Chinese Luck

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Bare, neon lights lit the shallow corridor feebly; the shadows slowly creeping up in the corners of the room.

The man stood like a ghost at the end of the corridor. Only his silhouette showed that he was there. However the other man didn’t know he was there, he was too busy locking the rooms of his theatre to care if there was anybody around at the early hours of the night.

The silhouette crept closer towards the man. He was wearing a black leather jacket, crisp blue jeans and a balaclava; he didn’t want the other man to know who he was, if he survived.

The other man, who was very obese, slowly made his way down the dimly lit corridor as he locked each of the doors. His large round body took up nearly the whole of the corridor.

It was quite cool, but as usual, the fat man had large patches of sweat around his underarms and chest. Each of his steps were an effort, not just on him, but on the whole building. Each of his steps gently shook the foundations of the old Victorian theatre.

The silhouette man crept closer every second, all his work was for this. The man’s shadow crawled over the fat man until it was all of his vision.

“Me sorry! No refund.” The fat man squeaked in a Chinese accent. “Come tomorrow, lot of more fun to see!”

“Where is the money? You owe him the money.” The other man replied, speaking in almost perfect English.

“I know nothing of what you talk.”

“Ohh, I think that you do. Here let me remind you.” With that, the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun, with a silencer attached.

“I have paid. Paid!” The Chinese man whimpered.

“Then why does he not have the money?” Without letting him answer, the Englishman pulled the trigger of the gun that he held the cover of his jacket. The Chinese man crumpled to the ground with a sob of despair.

He hit the ground hard. A 25mm bullet was lodged in his left lung and he choked on his own blood, as well as leaving a pool of it surrounding his grotesque corpse.

“You’re Xi Lang, right?” he whispered into the darkness.

“W-What…?” the Chinese man gasped.

“Your name? It’s Xi Lang, yes?”

The Chinese man peered at him strangely, then, through a gasp, he moaned, “No… I’m Xi Long…”

The man’s face was blank. His jaw flopped open and he sighed. He ran a hand across his bald head, feeling the tiny pinpricks of hair rustle against his skin. A small, embarrassed smile turned his lips upwards.

“Sorry man. I thought you were someone else…”


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