Pittacus Lore - Fugitive Six

DUANPHEN WATCHED THE BEGGAR AS HE SCURRIED through traffic with his bucket and rag. The boy couldnt have been more than twelve, small, with a mop of greasy black hair. He picked his cars smartlyshiny ones with tinted windows and drunk passengers. He splashed dirty water on windshields and stretched across hoods to ineffectively clean up, mostly smearing around more grime. Drivers rolled down their windows to curse at him but usually relented, shoved a note into his hand to make him go away, and turned on their wipers.

It was after midnight and Royal City Avenue still pulsed with life. Motorcycles weaved through the traffic. Drunk clubbers stumbled into the street. Neon lights flashed in unison with their bars competing bass lines.

Duanphen rubbed the handcuff around her wrist, which attached her to the executives briefcase. The metal irritated her. Just like this place.

Three months since she was last here. She hadnt missed it.

The beggar spotted Duanphen and her limo. Well, not her limo, preciselyit belonged to the executive; she was only watching over it. The black stretch was double-parked obnoxiously in front of a club where go-go dancers gyrated in the windows. The executive had been so excited when he saw the place that he was practically drooling; they just had to pull over. The rest of the executives security had gone in with him, but not Duanphen. She was too young.

Sweet ride, the beggar said in Thai as he stopped in front of her. He held out his rag threateningly. Dirty, though. For a few bucks Ill wash it for you.

Duanphen regarded him coldly. Go away.

The kid stared up at her, as if trying to decide if he should press his luck. At seventeen, Duanphen wasnt that much older than him, although her steely gaze made her seem it. She stood a shade over six feet tall, her long-limbed body like a switchblade. She kept her hair buzzed and wore no makeup except for some extra-dark eyeliner. Her petite nose was a crooked zigzag; it looked like itd been erased and redrawn.

I know you, he said.

No.

Youre a hooker, he said with a laugh. No! Thats not right. Where have I seen you?

Doesnt matter, Duanphen said. Get lost.

The beggar hopped in the air as the realization hit him. Youre a fighter! he said, shaking his rag at her. I know you! Youre the one who cheats. The one

As if by magic, the boys bucket tipped towards him and spilled water down the front of his pants. He gasped and shut up, staring at Duanphen.

Not magic. Telekinesis.

If you do know me, Duanphen said, then you know what I will do when I run out of patience.

The beggar looked at her wide-eyed, then took off into the crowd with a yelp. Duanphen pursed her lips. Calling her a cheater. What did that little idiot know about anything?

Duanphen had been doing Muay Thai fights since she was fourteen, a necessity to supplement the pittance she got working sixty hours a week at the garment factory, all to pay her rent at a roach-infested boardinghouse. Before her Legacies kicked in, Duanphen had lost more fights than she won, often getting her face smashed to a bloody pulp by girls twice her age.

Telekinesis, she discovered after the invasion, made the fights easier. An assisted leg-trip here. A deflected punch there. She went on a winning streak. She began to bet on herself. The competition got tougher, but her telekinesis got stronger, too.

It wasnt until an opponent managed to get her in a choke hold and Duanphens electrified skin unexpectedly triggered that the fight promoters got wise. They called what shed been doing stealing and gave her a choice: work off the debt or die. She considered fighting her way out, but they had a lot of guns, and blocking punches wasnt the same as stopping bullets.

Word soon got out that the local mob had a Garde for hire. That was how the executive found her. He knew a lot of people. He was a talker. An excellent negotiator.

Thats what made him so valuable to the Foundation.

The Foundation paid off her debt and gave Duanphen a fresh start. They gave her more money than she could hope to earn in a thousand fights, plus clothes and a splashy apartment in Hong Kong. All she needed to do in exchange was watch over this smarmy executive and carry around his briefcase.

Not a bad deal at all, shed thought. At least until she got to know the executive better. Men liked him, of course, because he was always making gross jokes and buying drinks. But, to Duanphen, he was a middle-aged creep, the kind of tourist shed encountered a million times in Bangkok. He was always complaining about his cold wife and his kids who didnt talk to him.

The executive sauntered out of the club surrounded by a phalanx of brutish bodyguards. He had a lot of securitymore added in the last few weeks, for reasons no one explained to Duanphen. The muscle cleared a path on the sidewalk, shoving aside gaudily dressed revelers as they escorted the executive to his armored limo. People craned their necks to catch a glimpse of what kind of man commanded such an entourage. The executive didnt look like mucha thatch of thinning blond hair, short, a potbelly, his designer suit wrinkled from the humidity, his salmon-colored shirt damp with sweat. Not famous, the onlookers probably thought, disappointed. Just some rich jerk. Bangkok was full of them.

Duanphen opened the car door for her rich jerk. He pinched her cheek affectionately and she died a little inside.

Missed a banging good time, Dawn, he said, his words slurred from too much champagne.

Mm, Duanphen offered noncommittally. She despised his butchered farang version of her name.

The executive interpreted Duanphens murmur as encouragement. One of these days youll be old enough to make a proper piece of arm candy, he told her.

Duanphen smiled mirthlessly and clenched her fist. She slid into the backseat beside the executive, one of the other bodyguards taking the wheel.

Meant to ask you, the executive said. Happy to be back home?

No, she replied. I hate this place.

Really? Ive always loved Bangkok. He waved his hand airily out the window. Although its more fun when you arent bloody surrounded.

Duanphen knew the executive chafed at the extra security. His bodyguards werent just the average bruisers anyone could hire around Bangkok; they were highly trained mercenaries. The Blackstone Group detachment had been his wifes ideaor, rather, his wifes command. She was in the Foundation too and seemed to wield more power than her husband. That, at least, cheered Duanphen.