Chapter 4: Li Kuan

She couldn't understand why Master Janak let the cockroach live, let alone found her employment and housing. And she was totally incapable of comprehending why those involved her Beloved's estate and home.

And while Li Kuan was confused, Madam Grimes was livid. First had come the roaring anger, peppered with "if it was anyone but Eddie," then had come the cold, soft-spoken rage, liberally seasoned with "if she steps out of line I will take it out of Eddie's hide."

The only thing Madam Grimes had been even remotely happy with was Li Kuan's mission. Madam Grimes knew she needed to 'blow off steam, ' and this was a way for her to do so. But the instructions and helpful advice had almost driven Li Kuan mad; a kitten instructing a Bengal tiger.

The two things about the situation her new owner had not been happy about was how long it would take, and Li Kuan basically disappearing until it was completed. To keep Madam Grimes from becoming more upset, Li Kuan had low-balled the time estimate, telling her 'three weeks.'

In reality, Li Kuan wouldn't be surprised if she didn't make it home until the middle of December, five weeks from when she started. And if she didn't make it back until later, well, that was the nature of the job Eddie had given her.

Catching any one of them by themselves took time. Punks traveled in packs, but patience, and a willingness to follow her prey, staying in the dark, motionless and patient, paid off.

It was quick, too quick for Li Kuan's tastes, but the situation didn't allow for savoring her mission.

An ice pick through the soft spot in the temple, a few quick rotations, and she was hoisting him over her shoulder and disappearing back into the darkness.

She dropped the body at Wu's, and headed back to her cheap apartment, close to the gang's area of operations.

She showered, not only to remove the smells and stains of her victim's feces and urine, but to remove forensic evidence as well, half a bottle of bleach to corrupt anything left in the pipe, and the clothes were washed immediately thereafter, in the dark and dingy washroom in the basement.

A thorough vacuuming of the apartment with a very expensive, very good vacuum cleaner, a trip to a garbage dumpster twelve blocks away to dump the canister's contents, and she returned to the apartment, falling into bed, asleep almost at once.

There were going to be many such nights.

The end game was both harder and easier to set up.

The gang met and hung out in a small abandoned warehouse they'd decorated in a haphazard style. It was empty most evenings, all of her prey out making money with girls, drugs, extortion, assault and battery. She'd taken her time to explore it, and bugged it with several small cameras, audio and video, up in the dark recesses of the ceiling's support beams.

They'd done an admirable job fortifying it at ground level, which made her end game easier – they'd all run for their safe spot. She was thankful that they, like so many others, rarely looked, or thought about, up. Entering and exiting through the high, grimy windows was nothing to her.

Most disturbing was the large, claw-foot (whatever material) bathtub they'd installed, hooked up to a drain in the floor, water stolen from city pipes. Bottles of bleach, both empty and full, were nearby.

They'd killed, and did so often enough to have their own forensic countermeasures.

That spoke to the intelligence of someone in a leadership position.

Maybe that meant her hunt wouldn't be quite as boring as she'd expected.

So there was the easy part of the end game.

The hard part was acquiring the materials she needed.

Two weeks spent watching them, from carefully placed blinds in their neighborhood. Filming them, identifying them – not by name, but by her own descriptors. Who they were in real life was only of temporary interest. Wu's pigs didn't care, and neither did she.

"Vanilla Slice, Chunky, and Furface, regular route, little variance in routine, only altered by clients who want more time with their girls."

"Ass Breath, Hammer, and Pretty Boy, hits stores same pattern, same time, every week."

"Mongo, Cockatoo, and Scar-Arm, never the same area twice in a row, no discernible pattern, robbery victims catch-as-catch-can."

She worried about her recordings, and photographs, and notes. If something went wrong, they'd provide damning evidence against her.

Their security was heightened, however, by her own precautions, never leaving the room without them being hidden inside a section of wall in the bedroom. The apartment was decorated as if an exotic dancer lived there, and with her bridges in, that's how she'd presented herself to the manager of the building. All her piercings left at home, makeup to disguise the holes. Just another tired and disheartened worker in the titillation trade.

There was even a poorly hidden stash of ones and fives. Anyone searching the room would find exactly what they'd expect to find in a stripper's apartment.

Two at once, bound to happen, her only luck being Vicious going down as Flabby came out to have a smoke with him. Ice pick out of Vicious's temple, in and up through Flabby's eye, her other hand in his mouth, fingers forming a cone she drove down his throat as far as she could.

Taking the harder to transport of the two first, she stashed the skinny corpse of Vicious under a long-standing trash pile, carefully rearranged it, and hauled the fat fuck off.

The plastic sheeting in her trunk almost wasn't big enough. The trunk itself was a close fit as well.

The plan, all along, had been to make them paranoid. Worried enough to all hole up at the same time and the same place, then finish it.

Acquiring the C-4 was the hard part, but part of her value to Madame had always been her low friends in low places, no matter how much her Beloved had hated to use her in such a fashion. The ball bearings were easy, although timely to acquire by mail in small amounts, mailed to a rented box.