Zero Island (Blessid Trauma Crime Scene Cleaners Book 2) Chris Bauer (free reads TXT) 📖

turn into the hotel parking lot, coasted down an incline in the direction of their VIP luxury accommodations. A few limo lengths forward he had to jam the breaks, jolting Wally.

“Magpie, I told you, screw those crazy chickens, damn it—”

In the limo’s headlights a drone hovered, white lights trimming its arms, red lights blinking underneath, the white rectangular package held in its claws mesmerizing them. Then Wally came to his senses.

“Shoot it down.”

Magpie drew his weapon, couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. The package dropped onto the asphalt, the drone humming skyward, into the darkening night.

Another white cooler. Wally threw open his door, drew his own semiauto handgun, and took aim, shooting wildly at the drone as it gained altitude, his gunfire too passionate for accuracy. He stood there breathing hard, cursing loudly. He climbed back inside the car. His phone rang.

“What?” he screamed into the receiver.

Not just an audio call, but rather a video connection, and he found himself staring at a Japanese man with a thin, disinterested face that seemed the antithesis of excitable.

“My, my,” the man said, “aren’t we a bit testy.”

“Who the hell are you, asshole?”

“Someone you would like to talk to. I am Yabuki, oyabun of a Yamazuki clan.”

“Who?”

“You know me as ‘Y.’ Head of a Yakuza family. I left you another offering. I believe it was just delivered.”

“You Yakuza sonovabitch!” Wally yelled, expelling spit. “You’re setting me up! I don’t want your fucking body parts. When I get a hold of you—”

“You must calm down, Lanakai-san. I have the greatest respect for you and your work here in the islands, past and present. I have a friendly proposition arising from this respect, in addition to the couple of million dollars or so that I’ve already handed you in human livers. What I have in mind is an event that will celebrate the passing of the scepter from one ruling family to another, yours to mine. A competition. It will involve a wager in a sport I know interests you greatly. Would you care to join me in promoting a bareknuckle boxing match?”

Wally’s anger had him hurling obscenities at the screen; the fucking nerve of this guy, this spindly-looking Japanese fuck whose head Wally knew he could pinch off at the neck with one hand.

“Fuck off, Yabuki! I’m not interested! And quit making me look like a ruthless prick, murdering people from Miakamii. Stop this shit—”

“I can tell from your fervor that you would like to meet me, correct? A bareknuckle fight will accomplish this. So, why don’t we—”

“Lose my fucking number,” Wally said, and hung up, winging his phone onto the floor. “Goddamn it…”

The phone rang again, another video chat request from the same caller. Wally let it ring, Magpie saying nothing from the front seat. Ring, ring, ring…

Wally picked up the phone. “Listen, you Yakuza prick—”

Yabuki said nothing, his grim face visible for only a moment on the screen, repositioning the phone to replace his image with a photograph he held in his hand. It was the picture of Kaipo Mawpaw that Wally had given cockfight promoter Shiko, asking for her help in finding her.

Wally started forward, gasped. “What the hell…”

“So. Now that I have your attention,” Yabuki said, “the bareknuckle fight was only part of the reason I called. It gives us a reason to meet. The good news, Lanakai, is that we found your former associate, Ms. Mawpaw, and we intend to return her to you. The bad news is it will be in pieces, so you will at least make some money off her organs while we continue to frame you for these murders…”

“Yabuki, you motherfucking piece of shit—!”

“… unless you leave the islands for good. The hell with you and your Ka Hui crime family. Hawaii is mine. Oh. Here. This is also for your viewing pleasure.”

The next photo Yabuki held up took Wally’s breath away. Kaipo was doubled over at the waist and on her knees on a bed, the side of her head flat against a mattress, her grimacing face visible. A leather strap encircled her neck, with more leather straps connecting her wrists to the headboard, her arms fully extended. She was naked from the waist down, a side shot of one butt cheek. What made Wally nearly choke on his tongue: a Japanese man knelt behind her on the bed, his pants off, ready to mount her from behind, his face looking into the camera, smiling and giving a thumbs-up.

“Tell me what you want,” Wally said, seething.

“I already have what I want. Your bitch. This photo is only a few minutes old, Lanakai. I will stop this… situation—there are more men in line, out of the picture—if you agree to the bareknuckle fight. My man against whoever you put up. So here are the terms. If you don’t take the fight, you get her back in pieces, and we throw you out of Hawaii by any means or condition necessary. If you do take the fight, and you lose, you will still get her back in pieces, and you agree to leave Hawaii and stay out. If you take the fight and win, she gets returned to you whole, but you still need to leave. Capisce?”

Wally pursed his lips and scowled into the camera. “Deal, motherfucker.” He gritted his teeth; he had more to say. “And when I do win, before I leave the islands, I will have you bound up in leather just the way Ms. Mawpaw is here, and then I will force your men to mount you, and I will listen to you squeal and cry like a baby when they insert their micro dicks into your ass. Or I’ll just kill you myself.”

The call ended, no other terms of the fight discussed. Magpie was quick to comment, leaning his bulk over the front seat.

“Boss, I am at your service. I volunteer for the fight. I fear no man. I will crush whoever his fighter is. You know I’m good