Now he was certain that Chan Li had led his friends into a trap. It was nearly 5:30—an hour over the deadline. The path by the wall, Muscles noticed, ran each way. Which way to turn, left or right? His decision was made for him by a sound. Muscles crouched low, just off the path, out of sight. He could plainly hear someone coming toward him.
He stared through a small opening in the thick bush he was using as cover. His muscles tensed, he was ready to spring like a tiger.
A figure suddenly came into view. It was Chan Li. With a snarl, Muscles sprang. He jumped on the back of the Chinese. His weight hurled the slighter man to the ground. Like a cat, Muscles leaped up. He snatched Chan’s right arm, twisted it, until Chan was face down on the ground. Muscles, keeping pressure on the arm, plunked himself down on Chan’s back. Increasing pressure on the arm until Chan gasped in pain, Muscles rasped out, “Okay, let’s have it, and fast. Where are the boys?”
Chan didn’t answer.
“You’re going to be a one-armed Chinese if you don’t talk.” Muscles cupped his free hand on the back of Chan’s head. He ground the man’s face in the dirt. “Talk!”
The pain was bad enough, but the humiliation of having his face ground into the dirt, of losing face literally, was more than Chan could stand.
“I talk,” he said.
Muscles released the pressure. He stood up. “Now get up, you dog. Get up and tell me what happened.”
“I had to do it. I had to lead boys to Ping Lu. If I don’t, he do great harm to my family.”
“Ping Lu? Who’s he? Member of the Kwang tribe?”