Chapter 689

"Boss, Number 47 is in Hell’s Kitchen now."

Fisk and the others had left. Moira had come back for two reasons: first, to return Vanessa to the life-support pod where she had been kept; second, to ask Evenson about something.

"Should we have him..."

She made a quick slashing motion across her throat.

Now that the boss had brought Fisk under his control, Moira figured the masked vigilante who had been making Fisk’s life miserable had outlived his usefulness. If that vigilante managed to send Fisk to prison, how was Fisk supposed to work for the boss?

"No need. Let Number 47 keep watching him. No unnecessary moves."

Evenson’s answer caught her off guard.

Before Moira could ask why, he continued.

"Fisk has been the king of Hell’s Kitchen for too long. If I don’t knock some of that arrogance out of him, he’ll be difficult to use."

"I see."

Moira nodded slowly.

Then her attention drifted to the corpse nearby.

Its body had been completely drained of vitality, leaving behind something that barely looked human anymore. Moira’s eyes immediately lit up.

"What an interesting specimen."

Evenson had drained the life from plenty of people, but Moira had never seen the aftermath up close. She was already imagining all the tests she could run. What exactly happened to a body when every trace of life was forcibly removed? How did the tissues respond? What remained after the process?

"Think it’s interesting? Take it."

Evenson couldn’t care less.

Then he added, "Just don’t get so absorbed in your experiments that you forget you’re still in charge of the Black Chapter. Keep an eye on the department while I’m gone. I might be taking a trip."

"Sure. Got it."

Moira didn’t even look away from the corpse.

She was already mentally listing possible experiments.

A few seconds later, she finally processed what Evenson had said.

"A trip? Did SHIELD give you another assignment?"

"No."

Evenson shook his head.

"This time, I’m going on vacation."

The following evening, Hong Kong.

On one of the city’s famous food streets, a handsome blond man with bright blue eyes practically bounced onto a stool at a crowded street-food stall.

He slapped a hand on the table.

"Boss! Two bowls of fish balls! And don’t hold back on the chili!"

"Coming right up!"

The stall owner, who was also the cook, answered automatically and started preparing the food.

Then he stole another glance at his customer.

This was Hong Kong. Seeing a blond, blue-eyed foreigner on the street wasn’t exactly unusual.

What was unusual was the fact that the man had ordered in flawless Mandarin.

Not just understandable Mandarin, either. His pronunciation was so natural that if you ignored his appearance, you could easily mistake him for a native speaker.

The stall owner couldn’t help wondering where the hell this foreigner had learned it.

A moment later, another blond, blue-eyed beauty arrived and dropped onto the stool beside him with an exasperated sigh.

"You really are impossible."

The two of them were, of course, Evenson and Kreia.

Evenson had promised Kreia that he would visit Kamar-Taj’s three Sanctums with her, and Evenson was not the type to break a promise.

Kreia was delighted. Since Hong Kong was practically her territory, she had carefully planned the trip herself.

Their first stop was the Hong Kong Sanctum.

Technically, the New York Sanctum was closer. But Evenson lived in New York. He had already visited that Sanctum before, so Kreia figured there wasn’t much point in starting there.

London was similar. Interesting enough, perhaps, but not nearly as distinctive.

Hong Kong, on the other hand, had character.

Evenson had been thrilled when she suggested it.

Kreia simply hadn’t expected him to take the word trip quite so literally.

The moment they stepped through the portal into the Hong Kong Sanctum, Evenson barely looked around before grabbing her and dragging her straight back outside to explore the city.

He hadn’t even properly entered the Sanctum.

Kreia had been speechless.

The idiot had actually treated their visit to a mystical holy site as a sightseeing vacation.

Still...

She looked at him now, grinning like a kid while waiting for his fish balls.

It wasn’t as though they were in a hurry.

Besides, wandering around the city together wasn’t so bad.

Those two demon women certainly weren’t getting this kind of treatment.

"I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to speak Mandarin this well."

Ever since they’d left the Sanctum, Evenson had been speaking Mandarin nonstop.

He had no trouble communicating with anyone they met, and he seemed determined to greet practically every person who crossed their path, whether he knew them or not.

Kreia still couldn’t figure out where all that enthusiasm had come from.

"Heh. You might not believe me."

Evenson tapped his chopsticks against the table with a smug grin.

"My Mandarin is actually better than my English."

Kreia stared at him.

"That is deeply concerning."

Before he could answer, the owner arrived with two steaming bowls of fish balls.

"Here you go. Enjoy."

"Thanks, boss."

Evenson immediately picked one up with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth.

Then he froze.

His expression transformed.

For years, he hadn’t tasted authentic Chinese street food. Now that he finally had, his face practically radiated happiness.

Kreia shifted uncomfortably.

"You’re eating fish balls. Why do you look like you’ve just discovered the meaning of life?"

"You wouldn’t understand."

Evenson didn’t bother explaining.

He simply lifted the bowl and started eating.

Then four or five men swaggered into the stall, talking loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Evenson glanced up.

Flowered shirts. Open collars. Tattoos. The general look of men who had never once worried about whether they were making a good impression.

One of them, apparently the leader, dropped into a seat at another table.

"Boss! Where are you?"

The stall owner hurried over.

"Well, look who it is! Brother Fly! What can I get you? It’s on the house!"

The man’s expression immediately hardened.

"Skip the bullshit. You paid this month’s protection money yet?"

"Already got it ready for you."

The owner didn’t even hesitate. He went to the cash box, pulled out a stack of bills, and handed them over with both hands.

Brother Fly counted the money casually.

"Good."

He pocketed it without making trouble.

"We’re heading out. If anybody gives you trouble, use my name."

"Leaving already? You sure you don’t want something to eat first?"

The owner walked them toward the street, making a token attempt to keep them there.

Evenson watched the whole exchange without much reaction.

He wasn’t some justice-obsessed vigilante looking for an excuse to jump into every dispute. Besides, the shop owner had handed over the money willingly enough. If Evenson suddenly stood up and started lecturing everyone about justice, he’d probably be doing more harm than good.

Unfortunately, keeping his head down wasn’t enough.

Evenson had only been watching because the whole exchange was interesting.

Brother Fly noticed.

"Bastard foreigner. What the hell are you looking at?"

"I’m sorry."

Evenson switched to English, deciding it wasn’t worth starting anything, and looked back down at his food.

"Whatever."

Brother Fly turned to leave.

But as he passed Evenson’s table, he apparently couldn’t resist one last insult.

"Go eat shit, foreigner."

Evenson’s chopsticks stopped halfway to his mouth.

He stared at the fish ball.

Thirty-dollar bowl.

Ruined.

His expression slowly darkened.

Okay.

He’d ignored the first insult.

But this guy really wasn’t going to let it go, was he?

Evenson slammed his bowl onto the table and stood.

"Fine."

Three of Brother Fly’s men immediately stepped forward.

"What, you looking for a beating?"

"You think being a foreigner makes you special?"

Evenson answered by swinging his hand.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

All three men hit the ground.

"Whoa!"

Brother Fly immediately charged.

Unlike his three companions, he actually knew how to fight.

His stance was solid, his footwork disciplined, and his punches came with enough force to make the air whistle. Every movement was practiced.

Clearly, he was a trained fighter.

Unfortunately for him, Evenson was a Warlock.

Warlocks might be spellcasters, but among the major magic classes, they were hardly fragile. Years of supernatural enhancement had left Evenson with physical capabilities far beyond an ordinary human.

He wouldn’t claim to be Captain America.

But he was confident he could manage roughly ninety percent of Steve Rogers’ physical ability.

A street fighter wasn’t going to bridge that gap.

Two punches later, Brother Fly hit the floor.

Evenson hadn’t even needed to use magic.

He hadn’t gone all out, either. Brother Fly and his men were battered, bruised, and thoroughly humiliated, but none of them were seriously injured.

They managed to scramble back to their feet.

"You’re dead!"

"You better not run!"

"Just wait until we blow the whistle! Our boss won’t let you off!"

Brother Fly backed toward the street with his men, pointing furiously at Evenson.

Then, the moment they reached the crowd, they turned and ran.

Evenson watched them disappear.

"Classic."

He rolled his eyes.

"Go get your boss. I’ll be right here."

Then he turned toward Kreia.

"Kreia."

He put his hands on his hips.

"Let’s get out of here."

Before she could respond, Evenson grabbed her hand and sprinted back toward the Hong Kong Sanctum.

He wasn’t afraid of a few street thugs.

He had simply noticed people nearby calling the police.

Hong Kong was one of the safest major cities in Asia. Once the police received the report, there was a very real chance a patrol vehicle would arrive within minutes.

Normally, that wouldn’t have been a problem.

Evenson had been defending himself, after all.

But then he remembered something rather important.

He didn’t have a passport.

He didn’t have a visa, either.

He had entered Hong Kong through a magical portal.

Which, upon reflection, probably counted as illegal immigration.

If the police arrested him and the government started talking about deportation, Nick Fury would laugh about it for at least six months.

And then he’d probably dock Evenson’s pay for another six.

That was unacceptable.

So they ran.

The moment they stepped back inside the Sanctum, Kreia rounded on him.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?"

Evenson blinked.

"What? I beat up a few thugs. I didn’t use magic, and I didn’t seriously hurt anyone. What’s the big deal?"

He paused.

"Unless you think their boss is going to come looking for me inside the Sanctum."

Kreia gave him a smile that contained absolutely no warmth.

"He might."

She folded her arms.

"You’ll find out tomorrow."

Evenson stared at her.

For some reason, he had a very bad feeling about that.