Brainrush 05 - Everlast 02: Ephemeral (2 page)

I
T
 HADN’T TAKEN LONG
for Jake and Skylar to lose their tails from the
airport, especially when Pete’s van intervened, “stalling” in the middle of an
intersection to snarl traffic behind them. A pre-planned underground parking
lot car switch had ensured that traffic cams would be of no use to Geppetto’s
people. They’d been forced to give up the chase and head back to wherever
they’d come from—tracked by Pete’s buddies on motorcycles.

So far, the operation had gone down like clockwork.

“I’ve got to hand it to you,” Jake said, tapping his beer
mug against Pete’s. “You’ve got skills. Military background?”

“Ten years,” Pete said. “The last six in the SFA.”

Jake’s cognitive abilities had allowed him to learn a number
of languages. Irish wasn’t one of them.

Noticing his blank expression, Pete added, “Irish Army
Ranger Wing. A lot of us in the business started out pounding the ground in one
army or another. It amn’t easy settling in to a desk job after puttin’ time in
the field.”

Jake nodded. He understood the sentiment all too well.

“So how do ye like our hideaway?” Pete asked.

They were seated at one of several tables in a private room
at the back of a basement strip club in Kowloon. The bones of the windowless
room resembled an old Western saloon, with a long bar, rustic flooring, and
paneled walls illuminated by ornate sconce lights and a wagon-wheel chandelier.
Except for the faint trace of spilled beer that lingered in the air, that’s
where the Western theme ended. Classic rock played on a jukebox, and every wall
in the room was adorned with framed photographs of action film scenes featuring
locations in and around Hong Kong, each one autographed by one or more of the
stunt actors featured in the shot. A modern lounge area dominated one end of
the room, with a big-screen TV, leather furnishings, and a black-lacquered pool
table that seemed to float atop an arched pedestal.

 “I’m impressed,” Jake said. “Cops have their own bars. Why
not stunt crews?”

“Yep. After all, it amn’t often that one gets a chance to
tip a few with folks he died with, right? It’s like a home away from home when
a crew’s in town for a shoot, which happens more often these days now that mainland
China is getting into the act. The owner of the building has been a huge John
Woo fan since the early days. He set up this space in the ’80s when Woo’s Triad
films started drawing in teams from Hollywood. We call it the Wreck Room.” His
lips curled into a smile. “That’s spelled W-R-E-C-K. The lads can get a tad
rowdy in here when they’re twisted. But it’s all in good fun.”

Jake pointed toward the door leading to the strip club.
“With all the comforts of home?”

“Oi, sure. A few of the younger lads partake from time to
time. That’s just the way of it, eh? But most of us veterans like to get our
excitement—and our women—the old-fashioned way. By being the craftiest tough bastards
in the valley.” He tipped his mug, took a swig, and smacked his lips. “Like me
da used to say, if ye protect and respect a woman, everything else will fall
into place.” He nodded toward Skylar, who was sitting on a leather couch
helping Lacey remove her disguise. “How else could I have won over a prize like
her?”

Despite their age difference, Jake wasn’t surprised the two
were more than just coworkers. “She’s a pistol, that’s for sure.”

“More like a double-barrel shotgun,” Pete said with a wink.

They toasted again and Jake embraced the respite. He knew it
wouldn’t last long.

 “Pete, I appreciate the help you’ve given us, more than you
can imagine. And I’m not going to insult you by asking again if you want to
stick with it. But things are about to get dicey.” He motioned toward the
hardened men in the room, all of them of Asian descent, one changing the song
on the jukebox, two more grabbing drinks at the self-serve bar, and another
group hanging out around the pool table. They were in their twenties and
thirties and wore casual street clothes. Pete had introduced them earlier, all
of them part of the stunt game and each eager to help. “It’s more than just you
and Skylar placing yourself at risk, and I can’t help but ask why you’re all
willing to do it.”

Pete sat back in his chair and appraised Jake. “It’s a fair
question,” he finally said. “The short of it is that Lacey is much more than
simply someone we’ve worked with over the past several years. When Sky and I
met her on her first film, we all became famous friends right then and there.
The lass was so damn eager to learn and her enthusiasm was infectious. Other
actors couldn’t wait to get back to their posh lifestyles at the end of a day’s
shooting, but she’d prefer to hang out with us. Since then, she’s gone out of
her way to insist that we’re part of her subsequent films, regardless of the
rifts it caused with the bleedin’ directors and producers. That’s loyalty. And
loyalty begets loyalty in our book, no matter the costs.” He paused before
adding, “But it’s more than that. Our business is all about trust. Whether it’s
trusting that the man standing across from ye in a staged bar fight knows how
to hold his punch, or trusting that the team setting the effects explosives
amn’t going to accidently blow ye to kingdom come, we trust one another with
our lives. And that level of trust doesn’t disappear when ye clock out at the
end of a shoot, any more that it does for soldiers fighting together. It sticks
with ye. Like family. And in our world, family comes first. I suspect ye know
what I mean.” 

Jake nodded, fighting back a swell of emotion as he contemplated
the debt he owed this man and his friends.

The din of conversation in the bar quieted when the front
door opened and another crew member entered, carrying a motorcycle helmet, a roll
of blueprints, and an iPad. He hung the helmet on a wall hook, nodded at Pete,
and strode over to the lounge area.

“That’s Feng,” Pete said, pushing back his chair. “Let’s see
what we’ve got.” He made his way toward the pool table. Jake and the others in
the room gathered around. 

“Sorry it took so long,” Feng said with a British accent. He
looked to be in his early thirties, with a moppy haircut, piercing black eyes,
and a sleeveless T-shirt that did little to hide his ripped build. He had an
intensity that reminded Jake of Bruce Lee. “My friend at the planning office
was on an extra long lunch break. But it was worth the wait.” He flattened the
roll of blueprints on the table and several hands reached in to hold it in
place. Then Feng brought up a satellite image of Kowloon on the iPad. He zoomed
in on a cluster of tall buildings.

“We followed both cars to a former high-rise factory,” Feng said.
 “It’s in the Kwun Tong district.”

Though Pete and Skylar nodded, Jake and Lacey didn’t know
the reference, so Feng added, “It’s one of the poorest and most densely populated
areas of Hong Kong. It was largely industrial until China opened a Special
Economic Zone across the river in Shenzhen. Since then, businesses have
abandoned the district in droves, eager to take advantage of the trade incentives
available within the zone. Most of the vacated facilities will be torn down to
make way for more modern structures, but in the meantime many of them have been
crudely converted to residential use.” He zoomed tighter on one of the
buildings. “Like this one.”

Even from the satellite view, Jake could see that the drab
building had seen better days. Skylar leaned in for a closer look. “How many
stories is it?” she asked.

“Twenty-five.”

“And these buildings nearby?”

“Thirty to forty.”

Skylar turned to Pete. “
Turbulent City
?”

Pete’s brow furrowed. After a moment he said, “It’s
possible, but risky.”

Feng zoomed in tighter on the rooftop of the target
building. It was crowded with exterior ducts and equipment. “No way,” he said.
A few of the other locals nodded.

Pete took a closer look. “He may be right.”

“Don’t be such wimps,” Skylar said. She pointed to a small
structure in the center of the roof. “Plenty of space there.”

“That’s jam on yer egg, lass,” Pete said, studying the tiny
space. “Wishful thinking amn’t going to make it so.”

“Oh, gimme a break.”

“Especially with the squirrelly winds running twixt those
buildings.”

Lacey said, “Uh, I hate to interrupt your little argument
here, but do you mind explaining what the hell you’re talking about? Where’s
Turbulent City?”

“Oh, sorry,” Skylar said. “It’s not a real place. It’s a
skyscraper flick we worked on. The producer ran out of money so it never made it
into thea—”

 “And we never got paid,” Pete interjected.

“Anyway,” Skylar continued, “what we did was...”

A part of Jake’s mind drifted as she explained. He flipped
through the pages of blueprints, glancing back and forth from them to the satellite
view on the tablet. His brain placed one over the other as he memorized the
layout and imagined himself moving from room to room.

Is his family there? Or Marshall?

Feng slid his finger across the iPad and the satellite image
was replaced by a series of photographs that checkerboarded the screen. He
zoomed on one and then slid from one to the next as he spoke. “We took these
when we first arrived at the scene.” They were street-level shots of the area
surrounding the building. The structure occupied its own small block, with rows
of ground-floor shops and stalls along three sides and an alley in the back.
Traffic was heavy and the sidewalks were packed with people.

“We’re going to need a distraction,” Jake said as he blinked
at each photograph, storing them in his memory.

“Both coming and going,” Pete agreed, scratching his chin.

Feng and his local crew exchanged smiles. “That won’t be a
problem,” he said.

The conversation continued, and before long a plan began to
take shape.

After a while, Jake asked, “Where are we going to get all
the equipment?”

“Follow me,” Feng said. He led Jake and Pete toward a door
at the back of the room, entered a code on a keypad, and the lock clicked open.
Stepping inside, he flicked on the lights and spread his hands like a magician
revealing a surprise. “Walla!” The storage space was as large as the bar, with
rows of pallet racks stacked with props and equipment. “After thirty years of
films, our little club has collected a few things.”

As they walked down the rows, Jake saw air bags, air rams,
mini tramps, tumbling mats, and all sorts of protective gear and rugged apparel
designed for use by crews in various physical stunts. There was climbing gear,
skydiving equipment, and much more, even a variety of costumes, including
military and civilian uniforms. One section contained all manner of martial
arts costumes and weapons. Jake inspected a Japanese katana, pulling the blade
partway out of its scabbard. “Anything more modern than this?”

Pete and Feng exchanged a smile. “Oh, yeah,” Feng said. He
rounded the end of a rack and unlocked a corner room. The secure space smelled
of gun oil and powder. A workbench on the back wall supported two reloaders and
some other equipment that Jake guessed had something to do with making
explosive devices. The variety of well-kept weapons that hung from the
surrounding pegboard walls ranged from pistols to light machine guns.

Jake nodded appreciatively. “You guys don’t mess around.”

Pete winked. “The job wouldn’t be half as much fun
otherwise.”

As they exited the gun room, Jake asked, “What about the
gear Skylar’s going to need?”

“It’s by the rear roll-up door,” Feng said.

“Then we’re set?” Jake asked.

“Set enough to get inside,” Pete said as the three of them
started back toward the bar. “That’ll be the easy part. Finding yer friends and
family will be another matter.”

Jake couldn’t argue with that. Each floor of the building
had at least fifty thousand square feet of space. Excluding the ground-floor
shops, that made over 1.3 million square feet. Couple that with the fact that
the old factory was now subdivided into tiny apartments and they faced a
daunting task. In his mind, he scrolled one by one through the sixteen exterior
photos he’d memorized, noting the crusty exterior of the building, the
hodgepodge of aging window fans, the maze of exterior pipes, and even the
laundry hanging from open windows. He searched for any clues that might help
narrow down their focus.

He was flipping to the ninth picture when his mind went
blank.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it was no use. The
image wouldn’t clarify in his consciousness, nor would any of the other photos,
including those he’d pulled up a few seconds earlier. It was as if the folder
containing the images had just been deleted. He tried to recall the page he’d
memorized from the blueprint but the results were the same. A spark of panic ignited;
the sensation was all too familiar. It had first happened two years ago, a few
days after he’d buried the mini in a lead-lined box in his backyard.

He’d been in the open cockpit of the Pitts, flying at five
thousand feet with a student in the back. They’d been halfway through an
acrobatic maneuver when his brain had faltered and he’d lost control of the
aircraft. He’d recovered before the slipup had turned into a disaster, but he’d
taken the next week off while he tried to figure out what was wrong. He’d grown
fatigued and anxious, his memory had blanked several times—more often with each
passing day—and a part of him had worried his cancer had returned.

Until he’d dug up the mini.

The instant he’d opened the case, he’d felt rejuvenated. His
mind had cleared, his senses had come alive, and his muscles had flowed with
energy. It had been an instant high, accompanied by euphoria. The intensity had
reminded him of what had happened to him years before when he carried it on his
person day after day.