As soon as the thug that was closest turned his attention away, Chang Jiechi would shoot the Ghost.
"Sit down, old man," the Ghost said.
"Thank you. My feet aren't well. Dampness and heat in my bones."
"And you know where the Changs are?"
"Yes."
"How do I know I can trust you?"
Chang Jiechi laughed. "Regarding trust, I think I have more to worry about than you do."
Please, he prayed to the spirit of his own father, a man gone from this earth for forty-six years and the primary god in Chang Jiechi's pantheon, higher even than the Buddha: Father, make that man put his gun away and give me five seconds. Let me save my family. Give me the chance for one bullet--that's all I ask. I'm only three meters away, I cannot miss.
"How do you know the Changs?" the Ghost asked.
"Through a relative in Fuzhou."
"You know I wish them harm. What reason do you have to betray them?"
"I need the money for my son. He is not well. He needs doctors."
The Ghost shrugged and said to the barbarian, "Search him. Let me see any papers he has on him."
No! thought Chang Jiechi in alarm.
The barbarian stepped forward, blocking his view--and aim--of the Ghost.
Chang Jiechi held up a hand and stopped the barbarian. "Please. I am an old man. I deserve your respect. Don't touch me. I will give you my papers myself."
The barbarian glanced back at the Ghost with a raised eyebrow. And when he did, Chang Jiechi drew the pistol from his pocket and, without hesitation, shot the barbarian in the side of the head. He dropped hard and lay motionless, sprawled on a footstool.
But the Ghost reacted immediately and leapt behind a heavy couch as Chang Jiechi fired again. The bullet snapped through the leather but he had no idea whether or not he'd hit the snakehead. He turned toward the second barbarian in the back of the apartment but the man had already raised his gun and was aiming it. Chang Jiechi heard a shot and felt a huge fist strike his thigh as the heavy bullet spun him around and he landed on his back on the floor. The barbarian hurried toward him. The old man might have fired at the man and possibly hit him. Instead, he turned to the couch and repeatedly fired his gun toward where the Ghost was hiding.
Then he realized that the weapon had stopped firing.
He was out of bullets.
Had he hit the Ghost?
Oh, please, Guan Yin, goddess of mercy . . . Please!
But a shadow grew on the wall. The Ghost rose from behind the couch, unhurt, his own pistol in his hand. Breathing heavily, he pointed the black muzzle toward Chang Jiechi and walked around the furniture. A glance at the dead barbarian.
"You're Chang's father."
"Yes, and you're the devil who's on his way back to hell."
"But not," the Ghost said, "on your ticket."
The other barbarian, moaning and whispering hysterically in a language that Chang Jiechi did not understand, hovered over the body of his countryman. He then rose and started toward the old man, pointing the gun at him.
"No, Yusuf," the Ghost said impatiently, waving him back. "He'll tell us where the rest of them are."
"Never" was the defiant response.
The Ghost said to his confederate, "We don't have much time. Somebody will have heard the shots. We'll have to leave. Use the stairs. Not the elevator. Have the van waiting by the back door."