Operation Barracuda

“Deal?” This time she grins mischievously.

All right, if that’s the way she wants it. “All right, Katia. Deal.”

“Then throw me.”

I move in to her live side, that is, the inside of an opponent using a basic stance with one foot forward. She has her left foot forward so I move ahead and to my left. Moving to this angle places me in a position where I can be struck by either her hands or feet. I want her to attack.

Katia tries another kick but I sidestep and try to grab her leg, but she moves away quickly. She circles so gracefully it’s like fighting a ballerina. Before I know it, she’s behind me and slap-kicks me in the kidney. I turn and let her have it on the chin with a right hook. I’ve never before hit my instructor with such force but she’s asking for it! The blow shocks her a little. She rubs her chin, shakes her head, and then glares at me.

“You all right?” I ask. I’m actually afraid of hurting her.

“Shut up,” she says. She’s mad now. Katia comes at me like a wild tiger, leaps onto me, and wraps her lithe legs around my waist. She then repeatedly delivers nerve-wracking ridge-hand blows to either side of my neck. She knows where the exact pressure points are, too, so I feel sparks of pain shooting down my spinal cord like lightning. I can’t help but fall to my knees with Katia still attached.

She then delivers a straight punch to my nose. I swear I see stars. But I have the presence of mind to block the next blow and then spear-chop her sternum, right between her breasts. It does the trick — she releases me from her leg lock and pushes away from me. I just hope I didn’t hit her too hard.

“You all right?” I ask again.

“Shut the fuck up,” she says. Before I have a chance to stand, she propels herself at me, slamming my lower back to the mat. I use the momentum of her own weight to throw her over my head. She lands with a hard slap. I quickly twist to a facedown position and grab her shoulders. Our heads are parallel, facing each other with my chin to her forehead and vice versa. She struggles for a moment and then brings her legs up. With amazing agility, she kicks me in the face with both feet. Needless to say, I let her up.

What’s come over this woman? Does she want a date with me that badly? I admit I’d been thinking about her a lot lately and was wondering whether or not it was time to end my years of celibacy. She’s being very persuasive!

We’re both on our feet now. She moves in to my dead side before I can adjust my stance. This is the opposite angle of the live side. I have my right foot forward, so she steps with her left and moves so that more of her back is to me. I attempt to grab her under the arms in order to apply a full nelson, but she wiggles out of that with ease. At the same time, she back kicks my knee and stomps on my bare foot. An elbow to the lower abdomen sends me to the floor.

The next thing I know, I’m flat on my back again and she’s on top of me. I push her shoulders and am fairly certain I could fling her off of me — but I just don’t want to. This little “exercise” of hers has caused me to become aroused. Katia lowers herself until her face is an inch from mine. I no longer resist.

She kisses me on the mouth. It’s a long, passionate, animalistic kiss, with tongues and biting and sucking. It goes on for at least a minute before we part. Her eyes are alive with excitement and she’s panting with pleasure.

That’s when I throw her off of me.

She topples onto the mat and looks at me as if I’d just committed a grievous sin. I do believe I’ve offended her.

“I’m sorry, Katia,” I say. We’re both out of breath. “It’s just…”

“Forget it, Sam,” she says. “You just don’t want to admit you liked it.”

She’s right. I did like it. And damn it, it has been too long since I’ve had any sort of romantic involvement. Is it time? Can I forget Regan’s ghost and stop ignoring the feelings in my loins and in my heart? Can I do this without someone getting hurt?

“So,” she says, “I pinned you. What time is breakfast?”

And she smiles. I laugh and shake my head in resignation.

9

Sergeant Kim Lee Wei enjoyed his early morning beat in Tsim Sha Tsui East because it allowed him the opportunity to watch the sunrise from the Promenade. This amazing waterfront walkway offered some of the best sights in Hong Kong. Specifically, one could see a postcard-worthy view of the central skyline on the island across the harbor. The scene was particularly mesmerizing at night.

The Promenade became crowded with people as the day went on, so Sergeant Wei relished the quiet and relative emptiness at dawn. Of course there were the usual early morning tai chi practitioners, joggers, and fishermen, but the number was negligible. Later the walkway would be full of musicians, photographers with tripods, strolling couples, mothers with prams, clowns and jugglers, and an overwhelming horde of tourists. During the Chinese New Year, which had recently occurred, the Promenade was the place to watch the harbor fireworks display. The June Dragon Boat Festival always drew a mass of humanity as well. Sergeant Wei was grateful that his beat was almost always in the morning and he didn’t have to work those chaotic evening events. Like a good session of tai chi, the Promenade-at-dawn patrol was good mental therapy.

The policeman usually walked back and forth between the Star Ferry pier and the Hong Kong Coliseum. In his ten years of pounding the beat he had never encountered any serious trouble. Once he came upon a group of teenagers attempting to paint graffiti on the wall. There had been his share of drunks that had spent the night on benches. And there was the time he had found a woman’s purse. She had reported it stolen the previous day and made a big stink about it. Everything was intact within the purse, including her money and credit cards. Sergeant Wei figured she had simply dropped it and not noticed until later.

On this particular morning, the sergeant strolled west from the ferry pier, past the clock tower, and on around the southern tip of Kowloon. Near the New World Renaissance Hotel, Wei always encountered “Jimmy,” a fisherman who tried to catch his breakfast every morning. Wei didn’t know Jimmy’s full name but they always greeted each other with respect and friendliness. Wei figured the vagabond to be in his late sixties and had most likely seen it all. Jimmy never bothered anyone and was always gone by seven o’clock.

“Good morning, Jimmy,” the sergeant said in Cantonese.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” Jimmy replied. “It will be a very nice day, I think.”

“Looks that way. Catching anything?”

“Not yet. The fish are not biting. Something else has their attention.”

“And what might that be?”

Jimmy shrugged. “I don’t know. If you find out, you let me know.”

Wei laughed. “Will do. Have a good day.”

“You, too, Sergeant.”

Wei continued up toward the East Ferry pier and smiled to himself. Had he ever known Jimmy to actually catch a fish? He wasn’t sure.

When the sergeant reached the point where the Hong Kong Bypass was directly overhead, he noticed something odd. A metal stake had been hammered into the concrete at the edge of the walkway. A rope was tied around it and connected to something in the water. The line was taut.

What the hell? Wei thought. He had never seen that before.

He stepped over to take a closer look and saw that there was indeed something in the harbor being kept from floating away. Wei moved to the very edge, supported himself on the rail, and began to pull the rope. It was surprisingly heavy. After four hand-over-hand tugs, a burlap bundle broke the surface. It appeared to be elongated, roughly five or six feet long and maybe one or two feet wide. Wei continued to pull it up until he was able to grab the bulky end and drag it onto the walkway.

There was no doubt about it. It was a body.

An hour later, the Promenade was swarming with policemen. Sergeant Wei had provided a statement and the homicide detectives had taken over the case. Wei couldn’t believe he had run across a murder. A Caucasian man had been shot in the head, wrapped in burlap, and dropped in the water. The strange thing was that the killer or