Free Live Bait by Ted Wood

Orientals, maybe Viet Namese or Koreans or young, fit Chinese, before their feet go."
    "Lay off the racial discrimination." Irv said. "Some of my best friends are in the laundry business."
    We laughed, just keeping everything friendly, and I explained. "You know what I mean. A lot of Chinese have a kind of uncomfortable walk. These guys were pounding along to beat hell. They were fit."
    We took a look around the site, debating the idea of having Orientals involved in the case as we poked over the ground. It was littered with the rubble of construction and we couldn't see anything worthwhile in the light of our flashlights but we were still at it when Fullwell arrived. He had not stayed long at the hospital. Both men were undergoing surgery for abdominal injuries; they both had ribs broken. We listened and I introduced him to the detectives and he gave us the details.
    "The doctor at St. Mike's sees a lot of beatings. He says this one isn't typical. There are no facial cuts or contusions like there usually are when guys go at one another with fists or clubs. They'd been hit in the guts, by experts. Both of them the same."
    Irv took a toothpick from the top pocket of his doublebreasted suitcoat and stuck it in his mouth before saying, "Like maybe they'd been worked over by somebody who knew karate or kung fu."
    Fullwell looked at him long and hard before he started to nod. "Exactly. That's what must've happened."
    "It figures," I agreed with him. "That matches the two suitcoats I saw going over the fence. It looks as if the threat to the owners of this place is coming from some Hong Kong heavies."
    Robinette sniffed. "Great," he said disgustedly. "That narrows it down to about two million guys."
    Irv looked at him thoughtfully. "Look on the bright side. It crosses whole continents off the list of suspects. We could crack this one before I reach retirement." We all chuckled but we knew Robinette was the closest to the truth. Hong Kong violence is a new commodity in Toronto. The Intelligence boys are only beginning to start a file on them. We were looking at a blank sheet.
    Fullwell left with the detectives, and Sam, leaving me to make sure there were no repeats. We figured I had scared them off before they had time to do any damage to property. So I stayed, hiding in the shadows waiting for something to move. Nothing did until a quarter to seven when the first of the workmen arrived for the day and the foreman relieved me. I drove back to Fullwell's office through the thickening rush hour traffic.
    Sam was waiting in Fullwell's office. One of the office girls had brought him some milk in a coffee cup but he wasn't buying until I turned up and gave him the go-ahead. I thanked the girl, got myself a java, and sat with Fullwell, talking over the case.
    We were still working at 8:30 when the company president came in. He was a big, meaty man in a blue pinstripe suit. He looked like those actors who used to play ruthless railroad executives in Roy Rogers movies. His name was Thomason. Fullwell introduced me, talking to him with the same degree of respect a beat copper would give an inspector. Thomason called us into his office and ordered coffee. His came in a cup and saucer, ours in styro-foam cups. We sipped while Fullwell brought him up to date on our findings.
    He sat and stared at Fullwell until he'd finished. It's an old trick for inducing suspects to feel guilty. It made Fullwell uncomfortable, but he's pro and he stayed cool.
    At last Thomason spoke, so quietly that we had to lean forward to hear him. It's another trick they teach you in management courses to make people feel insecure but I was only the part time help so I didn't bother resenting it. "If you remember, I was against our following up the first beating on our own."
    "So was I," Fullwell said sturdily. "But on the advice of our marketing man, we did it."
    Thomason let him finish then went on without acknowledging the interruption. "Now it's time to stand back and