Chapter Six
“Here’s the deal, Jones.” Davy listened to Rob Roy as he paced. “I sent a picture of this house by messenger to your friends. Hopefully they’ll be coming for you.”
“And you. You can’t stay here.”
“I won’t. As soon as they’re inside I’ll head out the back door.” The pacing stopped. “Maybe you can . . . explain things to them?”
“Unbind my eyes. Then I will.”
“Close your eyes, Jones.”
“They’re closed.”
He felt hands move around the back of his head, a gentle pressure, and the blindfold was finally gone. “Open them slowly,” Rob Roy said.
He did, but they teared and watered in the light. The apartment that Rob Roy had brought him to was small and dingy, decorated mostly with photographs tacked to the walls to hide the peeling, faded wallpaper. Rob Roy was standing there holding the blindfold, his long hair and worn clothes making him look as shabby as the apartment around him. “You look like hell,” Davy said.
The unshaven face smiled ruefully. “Thanks.”
“Bet I don’t look any better.” Shifting position, he frowned as his ribs and hands protested. “You getting out of here?”
“As soon as your friends get here. Leaving you here alone, tied up and hurt, is something not even I could do.”
“Thank you, Rob.”
The blond just shrugged and seemed to be about to say something when there was a knock on the door. “That’ll be them, I guess.” He was just reaching for the door when it burst open, smashing into him and knocking him to the floor. A darkly clothed figure stood at the door, but it wasn’t Mike. Davy swallowed hard.
“Who are you?” he demanded as bravely as he could.
Two more figures entered the house, grabbing Rob Roy by the arms and wrenching him up. The first one drew a knife from his belt. “The other one’s tied and injured. He poses no threat.”
“Who are these guys?” Davy hollered.
“They were sent by Mistress!” Rob Roy cried, kicking at the two men who held him. “Her private assassins!”
“She has assassins?” Davy twisted to try to free himself, and gasped as his ribs screamed at him for it.
“Don’t be a dope, Jones!” Rob Roy snapped. “You do not cross her and live!”
“Shame you didn’t learn that, Fingerhead,” the first man said, moving closer, his dagger moving into a menacing position at the photographer’s throat.
“Don’t you touch him!” Davy bellowed, adrenalin giving him the strength to shout.
The assassin laughed, the sound muffled and harsh behind the cowl that hid everything except his cold blue eyes.
The knife suddenly fell to the ground—the hand holding it paralysed by a shuriken that seemed to appear from nowhere.
The assassins holding Rob Roy dropped him as two figures—one curly-haired, the other blond—lauched themselves through the door and leaped at them. As soon as his arms were released Rob Roy tried to crawl for the back door.
Davy screamed as one of the assassins landed on him, a bony elbow digging into his side. The assassin heard that and grinned, digging his elbow in harder. Micky snarled and grabbed the man by the front of his uniform, dragging him away. The two promptly dissolved into a mass of flailing limbs.
Peter spared a moment to untie Davy’s hands, then he turned his attention to the assassin that was trying to sneak up on Rob Roy. The man was unceremoniously smashed between Peter and Mike as the North and South Winds hit him simultaneously.
Rob Roy looked up—and up—into Mike’s eyes.
Mike dropped the unconscious man, watching as the leader with the ruined hand escaped out the door. “So . . . you’re the one who sent those pictures.”
Rob Roy swallowed hard and nodded. Micky shoved the unconscious assassin away and rose, his dark eyes furious. Davy held out his hands toward Peter. Rob Roy looked in Micky’s direction and paled.
Davy cried out as Micky leaped on Rob Roy, pummelling the cowering photographer with his fists.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Rob Roy wailed.
“Micky, no!” Davy wheezed, ignoring the burning pain in his side. “Stop, please!”
Mike grabbed Micky’s hand. “Stop.”
Micky tried to yank away, but the Horse’s grip was like iron. “He put us through this, Mike! Torturing Davy and us!” His snarl returned to Rob Roy. “I wanna return the favor!”
“He helped me at the end!” Davy wheezed.
Mike carefully pulled Micky away. “C’mon. It’s over.” Shooting one last collective glare at Rob Roy, they turned finally to Davy.
He was sitting up, gripping the edge of the couch as he fought to maintain his balance. Peter was there immediately, his arm sliding around Davy’s shoulders and loosening immediately when the smaller man groaned. “M-Mike, he’s b-been whipped,” Peter said, his voice trembling in a way it hadn’t in a long time.
“Among other things,” Davy groaned.
“Can you walk?” Mike asked. “Sooner we get you home the sooner you can get better.”
“Yeah . . . I think so . . . ”
Peter was still gazing tearfully at the swollen welts on Davy’s face as Micky and Mike helped him up. Davy swayed threateningly, but kept his legs under him.
“Careful, Mike. I felt broken ribs,” Peter said.
“We’ll call Mr. Liang’s doctor soon as we get home,” Mike replied. “He don’t ask questions.”
Davy looked over at Micky. “Get An-mei to take me?” He managed to make his eyes shine, just to tease Micky.
“I’ll smack you for that when you’re better,” Micky winked. “Hey, where’s Rob Roy?”
Now that the fighting was over, Rob Roy was crawling toward the exit as fast as he could. Peter vaulted over the couch and landed, his foot pinning Rob Roy’s hand to the floor. “Hold it right there!” Rob Roy yanked his hand free and scuttled away, curling up as best he could.
“Fellas, please,” Davy said, his voice getting hazy. “Don’ . . . hurt him.”
“Davy?” Micky asked.
“He . . . he went against Mistress . . . t’help me.”
“Mistress?” Mike asked, gently lifting Davy. “She’s behind this?”
Rob Roy nodded, finding his voice. “She told me she’d get my career back if I helped her bring you four down.” Peter glared at him. He sighed, sitting down heavily. “But she can’t get my career back—in fact, I wonder if she ever had the intention to. That’s why I sent that picture to you three—I knew you’d come for him.”
“And then you had assassins here waiting for us!” Micky snarled.
“That wasn’t him!” Davy snarled in protest. “They were after him!”
“Guys, cool it,” Mike said. “Rob, for what you’ve done to Davy—and us—I should just sic Micky on you and have done with it. But it took a lotta guts to stand up to Mistress like that when you didn’t have to . . . so we won’t hurt you.”
Rob Roy’s eyes gew wide. “You won’t?”
“Provided you get out of my sight now and never come back . . . yes.”
With a nod, Rob Roy scrambled to his feet. “Good luck, Jones!” And he was gone.
“Home, fellas,” Davy said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
“Doctor first,” Mike said firmly.
“Maybe a housecall, Mike?” Peter said as they half-carried Davy to the car.
Mike considered. “Yes.”
On to Chapter Seven
Back to Chapter Five
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
