Ch. 19 – The Doorman

“I can’t fix the door, but I’ll at least clean up this mess,” the giant man said, as he crouched back down and began to sweep again.

“You’re too damn soft, P,” a White Leopard called out. “What are you, his maid or something?”

“Mind your own business. If I wanna clean, I’ll clean.”

“You’ll sweep this damn mod shop, but you can’t even clean up a mark when we’re done with him,” the man muttered under his breath. A few other gangsters grunted in agreement.

The giant shook his head and kept sweeping. “Don’t mind them, they’ve always got a problem.”

Derrick forced a smile. “Okay, fair enough. Thanks again for helping clean up.” The man had crushed what would have been close to a month’s worth of scavenged parts, but there was no sense in crying over it now. He was sweeping the fragments up pretty thoroughly too, which would make the cleanup less of a headache.

The giant’s exoskeleton setup was pretty involved. Wires ran out of a black glove covering his left hand, and threaded along the metallic lattice-like arm supports, until they plugged into a hub on his shoulder. This sort of heavy-duty exoskeleton was more common in multi-purpose manufacturing plants, where they didn’t always have specialized equipment for each job. Ironically, these plants hired more human workers, who could learn production skills on the fly, and lean on their exoskeletons for precision and power.

There were several more wires running along the exoskeleton surrounding his body: most likely attached to sensors that detected muscle patterns and neural impulses running to the limbs, and helped the exoskeleton understand which way the wearer was trying move. The glove was probably made of electromagnetic interference shielding fabric, a way to stop the ambient electrical noise in the air from drowning out the neural impulses from the body, which were relatively weak at the point they reached the skin’s surface. The giant man was wearing a patchwork of different colored shielding cloth that fit tightly under his shorts and t-shirt, kind of like athletic compression sleeves.

He wasn’t wearing all sports attire, though. His feet were encased in rubberized soles that were attached to a similar lattice structure that surrounded the whole ankle joint. There were impact padding and motorized supports linking every face of the ankle to the rigid lattice, probably to cushion impact throughout the whole range of motion. It made sense; given the man’s height and large frame, ankle injuries would come easily.

All of the wiring converged on a large battery strapped to his back, and shielded by the lattice.

He held the broom firm and steady—it was almost like a toy in his hands—and something jangled on his left wrist as he swept. It was a bracelet, made of fine, braided cloth, attached to a silver hued plate on each end. An orange number eighteen was stamped in the center of the plate. Derrick had always wanted a well-made cloth bracelet like that; cloth was comfortable, and didn’t chafe like the cheap chain-link bracelets that they sold at the pawn shops. A silver plate would give it some weight, and feel nice on the skin.

The bracelet fit tight on the man’s enormous wrist, but the plate was knocking against an anchor point on the exoskeleton.

“That looks nice. Where’d you get it?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “The suit’s custom, and Theo doesn’t like me talking about it.”

“Oh, no, I meant the bracelet,” Derrick said, before pursing his lips shut. What a dumb question. Number eighteen? How could he not have realized it immediately?

Freezing mid sweep, the giant jerked up, sending a pile of parts flying halfway across the room. “Oh this?” He held his left arm out, displaying the bracelet, and the intricate exoskeleton framework around it. “This bracelet? You a Justin Li fan?”

The bracelet was limited-time Justin Li merchandise, which he had come tantalizingly close to at the Tree Cage in the morning. The jerseys were the centerpiece, but there were plenty of other items as part of the collection on display at the Tree Cage in commemoration of the Nighthawk’s founding. But what difference did it make? What, was he trying to make friends with gangsters?

“Uh, yeah, you know, I watched a few of his games.”

“Me too! I mean, it’s pretty obvious right.” He dropped the dustbin and held the bracelet’s silver plate up to the light. “I remember seeing him on TV, and being like, ‘this man is so cool.’ It made me wanna be a point guard. But, look at me,” he gestured down at his massive body. “I was a big kid, so I always played center. Justin gave me love for the game, though.”

He flicked the plate. “This is good silver, too. When I saw it in the store, down at the Tree Cage, I knew I had to have it.”

The thing was, all the commemorative merchandise was very pricey. The bracelet alone had to have cost at least two hundred dollars.

“Yeah, it’s nice. You must have saved up for it, huh?”

The giant’s gaze fell. “Are you kidding me? No, man. It cost way too much.” He cleared his throat. “I took it off someone on the street . . . .”

“Ah.” Of course, what else could a street punk have done?

The giant just stood there, rubbing his bracelet. The room seemed quiet when his booming voice was missing, and the little sounds became apparent: a news video playing on a White Leopard’s phone, another Leopard coughing, the quiet moaning of an injured one lying in the corner.

Derrick’s lips were dry, and he was thirsty again, all of a sudden. “It, um, looks pretty great; I kinda wish I had one.” That much was true, at least.

“Thanks.” The giant said, not making eye contact.

“Well, thanks again for cleaning up the broken parts. You can just leave them in this box here.” A plume of dust burst out into the shop as Derrick hefted a half-empty box of scrap metal off of a shelf.

“Yeah . . . no problem.” The giant waved some dust away and dragged the box over to him, before dumping a pile of scraps in.

The other White Leopards in the shop didn’t seem to be causing any trouble, but they were squeezed into every corner; there was no space for Derrick to sit down and gather his thoughts on what Theo had told him back in the operating room. Which one was the finance guy that Tony had arranged payment with? They all looked weathered and street smart, rather than the type to sit down and crunch numbers.

“Are you alright?” Derrick asked them, one after the other. Tony might not have had time to make the rounds on his break, and he would expect Derrick to.

There was the option of stepping outside to get some solitude, but the curtain of rain had never let up, and there was a real risk of getting shot by whatever other gangsters were still roaming around after the firefight. The pitter-patter of rain was clearest when Derrick leaned up against the wall near the entrance. It seeped through the gaps between what was left of the door and the doorframe, which the giant man had presumably wedged together as well as he could. Oh yeah, I probably couldn’t even go outside without busting the door down again. The sound of muffled talking also seeped through. It was probably a pair of White Leopards who were on guard duty outside, although the talking was also punctuated by shouting from a third person.

The talking stopped, and someone rapped on the door. “Open it up, Ping!”

The giant, who was apparently named Ping, put the broom and pan down and dislodged the door from the doorframe with a crack that made Derrick wince.

Three White Leopards came in, one of them being the angry man in the suit that had watched over the first half of the patient’s surgery. His eyes locked onto Derricks.

“So how is he? Is he going to live?” the man snapped.

“Boss, didn’t you just ask that other doctor?”

“Yes I did, and it’s been a whole“—he checked his wristwatch—“fifteen minutes since then, so there had better be some progress!”

“We’re not sure. He’s hemodynamically stable right now, but anything could happen. He’s definitely not ready to be moved yet. I thought Tony told you guys he was going to stay here for a few more hours?”

“He did tell you that, boss,” the other White Leopard said. He was thin, and wore a sharp pair of glasses that framed his dry and flaky face.

“Well if the big boss says ‘go,’ we gotta go!” The angry man grimaced at his cell phone and jammed it into his pocket.

The White Leopards weren’t a Triad; at least, that’s what they always said. There were no Red Poles, no Dragon Head, just a line of bosses, bigger bosses, and even bigger bosses, all the way to the top, where the richest of them sat, far, far away from Chinatown. The biggest bosses at the very top probably thought of crime as a hobby at this point: just another way to kill time while they waited for the next young starlet to be brought up to their penthouse suite.

The angry man’s glance kept darting toward the door to the operating room, as he paced around the floor. “Ah Jun is still sedated, right?”

Derrick nodded his head.

“I’m going in there to check on him myself then, after the boss calls me back.”

“What did the big boss say?” another White Leopard asked.

“He won’t fucking tell me anything, dammit! Always so secretive, says ‘he’ll call me back later.’ It’s not like it’s his ass out here in the field.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, boss. The big boss only ever shares the important intel with Ah Jun,” the other Leopard said.

“He’d better make up his mind soon, before it’s too late. He should just tell me the intel, or tell us he’ll only send it to Ah Jun!”

“What should we do right now, then?”

“Someone should put that fucking door back, I’m freezing in here,” the angry man said. After a brief pause, he snapped his head at the giant man. “That means you, Ping!”

Ping obliged, shoving the door back into the doorframe with another crack.

“So, what should we do now, hm?” he continued. “If the big boss doesn’t give us the intel, we can’t bring the fight to the Hermanos. We need to get to the safe house, after I go check on Ah Jun.” The angry man jerked his head towards Derrick. “So what are you doing out here? Why aren’t you helping your boss?”

“We just finished a multi-hour surgery; Tony just took a break, and now I’m taking one too, before we get back to monitoring the patient.”

“What I’m hearing is that you’re both lazy.” He walked to the center of the room and snapped his fingers. “Someone get me some booze, this night has been too shitty so far.”

The room became much noisier all of a sudden, as the various White Leopards spoke up to greet their boss, and rummage through cabinets. So who was in charge, Theo, or the angry man? Or Ah Jun, the elderly man in the operating room?

“We can’t find any booze, boss.”

“Well, ask the kid here, you idiots! Hey! Where do you keep your booze?”

Dozens of eyes trained on Derrick, and his face flushed. “We’re all out.” It was true; Tony often brought booze back to the shop, but it never lasted till the next morning.

The angry man tsked. “Hurry up and get back in there,” he said, jerking his head at the operating room. A White Leopard got out of the swivel chair and offered it to the man, who sat there and stared at his phone.

Derrick wouldn’t be much use in the operating room if he was starving to death. They were out of booze, but there was still some leftover food from the takeout that Tony had brought back. Derrick walked back to the commercial refrigerator, and pulled the door open. The faint smell of juicy, savory goodness made his stomach grumble again, and the grumbling grew even more intense as the food started sizzling in the microwave.

“Hey, that smells good.”

“What’s cookin’? I’ve been starving for hours.”

White Leopards started swarming around the microwave and breathing down Derrick’s neck. One of nudged Derrick aside, and grabbed a plate that had already been warmed up.

“Hold on!” Derrick said, grabbing the man’s arm sleeve, which was caked with dried blood. “That’s not yours.”

“You kidding me? We just got shot up out there, the least you can do is give us something to eat.”

“Boss, you want something to eat?”

Oh, great. Now the loudmouth was involved. Derrick probably wasn’t going to eat more than a bite at this point, if at all.

“Okay, fine.” Derrick took the plate of takeout food from the White Leopard, and laid it on the counter. One of the containers was already mostly empty, so Tony had been able to sneak a bite when the gangsters hadn’t been paying attention. “I’m going to eat something real quick, and then the rest of it is all yours.” When the work picked up, doctors had to eat when they could, or they risked losing focus at a crucial moment.

“Fine, fine. Hurry it up,” the angry Leopard called out from the swivel chair.

The rotating microwave plate stopped and started, sticking over that one stain that Derrick was never able to clean out. As Derrick took another steaming bowl of food out, a Leopard put a new bowl in and slammed the microwave door shut.

The food was savory and sweet; Derrick didn’t have time to savor the nuances before he put the bowl in the sink and went to wash his hands.

The operating room door was just as heavy as before.

“Did you get a bite to eat, Derrick?” Tony asked. He was standing by the operating table,

“Yeah.” Derrick went over to the wash station to wash his hands again. The sink in the bathroom was mostly just to get the food stains and grease off, and only the wash station in the operating room was truly clean. Tony had already closed up the patient’s surgical wound, but it never hurt to be too careful with someone who had just been cut open.

“Good. I figured, since you’d been gone for a while. He’s looking good, so far. Ideally, we’d be able to monitor him for longer, but there’s no obvious hemorrhage anywhere. His breathing still needs to be controlled until we take him out of anesthesia, and I want to keep his glucose controlled for now. But after he’s conscious, I guess he wouldn’t die immediately if these bozos took him away.”

“So all we can do is wait?”

“For now.”

“OKAY BOSS, LET ME CHECK ON HIM,” The angry Leopard’s voice penetrated from the shop area.

“Oh, now what?” Tony said, scowling at the door.