Bang Bang, Bangkok

Bangkok—a city that never slept, especially in its red light district. Prostitution, strip clubs, drug deals, and even street fighting in the underground areas that were rarely spoken of. The stories of money-making crudeness were stacked upon each other, each rising floor adding a bit more thrill than the last. It was a regular place for minor gangs to hang in the shadows.

One of those was the Golden Zhi, but it had become far from minor. Ran by a young man who had grown up in Bangkok, it had prospered immensely with his smart investments in black market arms, drugs, and human trade. Nichkhun Horvejkul—a young man who came from a middle class family, studied hard business, and let his abundance of money spoil him. He spent a good portion of it on women, booze, and gambling—the occasional snort here and there.

Nichkhun was good looking, nothing rugged like the men that followed him around. His eyes were innocent browns crowned with broad eyebrows. An overall innocent face made looks deceiving. Not a tattoo or piercing in sight. He dressed to awe in classy suits over a built and enticing frame. Women simply loved him and his baby face that hid his aggression and often times dangerous temper. The Thai held ownership in about ten strip clubs littered across Bangkok with a couple more dozen bars and dance clubs. Anywhere he went, people welcomed and respected him—only making his ego grow.

The strip club held few patrons that night. Only Nichkhun's trusted customers and allies were allowed in. With the young man's growing power came an increasing sense of paranoia. He knew people hated him in this world and would either rat him out to police or try to terminate him themselves. This was the explanation of the several bodyguards surrounding him as he sat on a couch with a woman on each side and one behind, massaging his shoulders.

Nichkhun's eyes were locked on the women dancing about the stage, scanty clothes that flashed in the spotlights. He watched the way they flipped their hair, ran their bodies along chrome poles, giving him glimpses of what they moved like under the sheets. He wondered how much he could pay one of them for a companion that night. Most strippers could double as whores if paid the right amount.

Amongst his bodyguards, most of them tattooed and grimy and suited up to look more respectful, was an older man in his early fifties—the newest of the lot. He was clean-shaven, finely cut hair, dark eyes that observed every slight movement. Nichkhun had brought him on only a couple months ago and since then, Jet Li had been fighting to gain the younger man's trust.

It was difficult for an abiding officer of the law to witness and do half the things he did, but Jet said nothing and did as ordered with simple compliancy. That's what Nichkhun liked, complete obedience.

Jet stood towards the outside of the ring of guards, his eyes looking everywhere but up at the stage of stripping women. Some were practically naked now; it disgusted him. How could any woman defile themselves to such low standards? How could they expect any respect from anyone after doing that to themselves? Jet doubted he would ever understand it. Women were always a mystery to him, far less of an open book than for his partner of ten years.

Jet thought of his partner and where he must be. Either at a smokey bar, sitting in his car, or flirting with some Thai girl at a sketchy bus stop waiting to get a call from Jet. He wouldn't really care if the call came or not. No doubt he would not like the interruption if he took that Thai girl back to his hotel room.

Resuming his attention to the present situation, Jet went back to vigilantly watching the club, eyes glossing over the shadows. For a moment, he thought the night would go by without a scene. However, it was due to his sudden sharp eye and quick instincts that Nichkhun's brains were not splattered across his pretty strippers. Jet saw the glint of the gun, the shadowed figure above their heads. He shot forward, over the back of the couch and taking Nichkhun with his toppling form. They hit the floor, the discharged bullet hitting one of the women who had been on Nichkhun's arm. Her blood splatted across the couch, her corpse falling limp.

The other men raised their guns, shooting up at the second landing. They did not take the time to realize what Jet had from his position on the floor. There was more than one gunman. Jet grabbed the Thai's arm and hauled him to his feet. They dashed for the back of the club, leaving the other guards to handle the multiple assailants. Bullets peppered after the two of them. Screams carried on behind them as the strippers scattered.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Nichkhun was practically drug behind Jet, who was a much smaller man. “Who the fuck was that?”

Jet said nothing, keeping his eyes ahead as they reached for the back of the club. Just before they reached the door, it swung open and another figure—a black mask over his head—raised his gun. Jet shoved Nichkhun aside, into the cover of another small hallway, and ducked behind a pile of speakers.

After the first round had been shot off, Jet bolted from his cover. He stayed low and approached fast, hitting the gun from the man's hand and dodging a punch that came at his face. It was quickly established that Jet's opponent was trained in hand-to-hand combat. However, Jet was far more trained, far more proficient and tactful in his moves. Not a movement was wasted while the other was sloppy with trying to intimidate.

Jet waited for the opportune time before spinning, sending all his momentum into an elbow-jab to the chest. He felt the give of the the breastbone, wrapped his arm around the man's head and brought his knee into the man's ribcage repeatedly before releasing. The man hardly had time to stagger into a defensive position before Jet planted his right foot for a roundhouse kick, nailing the man in the temple with his heel. The gunman dropped to the ground unmoving.

Jet retraced his steps. Without hesitation, he pulled a cowering Nichkhun to his feet and they slipped out the exit as the firing still persisted inside the club. Nichkhun shook, face ashen. He experienced plenty of shootings and murder, but usually he was not on the receiving end. His mind was racing with who would dare try to put a hit on him and he quickly configure that the list was too long to go over at that moment.

Jet led the Thai to his car, a black Kia. “I'm driving,” was all Jet said before shoving Nichkhun towards the passenger side.

The car roared to life and the two went speeding out into the night, dingy street lights flashing by above their heads. After several blocks of silence, Nichkhun finally caught his breath to say, “the rest of my men—”

“Can take care of themselves,” said Jet, eyes fixed on the windshield.

Nichkhun stared at him for several moments before smacking the older man and chuckling. “You got balls, man,” he said. “I knew I did a good job when I hired you.” He expected some reaction for the praise, but Jet continued to keep a cold, drawn face. Nichkhun's eyebrows shot up as he looked out his window. “You know the one thing I don't like about you? You don't have any fun. I've never seen you drink, have a smoke, take a woman...”

“All unhealthy.”

“No, man.” Nichkhun shook his head. “Women are what keep you young.” He smiled, still not getting reaction out of the driver. “You know what? For saving my ass tonight, I'm going to reward you with something.”

“I'm your bodyguard; I don't need—”
Nichkhun snapped his fingers and pointed at Jet. “Don't argue, alright? You'll love it.”



Donnie's eyes locked on the girl across the restaurant from him. That day's newspaper sprawled out in front of him, a beer to his left. The girl was probably about fifteen years younger than him, Thai most definitely, a contagious smile, and a sparkling personality. She showed enough cleavage to the man she took the order for, biting her lip enticingly as she scribbled down whatever he said. Were all waitresses this promiscuous in the red light district?

Donnie wondered if it was the same in Hong Kong. Being an officer in his home country blocked a few...experiences from his reach. However, in Bangkok, things might be different. Maybe Donnie would go talk to her, maybe he would just stay put. A humoring thought flashed through his mind; what would Li do?

Checking his watch, Donnie sighed. Jet should have called him a half an hour ago, but so far he had heard nothing.

His eyes went back to studying the girl, hardly paying any heed to the body that took a seat beside him. “Do you always openly gawk at younger women or is it just the Thai girls?”

Donnie's head whipped to the side, his eyebrows shooting up at the woman beside him. She was young too. And she was also white. Long, blonde hair fell to her shoulder blades in steady waves and blue eyes were gleaming with humor. Her body was not bad, about average for a white girl, and she was probably about the same age as that waitress he was checking out. A deep green halter top and tight, black jeans accentuated her every curve—

“Must be every younger woman.” Her words cut short his wandering eyes. She waved to the bartender and he slid over a drink without a word. Obviously, she was a regular. She took a sip before returning her eyes to Donnie. “Its guys like you that make me despise human's with a penis.” Humor still help her looks and her tone, yet there was an edge to both.

“I'm just appreciating the beauty on this earth,” answered Donnie in accented English.

The woman's eyebrows shot up. “So you do speak English.”

“What? You think I was staring at you because I didn't understand what you were saying?” He smirked and her eyes narrowed.

“Hong Kong, right?” Donnie looked at her, impression obvious. “You have the ego.”

The Chinaman chuckled. “You're pretty bold. Where you from?”

“Guess.”

“United States.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Obvious.”

Donnie looked at her more closely, as if inspecting an insect under a microscope. “Northern. And you worked physically.”

Surprise flashed across the woman's face. “How'd you guess that?”

“Your hands are calloused. Your accent is obvious. My guess is...New York? Manhattan?”

“Brooklyn.”

“That was my next guess.” Donnie flashed his teeth.

The woman snorted. “You're cute.”

“So what's a working woman from Brooklyn doing in Bangkok?” Donnie prodded.

She shrugged. “I'm just appreciating the beauty on this earth. What are you here for? I'm guessing with you eyeing young waitresses and hanging out in the red light, you're here for 'pleasure'.”

“Business, actually.” Donnie took a swig of his beer.

“Oh, so you're a pimp.”

Donnie about choked on the liquid, managing to swallow it hard as he looked at the blonde indignantly. “No.”

The blonde openly laughed; the sound was rather dry, lack of actual humor. When the chortle died, she still smiled. “I'm Rhea.”

Donnie held out his hand and spoke his name. Her handshake was firm, insistent—just like her personality. “So...” Donnie thought to prod some more. This woman was proving to be quite infatuating. “You enjoying the 'beauties of the earth'?”

“As best I can,” said Rhea. “Bangkok's not the most beautiful, but its not the ugliest. I would love to see Hong Kong though...I hear its beautiful.”

“It is,” Donnie agreed. “I haven't been back for a couple years. I miss it.”

Rhea opened her mouth to question him more when Donnie's sharpened look behind her made her turn. Donnie watched her reaction as she came face to face with the figure standing silently behind her. The man that Jet and himself tracked for months.

Zhou Mi—a young, Chinese businessman who recently joined forces with Nichkhun Horvejkul. He stood tall, all legs, with almond-shaped eyes that burned straight into Donnie's skull. His auburn hair lay neatly against his scalp. He wore a leisurely suit, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. Two men stood a couple feet behind him.

Donnie and he shared a couple seconds of hard stares before Zhou Mi's eyes shot to the blonde woman. Donnie swore he saw her flinch. “We're ready to go,” said Zhou Mi in Mandarin. “The show's about to start.”

Rhea turned back, glancing at Donnie one more time. Humor, openness...any emotion, but surrender was gone from her face. She slid off the stool and came to Zhou Mi's side like a whipped dog. Zhou Mi glared at the older Chinaman with obvious warning before turning away. He did not touch Rhea, but it was obvious that he held her captured through other means.