Part 1: The hunt begins -- So much talking!
For the first time since he can remember, Shelby is wearing a suit. It was kind of ironic actually, since that was the source of a running joke with Michael, his best friend. Back when they were training, they’d occasionally take a weekend to go down into the city. Michael would dress up formally, but Shelby would go in his regular day clothes. On the way in, Michael would start giving Shelby a hard time. “You’re always wearing those same ratty pants,” he’d say, almost laughing. “How are we going to pick up women with you straight from the dumpster?”
“Well,” Shelby would reply. “Maybe you’d be better off training instead of chasing women.”
Michael, however, wouldn’t give up, and would continue joking and pestering Shelby, until he would finally reply “Well, I’ll wear a suit at your funeral.”
That’s really the only reason Shelby was wearing a suit now.
Shelby had made a speech earlier, about how Michael’s smiles and constant jokes made training easier. He talked about how Michael left for West Liberty because he thought he could make a difference in his hometown. Michael always said that he wanted to put his training to good use. And Shelby knew that Michael made a difference.
Shelby spent most of the time since the speech grieving in his own introspective way, and now everyone’s preparing to leave. Barbra, Michael’s wife, thanks Shelby for coming on such short notice. Shelby nods absently and mumbles something. Barbara and the kids leave, and Shelby is alone with his thoughts.
A female voice interrupts his thoughts “Shelby Cobra?”
Shelby turns to face the voice, speaking cautiously. “Yes?”
The speaker, a woman with short cropped hair, dressed in a suit jacket nods. “I’m Julie Chevelle, Homeland Security.” She hands him a card. “I was hoping to talk to you about Michael’s death. With your help we can bring his killer to justice.”
Shelby looks down at the card numbly for a moment. “Why do you need my help? If you know something, why don’t you go after him yourself?”
“We can’t.”
“So, then this isn’t exactly legal.” Shelby’s voice remains flat.
“Not exactly,” Julie says with a grimace.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“If you decide you want to help,” she says, “please call me up.”
--
In Scott’s mind, it’s been a sorry month. First, that new gang, the Green Dragons, has been pushing their weight around. More drugs are flooding the streets. The usual pushers weren’t happy about that, and so violence and shootings have gone up. Then there was the police bust on a warehouse by the docks. Inside was an arsenal big enough for a small army. Finally, the Green Dragons have been pushing the store owners on the east side around. Scott already ran into that group once, and was more than happy enough to send them packing. It was a bad month, but not bad enough to make an impression in the minds of the violence hardened people of West Liberty.
But now, something big enough has happened to break into everyone’s minds and even into the media. The news is abuzz. Every station and every paper seems to be covering the same story, a nine person kidnapping-murder. The house bodyguards, the maid, and the cook were all killed. Mayor Greensburg’s daughter, Sarah, is missing. The police haven’t released any information. From what Scott has been able to gather, no one has any idea of who is responsible. There hasn’t even been a ransom note.
Well, despite all that, work still comes around and responsibility calls. And so Scott heads to Bob’s Bike shop, for another day of work. Along the way, several people wave to Scott. One passer-by runs to the other side of the street. However, today no one picked a fight. Scott gets to work, unfortunately without incident. As Scott walks in, Bob waves him down. “Scott m’boy,” he says in a twangy southern accent. “Some woman left a message for you. Rather well dressed lady.”
“A well dressed woman? That rules out everybody I know.”
“Yeah, she said she from homeland security or something. She left a card, here.”
“Homeland Security? I guess they’ve got something better to do than take nail clippers away from old ladies.” Scott takes the card. “I’m going to take the call in the back office.” The back office was actually just a garage with a card table, a folding chair and a phone in it.
Scott calls the number on the card, and a woman’s voice answers, “This is Julie.”
“Uh, yeah, this is Scott Cade. You left a message for me?”
Julie takes a deep breath. “I could use your help.”
“You want my help?” Scott asks slowly.
“You’ve heard about the kidnapping last week?”
“Yeah...”
“Scott, everyone I talked to said that when things get rough, you’re the person to go to for help around here. You can help, not just in bringing the perpetrator to justice, but helping an innocent girl as well.”
“Sure,” Scott says, sounding almost reluctant. “I guess I can help out.”
“Thanks.” She sounds relieved. “Stop by the police station around five, they set me up with an office.”
“Sure.” Scott nods and then smiles widely. So much for an uneventful day.
--
Sitting in his hotel room, watching highlight reels of his last fight on ESPN 2, Shelby makes up his mind. As he delivers a punishing dropkick on screen, Shelby makes a call.
The phone rings once before it’s answered. “This is Julie.”
“Uh, hello, this is Shelby.”
“Oh, Shelby, have you made up your mind?”
“I have.”
“If you stop by the police station at five I can give you more information.”
“I will.” Shelby hangs up and stares out the window, ignoring the images of himself on screen.
--
Julie is nestled in the back of the police station. They gave her a cozy office that occasionally pulled double duty as a storage closet. The locals were nice enough to furnish her with a combination TV/VCR unit and a couple of dusty folding chairs.
“So, they really set you up with the good stuff.” Scott says with a smile.
Julie smiles right back, “They’re just threatened by a more important organization.” Her expression sobers, and her tone becomes formal and business like. “Well, thank you both for coming. Last week, Mayor Greensburg’s house was broken into. Whoever did this was very skilled. Everyone inside the house was killed. The only possible survivor is the Mayor’s daughter, Sarah. We’ve only got one clue.”
She reaches into her briefcase, and pulls out a tape. “This was spliced together from the security cameras. Its low quality, but it’ll explain things better than I can.”
She inserts the tape into the VCR, and with a start and a flicker, the tape begins. It’s low resolution, highly grainy and filled with snow. It’s almost too much to make an image out of at first. After a moment, it resolves into a shot down a hallway. A man with a ski-mask over his face walks down the hall. A girl is over his shoulder, hands tied behind her back.
The man drops the girl, and pulls out a gun as three of the bodyguards, dressed in suits, round the corner at a run. The kidnapper fires three times. The guard in the center dives out of the way, the two on either side of him fall. Shelby sucks in a breath as he recognizes Michael as the remaining guard.
Michael sprints down the remaining distance, darting to the side as the assassin fires. With a smooth crescent kick Michael knocks the gun away. He settles into a fighting stance, and Shelby imagines a smile on his face.
They stare at each other for a moment. Then Michael cuts through the air with a jumping sidekick. Even before his first hit is blocked, he’s pivoting over, bringing his other leg to connect with a higher back-kick, slipping past the assassin’s raised guard. The kidnapper drops to a crouch as Michael’s kick tears over his head.
The kidnapper bounds forward, following in the space behind the kick’s arc. He begins a flurry of punches and kicks, the motion barely visible on the grainy film. Michael ducks and weaves, arms darting out to knock aside the blows that travel too close. A palm strike slips past his guard, striking him fully in the chest, and knocking him off balance. Michael staggers, snapping his arms down to block the vicious follow up knee. He can’t get them up in time to block the next blow to his chest. His assailant follows through, driving him into the wall. They remain there for a moment, neither moving until the assailant twists, and presses forward. Michael shudders once. The kidnapper lets go, and turns to pick up the girl as Michael slumps to the floor.
Julie stops the tape. “Michael Duffey gave us the one clue we have. He forced the kidnapper to fight, and revealed something. Michael died from having the central juncture of his ribs snapped. The method of execution of the move is consistent with rare style known as The Tiger’s Claw.”
“So who uses this style?” Scott asks.
Julie continues as if she hadn’t heard him. “There are five known practitioners of this style. Two are in jail, one has an alibi, and another no longer has hands.”
“That leaves?”
“Tsani Vellirosoa, the Black Tiger. He’s an internationally wanted criminal, and a skilled assassin. He was last seen leaving an airport in Osaka.”
“And how can we help?” Shelby asks, frowning.
“He’s been seen at a yearly tournament on an island off of Japan for the last five years. He’ll probably be there again. The organization that holds the tournament has connections with the Green Dragons. I need you two to get invited.”
“How do we do that?” Shelby asks.
“There’s a sort of club, on main and eighth. You can get an invitation from there. They like their fights violent and brutal. Think you can manage?”
“I know the place, but, uh,” Scott speaks up. “That may be a problem. I beat up some of them pretty recently.”
Julie smiles. “Don’t worry. Just make a splash. I’ll make sure they appreciate it.”
“Ok.” Scott nods. “So, they usually do stuff on Fridays, late evenings.”
“Great.” Julie says. “We’ll meet there at 7:30 on Friday then?”
“Sure.” Shelby says, his voice still flat.
“I’m game.” Scott says, smiling. “By the way,” he turns to Shelby and extends a handshake. “Scott Cade.”
Shelby hits Scott’s palm with a fist. “Shelby Cobra.”
Scott nods “You like cars?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then why-”
“Don’t ask.” Shelby interrupts, leaving the room.
<insert commercial break>
