Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 211

“And so that makes him a good person? He snapped at one of us because he was a minute late to work today. It’s
like he doesn’t have a heart.”
He frowns. “He did tell us to come earlier today. Said that there was a lot of cargo.”
“I didn’t hear that. Neither did the rest of the crew.”
“Maybe you have bad hearing.”
“What are you doing? Sucking up to the boss?”
He doesn’t respond, unsure himself.
His colleague has accidentally dropped the cargo.
From the distance, he can see its contents spilling all over the deck, a black mass that spreads over the port.
He runs to them, terrified. “Pick it up!”
They don’t turn to look at him, or acknowledge what he says. They all look at the black, and as he slows down to
a stop next to them, he thinks he knows why.
The black comes from a bag in the crate; he bends down to find that they are small little balls, sticky to the touch.
Dread settles in his stomach. He wants to believe that it is not what it is, that it’s a new foreign product, but he
knows otherwise, and by the looks on his colleagues’ faces, they know as well.
“It’s not white rabbit, baitu .” He hears A Fei mumble, “It’s Pak t'ou . White ground. Opium.”
It’s drizzling, the first of many to a Shanghai winter. Even now, he can smell yapian float through moist air,
blending in with the fog.
It has been a week since they had found the opium. They had packed it back into the crate as best as they could,
pretending like it had never happened. Everyone else seemed to get on fine, but he carries the cargo with a heavy
heart. Mentioning Cole Bennett’s name is taboo.
“Hey there, pretty lady. Got somewhere to go?”
It’s loud, cocky, and he looks up, immediately spotting what it is; a little woman, cornered against a wall by two
men, both big and burly. The street lights don’t do any justice to show their features but he knows that one has a
tattoo running down his arm, the other on his leg; they’re the same tattoo: Qingbang in green ink, a dragon
winding across the words- the Green Gang.
His blood runs colder than the rain. No one would not know them, not know the people who controlled the
Shanghai life; they waved the promise of opium over their heads, and just like that, millions of people were their
puppets.
He slows down his pace, but only just a bit; he is prepared to run at any time if they turned to him.
They don’t. Instead, their attention -and his- find a man that has stopped in front of them, hands in coat pockets.
He recognizes who it is in a heartbeat, and as much as he dislikes Cole Bennett, and the fact that he is another
opium dealer, another puppet, he desperately hopes that he will not take the gangsters’ side.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
A tattooed arm snakes its way around the lady’s waist, making her whimper. “Hey now, we don’t mean any
trouble. We were just going to have a nice night out with this lady. Ain’t that right, miss?” The lady doesn’t
answer.
“I suggest you let her go.” Cole Bennett takes a step forward and he hears him sigh , as if he has better things to do.
“Clearly she doesn’t like it.”
One of them steps out onto the street, facing the man; all he can see is his back and the winding tattoo on his leg.
“Oh, shut it. What are you doing here anyway, waiguoren ? There’s no need to be so uptight about it. You can
come join us. She’s a nice one.” Anyone could hear the smirk in his tone.
Cole Bennett raises a brow. “No thank you.” He declines politely, and before any of them can react, he has
knocked a solid uppercut into the gangster, who crumples to the ground.