Killer of Killers by Mark M. DeRobertis Read Free Book Online Page A

double Kasumi —a brutal deathblow, which,
if executed properly, would puncture the temporal lobes and rupture
the middle cerebral arteries therein.
    He gave it everything, yet the brute above
him still glared bloodshot eyes, gnashed blood-smeared teeth, and
thrust ever-swelling pounds of pressure into his throat. Defiant to
the last, Trent raised his hands to gouge TT’s bulging eyes, but
the vise about his neck loosened, and the suited giant fell
forward, dead from a massive brain hemorrhage.
    Trent pushed the large body off his chest
with the strength he had left and rolled over, heaving endless
coughs and gags. His head spun so fast, he hugged the floor as a
long lost friend.
    Finally, Trent sat up with his breathing
steadied only to realize it wasn’t over. A tingling in his skin
began slowly at first until its increasing intensity rivaled the
sensation of ants swarming a naked body. Attempting to brush the
invisible insects from his arms only swelled the prickly tide. His
vision blurred, and he dropped into nothingness.
    * * * *
    Seeing the fight was over, Susie came running
with the rest of the women, shouting, “My baby, my baby, what did
he do to you?”
    The women crowded around the fallen fighters,
and Susie cradled the man of her affection. Streams of scarlet
crisscrossed his face for a tri-cut on the bridge of his nose and a
gash in his forehead. His brown hair was a tangled mop, matted in
sweat and congealed blood.
    Standing with the others, Alicia put her
hands on her hips and frowned. “He’s not so cute right now,” she
said.
     

Chapter Four
    Something Odious
     
    The open window showcased a
dark San Francisco night sprinkled in colorful city lights.
Samantha’s vantage point revealed the elegant office in which she
sat to be many stories high in the city’s tallest high-rise. She
admired the view until a voice reminded her of the reason for being
there.
    “You say this person is an expert
killer.”
    The speaker was Karl Manoukian, a middle-aged
man who spoke with an uncommon accent from behind his large oaken
desk. Traces of gray laced the balding black hair strung over his
head, and his sallow complexion suggested a mixed and unclear
origin. Diamond chips lined the silver-rimmed spectacles that
windowed his dark and piercing eyes.
    “He is,” Samantha maintained. She and Josh
sat in two comfortable chairs but didn’t relish filling them if it
meant being the captive audience of the city’s preeminent
businessman.
    “You only make that assumption because you
think he’s some kind of a master martial artist,” Manoukian
claimed.
    “Look, he killed Stiles, there’s no doubting
it,” Josh contended.
    Samantha winced for her brother’s
insubordinate tone, but it didn’t surprise her. Josh had made a
habit of protecting her since childhood, and his defensive posture
seemed always automatic.
    “You say that, but she didn’t see him do it,”
Manoukian countered.
    “I have more than just circumstantial
evidence,” Samantha divulged.
    “Oh, and what might that be?”
    “This,” she said while pulling a ragged
object from her purse.
    At first, neither Manoukian nor Josh seemed
to know what it was, but as she unfolded it, the object identified
itself. It was a very long belt, the kind worn by martial artists.
Remnants of black were still evident, but most of it had shredded
to a faded gray. Several Japanese characters embroidered in red
fancied both ends. Manoukian responded, “And that is...”
    “It’s a tenth degree black belt,” Samantha
declared, “and it belongs to someone so advanced that the black of
this belt has faded by now. This man has been a black belt for more
than twenty years.”
    “Where did you get it?”
    “From his condo in Oakland. I tracked
fourteen addresses of men named Trent Smith in the Bay Area, and
when I determined which one was him, I paid him a visit. No one was
home, so I took the liberty to let myself in.”
    “You are quite the detective,”