Lone Star 02 Read Free

porter’s jacket front. He then lifted the man into the air, using just one hand. “I am not Chinese. Understand?”
    â€œPut me down, dammit!” the porter squealed, his shoes dancing on thin air.
    Ki gave him a little shaking, the way a terrier might shake a rat. “Do you understand?” he softly repeated.
    â€œYes,” the porter pouted. “Yes... sir.”
    Ki put him down. “I have already paid you,” he said softly. “I wish to hear no more insults. Fair enough?”
    The porter said nothing, but glumly went back to pushing his cart. Ki chose to interpret his silence as acquiescence.
    â€œNo! Please, no! Somebody help me!”
    The woman’s wail came as shrill and shockingly sudden as a steam-whistle blast from one of the ferryboats. Ki whirled around in the direction of the cry. He saw two men closing in on a solitary woman traveler. The bigger of the two hoodlums had locked his burly forearm across the woman’s throat, while his smaller friend waved a length of iron pipe in her face.
    â€œLet her go!” Ki shouted, and began racing toward the scene.
    â€œMy purse!” the woman cried. The little fellow had taken it. He’d tucked it under his arm as he began to run toward the cable cars. The big one released the woman in order to confront Ki’s charge.
    â€œWhat have we got here? A hero, is it?” the big man laughed. He was dressed in tattered denims, his shirt sleeves rolled up to display the knotted masses of his muscles. His hands were large, his splayed fingers grimy and padded with calluses.
    Ki saw that the woman, brandishing her umbrella, had set off after the other robber. Ki attempted to swerve around the larger man, in order to pursue the one who had the woman’s purse.
    â€œOh, no you don‘t,” the big man laughed, crabbing sideways, to block Ki. He was bald, and wore a thick black beard, and had one gold earring in his right ear. His smile revealed a mouthful of gold teeth that matched the earring. “My friend will do the lady right proper,” he nodded. “And I’m going to do you,” he growled. He rushed forward, his fists balled, windmilling right and left.
    Ki brought his own hands up to distract the robber’s attention, and then executed a mae-geri-kekomi, a forward foot-thrust. His ankle-high, black Wellington boots allowed his foot the proper mobility. His foot-strike caught the man squarely on his bearded chin. The fellow’s knees buckled, but he shook off the effects of the kick and aimed a roundhouse right at the side of Ki’s head.
    Ki sidestepped outside the swing. He clamped his right hand around the other’s outstretched wrist, and slammed the heel of his left into the other’s elbow. There was an audible crack, and then the big man fell to the floor, howling in agony.
    â€œOh, God! Oh, you broke my arm!” The robber’s face, beneath his beard, had gone white as a sheet. He writhed about, cradling his elbow and moaning.
    â€œYou!” Ki commanded, pointing a finger at the porter. “Stay with my luggage.”
    The porter nodded. “Yes, sir!” He himself had grown a shade paler as he looked down at the big bruiser crumpled on the floor, and thought about how he had so impudently sassed the soft-spoken, rather thin-looking gentleman who had put the lug there.
    Ki was already in the midst of the empty, currently out- of-service cable cars. There were at least thirty of the cars scattered about on a crisscrossing network of track. He peered under the first few, his frustration rising. The one who had the purse could be hiding anywhere—assuming he was even still in the building...
    â€œOver here!” came a woman’s shout.
    Ki hurried around the side of a pink cable car emblazoned with the words HYDESTREET. He saw the woman who had been robbed bent over at the waist, prodding beneath the car with her umbrella. “He’s under