Time Salvager (Time Salvager #1)(10)
Levin willed the fourteen bands clinging loosely against both of his arms—six on his left, eight on his right—to tighten. He didn’t bother masking them with his paint band, instead passing them off as iron rings, commonly used by mercenaries as a blocking bracer. Like most operatives, he preferred to use as little of the paint as possible when on a job. Assuming his paid sources were correct, he would have need of those bands very soon. Levin walked up a short flight of stairs and swung open the red double doors that led him into the Hong Jiu Inn.
It was a busy night, filled with patrons, but not more than the usual that he had observed over the past two days. The eating area was packed with merchants, locals, and soldiers. A group of drunken Uyghers filled three tables on the far left, caravan troops by the look of them. The table adjacent to theirs seated a group of Mongols. The guards kept careful watch over that entire end of the inn. It wouldn’t take much to ignite a confrontation.
To the right of the door were at least three of the city’s gangs. Levin recognized two of them: the Yellow Snakes and the Dirt Dragons. Levin frowned; none of these people looked like any of Cole’s men. Then he noticed a scrawny ruffian walk up the stairs to the second floor and disappear into one of the rooms.
Of course. Cole was a big man now. These grunts weren’t worth his time. Levin walked through the crowded area, slipping between benches and chairs filled with toughs, traders, and pleasure girls. Doing this quietly probably wasn’t going to be an option, but he’d have to try. It had taken him two weeks just to locate the feared and infamous Fist of the Low Laying River, or whatever the hell he was calling himself here. It’d be another month to find him again if he left this inn without Levin’s hands around his neck.
A bouncer standing at the base of the stairs stopped Levin with a hammed fist and shook his head. “What’s your business, pig?”
“I have business with big brother up top,” said Levin, his comm band translating his words into Han.
The bouncer looked him up and down, and grunted. “A pig like you belongs down here with the other swine. Go away before I beat you so terribly your mother feels it.” He shoved Levin on the chest.
Levin caught the shove nonchalantly with his left hand and twisted the bouncer’s thumb at an odd angle. He tried to pull away but Levin’s exo held his grip like a vise, and he squeezed until the bouncer’s knees buckled.
“Are you sure you wish to block my path, friend?” Levin tightened his grip. “The Jiang Hu is vast. Do you know all its masters?” He squeezed even tighter.
The bouncer quivered and bobbed his head up and down several times. “I’m … I’m sorry, Sifu, Please forgive me.”
Levin let the bouncer go. The fewer ripples the better, though he didn’t worry much about that here. The odds of a time chronostream self-healing in this cesspool of an inn were high. Still, best not to take chances. That boy had already made enough ripples for both of them, running away from the present. The poor fool knew better. No one ever escaped the auditors.
“Next time, know who you disrespect before you are taught a permanent lesson,” he said.
The bouncer scurried to the side and let him pass. Levin continued to the top of the stairs, which opened to a hallway that overlooked the eating area on the right and had a row of doors on the left. He went to the door on the far end, where the sounds of revelry were loudest. Cole would want easy escape routes out of the building, and the window overlooking the eating area below gave him a clear view of people coming into the inn. Not that it would help him much in this instance. Levin’s paint made him look like the other thousands of Han walking in the city.
Levin slid the double sliding panels outward and intruded on the private dinner of two dozen scruffy-looking men at a pair of long tables on each side. Two men and a girl sat at a smaller table on a raised platform on the far end. The one on the left looked the part of a Low River gang member, possibly a lieutenant or a second lieutenant. The one on the right was a pleasure girl draped over the man in the middle.
“I seek Ko Li,” he said formally.
All eyes turned toward him. Levin stifled a grunt. Of course Cole would make himself look like a god among these men. The real Cole looked ordinary in every way possible, save for a pockmarked face from a childhood disease that had ravaged his body. This paint job he now wore made him look like an Adonis. No wonder he was causing ripples. Vain and stupid. At least Cole had made himself look indigenous enough; just taller, more beautiful, better fed, and built like a giant. Definitely not the best way to remain inconspicuous. Well, if the guy was going to try to live a fantasy, he might as well have gone all the way.
“How dare you?” A skinny bandit at the end of the table stood up and snarled, puffing out his chest. He must be the lowest among them.
Levin kept his eyes on Cole, half-expecting the fugitive to take off at any moment. Instead, Cole nodded at the skinny bandit.
The bandit stomped up to Levin and pointed at the ground. “You address Sifu Li as ‘master,’ you insolent dog.” The bandit tried to slap Levin.
Levin didn’t bother using his exo. Doing so could give him away to Cole. Besides, he didn’t need to use it against this scrawny thing. Levin slipped forward, spun, and used the bandit’s momentum to send him sprawling into the center of the room. The rest of the bandits stood up, cleavers and broadswords drawn.
“I wish to speak with Sifu Ko Li, better known as the Fist of the Low Laying River,” Levin repeated, his voice low and measured. He waited for Cole to make his next move.