Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Volume 2

GET CUTTER! by James Hopwood

Nathan Cutter's life had been turned on its ear, beginning with the senseless death of his wife, Helen, and his three year old daughter, Charlotte. They were the innocent victims of an underworld gang war that spilled onto the city streets.

Their lives were taken, when Triad Crime Lord, Zheng Li's car tore through a red light, colliding with Cutter's family, as they drove home from the local shopping centre. The impact wasn't what killed them. The collision only served as the beginning to a bloody chain of events.

Another vehicle had been chasing Zheng Li. Traveling in that vehicle was the number two crime figure in Sydney, Eddie Conlan. It had been his car, that barreled into the vehicle Helen and Charlotte Cutter were traveling in, as it sat at the intersection, immobilised from the previous collision.

Both, Conlan and the Cutters died almost instantly. However, Zheng Li had got away, and the local authorities were too toothless to go after him.

But not Nathan Cutter. Cutter had just returned from three years as a peace keeper in Iraq. He had seen war up close and personal. He had smelt its fetid breath in his face. Every day he had lived with violence, bloodshed and the threat of death hanging over him. For a man with Cutter's combat experience, Zheng Li was not a man to be feared, but a bug to be squashed.

Zheng Li had believed he was above the law. Well, he wasn't above Cutter's Law. Cutter went after the Crime Lord, tracking him to his lair, and then extracting his own bloody retribution.

That evening, Cutter killed seven people, including Zheng Li, but not without cost. He had been shot and stabbed, and collapsed unconscious from loss of blood, after he had completed his act of vengeance.

He woke up in a prison hospital, looking down the barrel of seven life sentences for murder. His only life line was a shadowy man named Grant LaCosta. LaCosta had turned up at the hospital attempting to recruit Cutter for a special team he was putting together. But Cutter had seen more death and destruction, than any man should. He declined the offer, choosing to stay in prison.

LaCosta left, but before he went, he gave Cutter a business card which had a single phone number on it. LaCosta had described it as a genuine 'get out of jail free' card.

La Costa had said, “When you realise Li wasn’t the only piece of filth involved in the car chase that killed your wife and child – give me a call.”

Those words were now seared into Cutter’s mind.

Three months later at Ironbark Correctional Institution, Sydney, Australia…

Cutter had hoped that prison life would be peaceful. He figured if he left people alone, they would leave him alone. It wasn't to be.

Triad organisations are much like the Greek mythological figure of Hydra. When you cut off one head, a new one quickly grows back in its place. When Cutter took out Zheng Li, he had only lopped one head off. A new one had grown back, and the new leader of Sydney's underworld was a man named Yuen Lao. His first decree was he wanted Nathan Cutter killed. He wanted him dead so badly, he had even put a seventy-five thousand dollar bounty on Cutter's head.

Cutter didn't know this as he was released from the prison hospital. It was only his first day mixing with the general prison population. He was assigned to the laundry detail.

After three months in hospital, Cutter's strength and fitness level had dropped considerably. Before, he had prided himself on his physical and mental stamina, but after two hours of shunting around laundry trolleys, he was beat. He stopped for a moment in one of the cold deserted passageways, and rolled his shoulder muscles, attempting to get the circulation going again. That's when they came at him.

There were three of them, and they appeared to come from nowhere. Obviously they had been watching and waiting for an opportunity. And now their moment had arrived. Cutter was alone, with no other prisoners or warders to come to his defence.

The attackers were Asian, angry, and looking to collect the bounty offered by Yuen Lao. Even in prison, Lao and the Triads had power and influence. Seventy-five thousand dollars could buy a lot of power and influence, anywhere.

The Triad trio consisted of Frankie Lo, Wu Chien and Tsao Li. The leader of the trio, was Lo, who, after the release of the film, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, had been nick-named 'Crouching Lo'.

Lo was in his late forties, and his face showed every one of those hard years etched deep into his skin like a road map. But despite his age, he was lean, wiry and in excellent condition. Cutter watched him as he advanced, noticing the intricate tattoos adorning his arms.

Lo came at Cutter head on, while the other two came from behind, blocking any retreat. Lo kept advancing. He carried no weapon, but from his stance, Cutter surmised that Lo knew some martial arts. Just how much, Cutter was going to learn – the hard way.

Lo threw a textbook Kinjobo jab. Like a darting snake, his hand shot out, smacking Cutter in the nose. Cutter reeled from the force of the blow, staggering back into the trolley he had been pushing. Lo followed it up with a side kick that caught Cutter in the stomach.

Winded, Cutter slumped to the floor, his eyes watering. Lo followed up with another kick, but Cutter raised his arms, like a boxer, protecting his head. The kick crashed into Cutter's forearms.

Cutter knew he had to get off the ground. Sitting there he was dead meat. Lo kicked out again, but this time Cutter was ready. He caught Lo's foot and twisted the ankle. Lo snorted in pain, and lost his balance, falling to the floor in front of Cutter. As Cutter climbed to his feet, he threw a woolly uppercut that caught Lo on the jaw. The Chinaman was rocked back into the wall.

But Cutter had taken his eyes off Lo's two henchmen, Wu Chien and Tsao Li. Both men were in their early twenties, and had a youthful glow. And they moved quickly too, as Cutter found out, on the receiving end of a lightning palm strike to the chest, from Chien.

Chien and Li worked together double teaming Cutter. Chien came hard from the left with a spinning kick. Cutter tried to move away, only to run into a chop from Li. Cutter roared in pain, and rushed at Li. Li tried to kick forward, but Cutter grabbed his leg at the knee and wrenched it up. Li lost his balance and fell backward, all the while Cutter kept holding on to his leg. Now with Li, on his back, Cutter grabbed the ankle and twisted, hard. He heard the tendon snap. The young man howled in pain, cursing in a language that Cutter could not understand.

As Cutter dropped Li's foot, Chien came at him again. First with a side kick which Cutter blocked and then two rapid blows to his midsection. Cutter swiped aside the first, but the second caught him in the solar plexus. Pain. Unbelievable Pain.

As Chien came in for the kill, to collect the bounty, Cutter dropped to one knee. The aggressor's intended roundhouse kick sailed over Cutter's head, and in his follow through, he found his back exposed to Cutter. Summoning what reserves of strength he had, Cutter struck hard and fast at the small of Chien's back. Cutter heard the vertebrae snap.

Chien arched his back in pain, then toppled to the floor, his face a contorted mask of agony. Cutter slowly stood, and eyed Lo. Would the old man have another go?

For seventy-five thousand dollars, the answer was a resounding yes. 'Crouching Lo' bounded forward, twisting into side-on stance. His foot darted out at Cutter's neck. Cutter blocked the foot with his right hand, but as he pushed the foot away, he exposed his whole right side. Lo pirouetted around and pounded two blows under Cutter's ribcage.

Cutter almost gave up there and then. Racked with pain he stumbled forward. Maybe if he hadn't spent the last three months in hospital, he may have been able to defend himself against three assailants. But here he had been out-manned and outmatched.

But the warrior spirit inside wouldn't let Cutter die. As Lo struck out once again, Cutter found himself moving almost by instinct. As Lo's hand shot past, Cutter ducked under it, and came up with an uppercut that caught the Triad on the jaw. Lo reeled back, slamming into the wall. Before Lo recovered, Cutter swayed in, grabbed the wrist and elbow of Lo's right arm. Then he brought his knee up, cracking the limb like a twig. Lo grunted in pain, but Cutter had no sympathy for him.

As a final insult, Cutter pushed Lo in the face, and watched him drop to the floor. Then he shuffled to his laundry trolley and walked off as if nothing had happened, although the bruises on his body would tell a different story.

Cutter's second day in 'Stir' was even more eventful than the first. To start the day, he found out he had a secret admirer. They called him 'Munster' and he was the most feared man in the prison. At six-foot-seven and over two-hundred and sixty pounds, he was a mountain of muscle and meanness. His head was shaved, and he had Celtic tattoos all over his torso. He came after Cutter in the shower, looking to collect on the Triad bounty.

The shiv wasn't long, and Munster had hidden it in a block of soap. His thick fingers cracked open the block, and he extracted the knife. Then he turned and faced Cutter, looking his target straight in the eyes. Munster liked his victims to know he was coming for them.

“Hey, 'Fuck-wad', you're wanted,” Munster called, holding up the knife and twisting the blade for show.

Cutter ignored him, lifting his head into the shower spray.

The other prisoners moved to the sides of the shower block, out of harm's way. They knew trouble was coming.

“There's money on your fucking head and I intend collecting,” the big man bellowed, as he moved through the steam and the spray.

Cutter turned and looked at the tiny knife in the big man's hand, and grinned.

“With that?” Cutter responded, almost laughing.

“It'll be more than enough to cut you. You're gonna bleed and you’ll feel it…every stroke, every slice, every thrust. You’re going to die slowly and painfully,” he taunted, flipping the knife from one palm to the other.

“You don't really want to do this,” Cutter suggested, shaking his head. He knew what was coming, but really didn't want a part of it.

“Fuck, yeah, I do!” the big oaf replied, his eyes wide with excitement. Munster was a man who lived for the fight, and in the prison, there was no one who could match him.

The big man lunged at Cutter with his knife hand. Cutter saw it coming and tried to move back, but didn’t move far enough, the knife gouging his shoulder.

The blade wasn't sharp and clean. It didn't slice. It gouged, tearing at the flesh. Blood trickled from the jagged wound.

Cutter threw himself back against the far wall, as the big man came at him again. Cutter figured he may have underestimated his opponent. For a big guy, Munster was remarkably quick and agile.

With Cutter against the wall, Munster swung his knife hand in a savage arc, aiming for the throat. Cutter ducked under the wild swing, and thundered two hard punches into Munster's belly. They took the wind out of the big man's sails, stopping him in his tracks.

Cutter slipped off the wall, and kicked hard, into Munster's ankle, with the side of his foot as he moved past. This threw the big man off balance just as he was about to stab at Cutter once more. Instead he found himself falling away, and raised his knife hand to counterbalance his shifting weight.

Cutter saw the opportunity, rushed forward and grabbed the knife hand at the wrist, and twisted the big man's arm back. With his free hand Munster tried to punch Cutter's face, but the momentum was with Cutter, and it ended up being only a glancing blow. Cutter swung Munster back around, towards the tiled wall. The prisoners all moved to the side, as the combatants barged through.

Munster swung at Cutter again with a balled fist, punching him in the ear. It stung like a motherfucker! Cutter ignored the pain, focusing on his knife hand. He smashed that hand repeatedly into the tiled wall. Munster's knuckles became bloodied and bruised with each blow. Finally he dropped the knife, and Cutter released his grip. He shouldn't have. Munster wasn't finished yet!

The big man reached out, and grabbed Cutter by the shoulders. Cutter twisted away, but only to have a wild uppercut from the big man catch him on the nose. Blood ran down Cutter's face, dripping from his chin and spiralling into the shower water at their feet.

Both men backed off for just a second, eyeing up their opponent. Munster was the first to move, throwing a big roundhouse right, which Cutter ducked under easily. In response, Cutter thudded two hard jabs into the bigger man's kidneys.

Munster roared in pain, and charged at Cutter, scooping him up in his big arms and pushing him into the tiled wall once again. Then he threw a flurry of wild punches. Cutter raised his arms in defence, most of the blows hitting his arms.

Angered that he couldn't get a clean head-punch in, Munster, reached for Cutter's arms and tried to pull them down. In that instant, Cutter, grabbed one of Munster's wrists, and twisted it around. Munster spun like a top, his back now facing Cutter. Then the big man was unceremoniously kicked in the small of the back. He fell in a heap, on the shower block floor. The prisoners who were looking on, burst into laughter. Munster didn't find it funny.

Embarrassed, and in a fit of rage, Munster bounded to his feet, turned and charged at Cutter once more. Cutter sidestepped, and threw his arm out, catching the big man around the neck. Cutter tightened his grip, and then sharply twisted. Cutter snapped Munster's neck as if he had been opening a jar of chutney. Munster slumped to the floor, the spray from the shower washing over his lifeless naked body.

The prison guards marched Cutter to the hole. Solitary confinement. Cutter hadn't intended to kill Munster, but instinct had taken over. All his years of training, and the skills he had acquired, couldn't just be turned off, like a person could flick off a light switch. He had been trained to react, in just that way. His disposal of Munster was a textbook manoeuvre. In the theatre of war, you were rewarded for such a feat. In civilian life, you were punished.

Still, Cutter was trying to move on from that kind of life. He wanted to get away from all the killing and butchery. But yet, he didn't feel bad about killing Munster. In fact, it felt good. It made Cutter feel alive again. He had spent three months in hospital, healing from the bullet and knife wounds inflicted by Zheng Li. Each day in bed, he had felt like he was getting weaker – like he was losing his edge. Then came the fight with the Triads. He had been lucky on that occasion.

But the fight with Munster proved one thing. He hadn't lost his edge. He was still very capable, and very dangerous.

The steel door to the hole was opened, and the guards unceremoniously pushed Cutter inside. The door was quickly slammed shut, blocking out the light. In the darkness, Cutter felt his way to the wall and sat down against it. He was in for a long stay.

Grant LaCosta knew he would receive a call from the prison some day. The truth, however, was he didn't expect it to be so soon. He had just finished playing a vigorous game of squash with the Minister of Defence, when his mobile chirped. He excused himself, and picked it up.

“LaCosta,” he said breathlessly.

“It's Warden Van der Meer at Ironbark Correctional Facility. That prisoner, Cutter, that you wanted me to keep an eye on, he's got himself into a spot of trouble.”

“How so?”

“He's killed a man. It was self-defence, in the shower block.”

LaCosta whistled lowly. “He doesn't play well with others, does he?”

“No. There's talk there's a price on his head. I am worried other prisoners will go after him. I can't have the prison turned into an abattoir. I need something done about him. I need him out of here.”

“I'll see what I can do,” LaCosta said, as he rang off.

Solitary confinement didn't bother Cutter. It gave him time to get back in shape. In the dark, he exercised. He started with one-hundred push ups, then one-hundred sit ups. The fresh scar-tissue on his stomach, courtesy of Zheng Li's knife blade had healed well, but was thick, and ached when he stretched. Cutter ignored the pain, and kept at it. Then he stood, and shadow boxed for forty minutes, pounding an invisible opponent into submission.

The iron door to the cell swung open, and a man stood silhouetted in the door-frame. Cutter shielded his eyes against the light, as the man took two paces into the room.

“Have you changed your mind yet, Cutter?” the man asked.

Cutter recognised the voice. It was Grant LaCosta, the spook who had tried to recruit him, when he had first been brought to the prison.

“I already told you I am not interested,” Cutter grunted.

“Yeah, that's what you said. But now, I think you need me,” LaCosta responded cockily.

“How's that?”

“The Triads have put a bounty on your head.”

“How much?”

“Seventy-five thou.”

“Phew. It's nice to be popular, eh?” Cutter said sarcastically.

“The thing is, in prison, while there's a price on you, they are going to keep coming after you – in the showers, in the yard, whenever. To the men inside, seventy-five thousand dollars is a big chunk of change. It's more than some of them earn in two years. And all they have to do is stick a knife into you, or smash your head against a wall. Anything, as long as you're dead, they're in the money.”

“And you can change that?”

“If you join my team, yes!”

“What about my family?” Cutter interjected.

“What about them?”

“You said Zheng Li wasn’t the only piece of filth involved in the car chase that killed Helen and Charlotte.”

“He wasn't.”

“Conlan died in the crash. Who else was there?”

“Do we have a deal?” LaCosta urged, returning to his recruitment spiel.

“Who else was there?” Cutter repeated.

“If you work for me, I will tell you all I know. The men behind the men. The ones who pulled the strings. The ones that killed your family. Do we have a deal?”

Cutter stood silently for a minute running his fingers through his greasy hair. LaCosta stood nervously awaiting a response. He was sure he had him this time. Cutter raised his eyes to heaven as if he was seeking some divine intervention. When he didn't receive any, he finally walked over to LaCosta and held out his hand.

“LaCosta, we have a deal,” Cutter said.

They shook hands, cementing the relationship. Within twenty-four hours, Cutter would be out of prison, and back on the streets, cleaning up things, his way.

Bio:

James Hopwood is the pen name of David James Foster. He is the author of King of the Outback and Rumble in the Jungle, books in the popular Fight Card series. He also scribed the retro-spy thriller, The Librio Defection and contributed to Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Vol 1. and Crime Factory magazine. David lives in Melbourne, Australia, and can be found online at http://permissiontokill.com/