Free Dirty Harry 08 - Hatchet Men by Dane Hartman

unused gas lights on the wall. The room’s only present illumination came from the working fireplace on the left wall. The centerpiece of the room was the plush, big canopied bed. It sat like an overrich sacrificial altar in the middle of the rear wall.
    The place was surprisingly comfortable. Harry felt unusually at ease in the room, as if he had been born a hundred years too late. He moved away from the door, taking off the corduroy jacket as he went. With the .44 gone, there was no longer any reason to keep it on. Throwing it on an antique chair between the bed and the fireplace, Harry started circling the room nonchalantly, looking as if he were merely checking out the furnishings, when actually he was searching for the peephole or bugging devices he knew had to be there. A prostitute’s privacy was a thing of the past. The best whorehouses now had video surveillance equipment to back up the girls.
    Harry stopped when he heard the door open behind him. He was looking down the lamp on the table next to the bed when he heard the entrance. He turned, smiling, fully expecting to see Ling. He was not pleased when he saw three burly Chinese men carrying nunchakus instead.
    The nunchaku was obstensibly a martial-arts training device. In use, however, it combined the best attributes of both a chain and two clubs. Or the worst attributes, depending upon whether one was the nunchaka or nunchakee. Essentially, it was two tapered foot-long clubs connected by a few inches of steel links. Bruce Lee had made them famous in his Enter the Dragon movie and now every hopeful kung fu killer wanted a pair.
    Unfortunately, the three men facing Harry looked like they knew how to use them. And by the expressions on their faces, it looked like Harry would have no choice but to see just how well.
    Moving until he was midway between the chair and the middle of the bed, Harry looked upon the trio with a placid expression. “Now the way I see it,” he said quietly. “You guys can mess with me, and everybody is going to get hurt. So why don’t you just say your piece; I’ll take my gun and get out of here. You can keep the bullets and the money.”
    The Chinamen weren’t buying. As soon as Harry had finished, the man on the left screamed a karate yell and charged, his nunchaku swinging up over his head, held by his right hand.
    Harry immediately bent his right knee and dropped his shoulder so he fell away from the swinging club. At the same time he grabbed the topmost bed cover with his left hand and hurled it up in the air like a net. It was a perfect hurl. The blanket spread out like a hand and covered the top of the attacking man’s torso. The nunchaku slapped harmlessly on one of the canopy’s columns and Harry swung his right fist into the Chinaman’s covered jaw.
    The crack of the club on the canopy was echoed by Harry’s hard punch, which dropped the first attacker like a side of beef. The middle Chinaman took no time in backing his fallen comrade up. He came in from Harry’s right, hoping to swing the nunchaku into the side of the cop’s ducking head. Only Callahan dropped completely onto the floor at that moment, letting the club whiz over his head. He rolled, and before the second man could retreat, Harry swung up and punched him right between the legs.
    Harry felt the testicles and penis get smashed under his knuckles and the pained exhalation of air the man made when doubling over. Callahan wrenched his hand back and threw himself away from the second attacker’s contorted face. Landing on his back, he kicked both feet into the crippled Chinaman’s head. The bent-over attacker snapped straight and kept going, nearly knocking over the third man in the process.
    The last Chinaman shouted, dodged to his left and ran at Harry from in front of the fireplace. While getting to his feet, Harry pushed the chair with his jacket on it over in front of the man. The third Chinese nimbly hopped over it, swinging the nunchaku as he came.