on.
“The minute this is over, all hell’s going to break loose. There’ll be lawyers and scientists and cops crawling all over you. They are going to drag up river and down, in and out of courts. And don’t forget the newspapers. They are going to rip you to shreds. Every little thing you’ve done is going to be picked apart. Like a Christmas turkey. Then they are going to lock you up in a dark lonely cell for a few months. After that they are going to strap you to a chair and pass a thousand volts through your body until your brain turns into mush and your heart explodes inside you. What are you going to do Eduardo? What do you have to say?”
O’Malley face was inches away from the man. His mouth foaming. His breath coming in heavy gasps. But the man sat unmoved by this over the top exhibition of O’Malley’s powers of intimidation. He looked into O’Malley’s eyes and held its gaze. Something not many people could do.
After a long pause the man finally spoke.
“Don’t worry Bernie. I’ll never tell. I’ve taken care of it. They’ll never find out you’re my baby brother.”
The lights went on before O’Malley could reply.

continued from chapter I: Screamer or moaner?

Big Eddie’s scream had died in his throat. Something soft and rubbery had been shoved into his mouth. He couldn’t spit it out. Then his world went dark and his ears started ringing as his body slumped to the floor. For the next few minutes he just sat there in darkness as his mind fought the pain.
He came to suddenly at the sound of an engine starting. He looked up. The bitch was gone. His first instinct was to try and stand up. But that just brought him more excruciating pain. He didn’t have control over his hands. She hadn’t just broken them; she had just plain ripped them out of their sockets. Now they uselessly dangled along his sides, mocking him.
Somewhere in the far end of the alley the engine revved up. And a pair of headlights went on and started to grow larger. Big Eddie panicked. Oh my god! She was going to run him over. He didn’t have the use of his hands but he tried to scramble away with his feet. Only to find that they were shackled to the dumpster. The headlights grew larger. Like the eyes of some giant cat bearing down on a rodent in the night. Big Eddie knew he had only moments to live.
But the car stopped. Screeched to a halt about two metres from him. The tiny figure is red jumped out from behind the wheel. She was up to something. Big Eddie couldn’t see clearly because of the headlights. She was moving around with quick certain actions. He got a better look at the car. It was a minivan. You saw these things in the suburbs. Soccer-moms drive them around, picking up kids from school, dropping them off at sports, shopping at the supermarket. This one even had a “baby on board” sticker!
The woman was now standing next to Eddie and she threw something up in there.
Next she slid the noose around his neck.
Big Eddie struggled. Trying to shake it off. But the pain in his back didn’t let him. But what was she going to do? Big Eddie outweighed her by 80 kilos at least.
There was a low whirring sound. A small motor going off. And Big Eddie felt himself being raised above the ground. She was using the winch! The car winch on the minivan. The noose around his neck tightened cutting off his breathing. His head and eyes started to throb. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe!
The whirring sound stopped. Big Eddie was hanging from the lamp-post above him, his life slowly fading away. Suddenly he felt his leg come free of the shackles. He kicked around desperately and found the ground. But just barely. Standing almost on tiptoes. But that was enough. By stretching his body as far as humanely possible he could just keep himself from being hanged.
He could breathe. His vision cleared.
He saw that exquisite face in front of him again. Those long unending eyelashes. Those chiseled lips. That delicate fragrance filled his nostrils. He could breathe.
“My name’s Xi”, she said “and we need to talk.”