| “Jennifer? Yes. She is not your average girl,” he rolled the word around his mouth. “She isn’t a whore at all, Lance Carter. She has something I need and I will get it from her if I must cut it out of her.”
“If you hurt her…” I growled.
Ming crouched down so close to me that I could see the disdain in his flat brown eyes. “You think you can try and stop what I am doing. Your government think that maybe they can lock me up? Throw away the key, as you say?” He laughed. “You can never challenge someone like me, someone as strong as me.” He beat his chest with his fist. “You don’t have it in you Carter.” He looked me up and down. “You are weak, just like every other American. Soft and weak.” He stood and backed off. “I’m just as American and honest as you. You sold out your best friend, didn’t you? Just to save your girlfriend, right? Who is worse, Lance? Me or you? Me for taking people who want money and giving it to them -- at a personal price, yes. Am I evil for taking people who want the companionship of a pretty young woman and giving that to them -- again at a price. Everything has its price…” He was quiet for a moment and then his voice was lower, more grave in tone. “Am I worse then the man who killed your girlfriend and your best friend because of your lies? Because of your inability to take action? I take action Lance. I know about your precious Carolyn, Lance. I know about Tommy. Do you know how I know?” I stared at him with a new intense hatred. I didn’t know how he knew but I knew he was going to tell me. I hadn’t thought of Tommy in years and their deaths had nothing to do with one another. Except, of course, me. “Because I was there. I made sure Carolyn got what she needed to end her suffering. I made sure she was dead. But you Lance… you failed. I made sure that Tommy didn’t suffer anymore in that hospital bed, what did you do Lance Carter? At least I succeed in what I do. So who is the better man, Lance? Who?” He tore open his shirt to reveal a tattoo of an Asian inspired dragon holding a torn American flag in its mouth. “Yes, Lance I’m red, white and blue and I don’t care. I’m just like you. Red, white and blue and tattooed.” Next he rolled up his sleeve to reveal another tattoo. This time it was Chinese lettering on his arm with a Chinese flag above it. “I love my country and I love yours. Red, white and blue… I’m your all American nightmare…” he stopped one more time, searching for the right thing to say. Once he had found it he looked at me and slowly spat the words at me, “Mother -- fucker!” Now the smile broadened, “Wade, Maurice… kill this shitbird.”
He turned and his foot falls were heavy as he walked away down the corridor.