Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 404

hanging so low that you could barely see into her eyes. Her cheeks were as pale as the ghostly light of the moon,
and were gaunt and hollow as if she was terribly sick. Gang Feng didn’t want to know her name. If he did, he
might feel even worse for what he was about to do. Neither Gang Feng nor his client needed to say a word. She
gave him a slight nod, and he extended his hand, opening his palm. Solemnly, she placed a crinkled note into his
hand. It was slightly ripped, but he accepted it. He reached into his coat pocket, and retrieved a small plastic bag;
containing a fine white powder that glistened in the light. Her eyes were fixated onto it, watching its every
movement. Gang Feng looked away as he handed her the bag. He turned to look at her, and nodded sadly before
looking back down at the pavement.
The hours drifted by, and by the end of Heng He’s lunch meeting, he had secured a whole group of new
“investors” for his casino. Feeling rather content with his work for the day, he started to walk back to the start of
his shift at the Velvet Petal. The early evening sky was a maroon blanket, draped over the earth, threaded with
burnt orange clouds. The moon was still hiding in the last fragment of daytime, but would soon cast its ghostly
shadow over the bay. He arrived before the wooden door of The Velvet Petal, to see the door unlocked. Fear
struck his mind like a sharp needle, but his nerves relaxed when he heard the voice of Gang Feng, boasting
loudly to his friends about how much money he had made in a deal today. Heng He walked through the door.
“Get the games ready!” Shouted Heng He. “I’ve just brought in some rich investors, let’s show them that they’ve
made a good choice.” Everyone nodded obediently, but stayed standing and resumed their chatting as soon as
Heng He went into the back room.
The room fell completely silent, before a loud bang of something heavy hitting the floor. Suddenly, Heng He
leapt from his seat and rushed to see what had happened, but stopped dead in his tracks. The wooden door lay in
splinters on the floor, and behind it stood a woman dressed in black. Her hair was as dark as a raven’s feathers,
and was cut into a curved fringe that covered her eyes like a mask. Her thin lips were pursed into a scowl. Seared
into her right arm was a symbol, a symbol of the most dangerous type of person. A blackjack playing card. She
walked calmly into the casino, followed by two men. Their sheer size of them caused everyone in the room to
stumble backwards. They too had the blackjack symbol burned into their skin, to be there for the rest of time.
“So this is where all my clients have been going.” She said, with amusement in her voice. “I blame The Greater
Bay Area myself, but we’re going to need to take this place. Everyone knows us Macanese are the ones who run
casinos, but maybe you guys can run a dumpling shop! I’ve heard they are popular around here.” She sneered.
“Now get out.”
“No way!” Protested Heng He. “You’ll have to take us out by force.”
The woman brought her cigarette to her lips, and sucked in the nicotine. She held it in between her fingers, and
watched the white smoke dance eerily in the night air, the smell of smoke lingering as they talked.
“Well then, since this is a casino, let’s play a game,” she spoke softly, and stepped closer. “My personal favorite,”
she whispered, “russian roulette.” Out of nowhere appeared a revolver, and she held it against Heng He’s head.
His eyes were wide with horror, as he heard the click of the trigger. “Oh no,” she said. “You lose.”