Free Dirty Harry 08 - Hatchet Men by Dane Hartman Page B

undeniably transformed himself into Huang Cheh.
    “I’ve been here all the time,” the crime boss informed him with a slight smile.
    Harry refused to react to the charade. “You’ve changed,” he said deadpan.
    “It has been sometime since you visited me last,” Cheh explained, moving toward the desk while pulling his fake eyebrows off. “And these are strange times we are living in. Have a seat, Harry.”
    Cheh moved around to his chair behind the desk as the cop walked up and took a red plush one to the left of the Chinaman’s position. It was a long time since Harry had last seen him. That was shortly after Cheh had arrived in this country a broken, scarred man. The Saigon, Tokyo, and Hong Kong crime hierarchy had not been nice to him. Their retribution against this second-rate hood had continued once Cheh had tried to escape to the States.
    Through pure chance, Harry had been in Chinatown and accidentally saved Cheh from a group of thugs. At that time, the then drunken, terrified man had sworn eternal thanks to the lanky, laconic cop. Callahan had put Cheh’s pledge down as the ravings of a man at the end of his rope, but almost right after that incident, Cheh’s luck began to change. As time went on, he gained more and more power in Chinatown while Harry battled his way up the police force’s chain of command.
    Harry had reached his apex as inspector. With his violent record and reputation for biting ass rather than kissing it, it was highly unlikely that he would get much further. Cheh, on the other hand, just kept getting stronger, a fact that put a severe strain on their relationship. Harry had accepted an invitation to sup with the new crime lord only to make it clear at the meal that he had no intention of being friends with the guy. He said that he would use him if it ever became necessary and warned him that if Cheh ever overstepped his boundaries, Callahan would be on him like a ton of bricks.
    Cheh considered it bad manners to speak of such things at the dinner table, but he promised to try and forgive the cop. Their previous parting could have been termed frosty at very best.
    But time seemed to heal those wounds. Harry had been impressed how careful Cheh had been over the years. He was practical and effective, never letting his business dealings lead to an innocent injury. He treated his people well and annihilated anyone who sought to rock his profitable boat.
    “You’ll want this, no doubt,” Cheh said, tossing Harry his .44 as he sank into his chair. Harry caught it to find that it was still fully loaded. “So to what do I owe this unusual visit?” Cheh continued from behind his shiny desk. “Has the time come to finally ‘use’ me?”
    Harry laid the Magnum on his lap. He was sure that its return wasn’t merely a show of trust. He harbored no doubts that there were enough offensive weapons in Cheh’s desk to turn him to ashes before he even aimed the revolver. “You said it was strange times,” Harry answered, turning the question into another question. “I need to know what is going on in Chinatown. I need to know why the crime lord is answering the door disguised as a dirty old man. I need to know why two Chinese teenagers were brutally murdered at the wax museum tonight. I need to know why a Japanese woman was kidnapped by three masked terrorists on her way to my apartment.”
    Huang Cheh listened to Harry with a completely empty face. As the cop talked, the Chinese had made a pyramid with his fingers and gently placed the two forefingers to his lips. When Callahan had finished speaking, Cheh remained silent for several seconds, his eyes looking right through the American. When he finally spoke, it was as if he hadn’t heard a word Harry said.
    “I am sorry about sending those three men to you downstairs. I hope you can forgive me.”
    Harry was not puzzled by Cheh’s response. The fact that he was talking at all was a good sign. The Chinese were a race to whom respect and