"My Trauma Is Your Pleasure"
12/2/2011
I.
"You stink of cheeseburgers!" screamed Uncle Pao.
With one foot on the stairs, Sheng paused. How could the old man possibly smell that from so far away? Walking here to his office from his quarters in the KDF building, Sheng had indeed gone into a Burger King and eaten a typical junk food meal from the bag on the way. But he had then walked a mile through a brisk early December wind. It was impossible. Uncle couldn't possibly detect any aroma.
"And French fries, too?" the old man yelled. "Your arteries are slamming shut like prison doors cutting off your life."
Reaching the third floor landing, Sheng Mo-Yuan shrugged off his white topcoat. He was wearing his favorite business suit, dark brown with a tan shirt and a dark brown tie. It had been tailored to fit well and yet leave enough room in the crotch to allow high kicks if necessary. At only five feet five, Sheng sometimes wore shoes with two-inch heels but today he had chosen soft leather ones.
Sheng held up one hand, "Uncle, please! You know there are tenants on the upper floors and it is midnight."
"What, are you worried about your friends in the so-called 'massage spa?' Foo. I have nothing against whores, nephew. They are more honest than politicians or lawyers. At least you get what you pay for."
"Whatever. As long as you keep your voice down." Sheng shook his head. Uncle Pao was standing in front of the office door. Written on the frosted glass panel was ARGENT INVESTIGATIONS and beneath that the Chinese characters 'Chuan Lo Tsing' that translated as 'Fist For Hire' or 'Hard-Working Fist.' The hours OPEN 12 MIDNIGHT TO 9 AM were printed beneath with a phone number.
"Too much meat," grumbled Uncle Pao. "You will look like an American with your belly hanging down between your legs." The old man himself was thin to the point of seeming frail. Pao was at least seventy, his eyes invisible behind thick eyeglass lenses and his white hair sticking up in several directions. He wore loafers, black slacks and a white dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up a turn. As usual, he bristled with disapproval.
Watching the elder give him a critical examination, Sheng worried for an instant that he had not shaved his rudimentary whiskers closely enough or that his fingernails were not immaculate. But he shook that off. After all, Pao worked for HIM.
"Thank you for watching the business today," Sheng said with infinite patience. "Were there any calls?"
"Calls? Oh yes! The landlord reminding you that the carpet in the halls will be steam cleaned on Friday. Your so-called legal counsel, Taylor Worth, asking if you have finished your paperwork on that Black Mantis battle. The notorious Dire Wolf, that grey-eyed walker in the night, calling to see if you had heard anything about some fool called Avathor being in town...."
Sheng moved past Uncle Pao and found the office door was unlocked with the lights on. "Avathor, huh? That guy is always bad news."
"But I believe what you really want to know is whether there were any calls that could mean new clients!" shouted Pao. "For your detective agency? No. Of course not. Your door and your business cards announce that you will not be here during normal daytime hours when most of the world works."
"Tell me more," said Sheng as he hung his topcoat on a hook on the back of the office door. He crossed over to his desk against the far wall, passing the smaller desk and chair he had had brought in for Pao. "What have you got the thermostat on, 90?!"
"Show some consideration for your seniors," Pao grumbled. He pulled out his own chair and dropped behind his desk, set at a right angle to Sheng's so that they could watch clients from different angles. Old copies of the Chinese language newspaper WORLD JOURNAL were spread out on Pao's desk with various articles circled in ink.
On Sheng's own desk, with its old-fashioned landline and IN and OUT baskets, two days' mail was in a neat stack. Sheng riffled through it. At least Pao didn't open his mail, he thought. Yet.
"And one more thing," Uncle Pao said. "The local Benevolent Society has asked if you intend to ever go to a meeting. These are not the old bloody-handed Tongs, nephew. This association is made of independent businessmen and they discuss rent control, street crime, how the City robs the Chinese as they ever have loved to do...."
Smiling despite himself, Sheng Mo-Yuan realized that there was no point in trying again to explain to Uncle Pao that he himself was not Chinese. Sheng was from the adjacent realm of Chujir, whose inhabitants believed they were the ancestors of the Han people. That distant sundering had occured during the little-known Darthan Age of thirty thousand years ago. He had no relatives in the world and this cranky old man Sheng Pao-Wang could not possibly be his actual uncle.
But when he tried to explain all this, Sheng saw Uncle Pao's attention wander immediately and the subject was changed. Sheng did look like a Northern Chinese after all, and he could speak Cantonese plus a little Mandarin, which was all Pao wanted to know.
"I almost forgot," said the old man, digging through the bottom drawer of his desk. He came up with a brown paper bag that had grease stains on its bottom. "Ah. That nice Mrs Cheng in the Szechuan place made some chicken feet for us. You should meet her."
Sheng sniffed and recognized the aroma. Before he could respond, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. The Chujiran rose to his feet, shifting the gralic focus in his body to increased speed in case this meant an attack.
"Do not get your hopes up," said Uncle Pao. "It is merely some alcoholic looking for a warm dry corner in which to sleep..."
Contradicting the old man with some thoroughnes, a tall slim woman appeared in the doorway. Her long hair was so blonde it was almost white and her face had the smooth effortless perfection only youth and lucky DNA provided. She took one hesitant step forward and fell flat on her face.
II.
Sheng hopped over her prone form and was out in the hall in a split-second, looking in both directions and then vaulting down the steps to the landing below. No one was in sight. He wheeled and rushed back into his office just as Uncle Pao was reaching their visitor.
"Very nimble," muttered the old man. "If any gangsters were out there, your acrobatics would have inspired applause." He had grasped the blonde woman's wrist and his bushy eyebrows lowered. "Her pulse is as strong as a mule's!"
Their visitor stirred and sat up. Those white lashes opened to reveal startling green eyes. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I have hypoglycemia and I haven't eaten today."
"Your blood sugar is low?" Sheng helped her up into one of the chairs facing his desk, then fetched her a Snickers bar from the center drawer. She took dainty little bites as Uncle Pao made a disgusted noise at seeing a candy bar.
"Welcome to Argent Investigations. I'm Sheng Mo-Yuan, sometimes called Argent. This is my Uncle Pao."
Giving them a smile as if it was a present, she said, "I'm Sleet. Sleet Robbins. I know it's a funny name but my sister started calling me that when we were little and it stuck. I'm so glad you're here, Mr Sheng."
Adding up his impressions, Sheng decided she was twenty-five or twenty-six, a little underweight at five feet seven. The fine-textured hair was ash blonde to the roots and it matched her pale skin tones. Sheng noted her handmade leather shoes, the fitted Navy blue dress and the expensive and unpretentious watch. Either she had money or someone was spending money on her. The hands were well-tended and manicured without the slightest sign of ever having done any labor.
"What brings you here, Miss Robbins?" Sheng asked, leaning one hip against a corner of his desk and studying her suspiciously.
"Please call me Sleet. I'm in serious trouble, Mr Sheng. A man I was dating casually turned out to be involved with a professional thief."
"Do these people have names?"
"My former flame is not important. I haven't seen him in weeks. It's his employer that frightens me. Evidently, this man has the impression I know too much about his plans. I believe he means to silence me."
"Okay," Sheng pressed her. "Does HE have a name?"
"No one knows his true name or where he comes from," Sleet said. "Everybody calls him the Moray."
That got a response. Sheng stood up and glanced over at Uncle Pao, who scowled as if stricken with sudden acid reflux. "The Moray. Yeah, he has a certain reputation." The Chujiran crossed behind his desk and seated himself. "Do you feel any better?"
"Yes, thank you." Sleet aimed her gorgeous face at him. "What's ironic is that I do have some information about this crook. My boyfriend, well almost boyfriend, mentioned an upcoming robbery involving rare coins from the Confederacy. The Confederacy from the American Civil War more than a hundred years ago."
"I've heard of it," Sheng managed to say with a straight face. "So. The Moray is worried you might compromise his upcoming heist and he's considering getting rid of you to simplify things?"
Sleet smiled and nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid I'm not the bravest person you'll ever meet. I leave a room if a spider is on the furniture. The more I thought about this Moray planning my... my demise...."
Abruptly, Sheng Mo-Yuan rose and pressed a finger to his lips. "Uncle Pao, perhaps you might explain how Argent Investigations works?"
With an exasperated sigh, the old man watched Sheng stalk silently out of the office into the hall. He turned toward Sleet, "My nephew has a good heart but that is Nature's way of compensating for how empty his head is! He resists even the best advice from those who have survived seventy years and who have naturally learned more about life..."
Out in the dimly lit hall, Sheng froze into position and listened. His ability to channel gralic force through his body could give him elevated speed or strength or durability, but he had never found a way to enhance his senses. Normal hearing had to suffice
The three other businesses on this floor had all closed at either five o'clock or at nine. The financial planning service, the computer repair shop, the real estate referral agency... their doors were certainly locked. Next to Sheng's office was a narrow door to a closet that usually held buckets, mops, brooms and a pile of rags. The faint scraping noise was coming from in there.
Increasing his strength, the Chujiran yanked the door open and reached in to seize someone by the coat front. He lifted the tall young man high overhead with one arm as if it took no effort at all, then shook him vigorously and swung him from side to side. When he released the intruder, the man fell bonelessly to the floor and made a strange croaking noise in his confusion.
Glancing up, Sheng saw Uncle Pao and Sleet Robbins peering out from inside his office. He turned his attention to the disoriented man. "Start talking!"
"Daw. Uh, hold on," mumbled a gawky guy in his twenties. He had light brown hair that flopped down almost in his eyes. "Where's Sleet? I came here to find her. She's in real danger."
From the doorway, the platinum blonde scoffed. "Norbert. That's only Norbert Hoess. He's the loser I dated once or twice."
III.
Grabbing Norbert by one arm, Sheng hauled him up onto his feet and propelled him toward the office with a casual push that sent the young man slamming against the doorjamb.
"My God, you're strong for a little guy!" said Norbert. "I mean, err... wait, that didn't come out right."
"You need to show me some identification," Sheng growled. He examined the drivers license handed to him and was satisfied that this was indeed Norbert Thomas Hoess, born June 1 1983 and therefore twenty-eight. His address was in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. Demanding some ID from Sleet as well, he learned her name was Shannon Lee Robbins, born December 14 1976, with an address in Westchester. She was ten years older than she looked, he noted with surprise. The photos matched the two of them and his experienced judgement decided that the licenses were authentic.
Once he had them seated in front of his desk, Sheng Mo-Yuan stared at them for a long moment without speaking. Norbert slicked back his unruly longish hair with his fingers, fidgeted and shifted in his seat and suddenly began to talk.
"Look, Sleet didn't know I was coming here. I'm just worried and who can blame me? I followed her on the subway and was lucky enough to spot her entering this building. It's not safe, Chinatown at midnight, a girl as beautiful as she is--"
"Lay off the compliments," Sleet interrupted. "They don't work on me."
"Aw, honey--"
"No. No 'honey.' You had your audition and it didn't pan out." She swung those bright green eyes back on Sheng like weapons. "He was trying to impress me with tall tales about being a cat burglar and the right hand man of the Moray. Look at him! He couldn't lift a pack of gum from a newsstand."
Sheng held up his hand for silence. "If Norbert is a phony, then why are you concerned about this Moray?"
"That's my fault," Norbert admitted. "I bragged about knowing the Moray and helping to plan some of his crimes. I was blowing hot air, you unnerstand, trying to show Sleet that I was someone to reckon with. I never imagined it would lead to this."
From where he was standing facing the window that looked down on Canal Street, Uncle Pao grumbled in Cantonese, >"Lies, all lies, nephew. The truth would choke these two like a bone in the throat."<
Disregarding that typically helpful comment, Sheng asked his visitors, "And how do you know that this Moray character is even aware of your existence?"
Reaching into the inner pocket of her coat, Sleet drew out a 4X5 photo and handed it over. "I drive a 2009 Lexus, cherry red. This afternoon, I found that under a windshield wiper."
The Xeroxed picture showed a remarkably unappealing creature with small round eyes and a gaping mouth. "That's a Moray eel, all right. Big specimen." He turned the picture over and saw, written in red ink, 'You Talk Too Much.' Sheng took a breath and placed the photo on his desk without returning it.
"There you have it," Sleet sneered. "Norbert here was not only a cheap date, he got me in trouble with some famous criminal."
Sheng tapped a forefinger on the photo. "I'm not convinced. I'd have to check around with people who have dealt with the Moray to see if this is a characteristic move of his. Who knows? There's no reason that Norbert couldn't have clipped this picture out of a library book and left it himself."
"Who, me?" squeaked Norbert.
"But then there is the interesting detail about the planned theft of the Confederate coin," Sheng went on. "If you aren't actually an associate of the Moray, how would you know about that?"
"Drat," said the lanky young man. He hung his head as if in the principal's office about to receive a lecture. "I read about that in the paper. A collector named Hayward, Julian Hayward had an interview about how rare Confederate ten-dollar gold coins were and how he had the only one on the East Coast. I just made up the story that I was working with the Moray to steal it."
"Hah! I caught the only speck of truth these two have spoken tonight," laughed Uncle Pao. "It is that the boy has read a newspaper in his life."
"Thank you for your help, Uncle." Sheng went on. "The only way this makes any sense is if the Moray actually was thinking about stealing this coin and you got it right by sheer coincidence...? But how would he know you were talking about him?"
Before either of them could answer, everyone's attention was diverted to Uncle Pao at the window. He rapped on the pane with a knuckle and said, "Who has left that black SUV at the curb since these young liars came here?"
In the second that Sheng and his visitors swung around to see what Pao was talking about, the still-open doorway was filled with three masked men holding impressive .357 Magnum revolvers.
IV.
"This is intolerable!" shouted Uncle Pao with a stamp of his foot. "Not one client for days and now the office is crowded with crazy Gwei-Lo!"
"Settle down, Pop." The gunman in front of the other two brandished his weapon to be sure to be sure the old man saw it. "You wouldn't want a tunnel through your skull, would you?" Like the other thugs, he was wearing a disposable cloth mask across his nose and mouth. They were commonly used to avoid spreading germs but made adequate disguises. The wool hats pulled down over their hair helped as well.
Sheng Mo-Yuan had raised both hands to shoulder level and stepped around the desk so he was in front of his Uncle. No one there had any way of knowing, but he had shifted the graic focus in his body to resilience. His muscle and bone were reinforced with the transcendental energy, and although even the heavy bullets would bruise him and maybe knock him down, they would not do any real damage.
But that would be no help to Uncle Pao. Or to Sleet and Norbert. If Sheng had been alone, he likely would have charged these goons, but he did not dare resist. "Everyone, get your hands up slowly," he ordered.
"Yeah, you're a smart boy," said the lead gunman. "Everybody up and on your feet. Nice and easy. You're all coming with us."
Uncle Pao pointed a bony finger. "You work for the Moray!"
"What was your first clue?" asked the leader of the three. "Keep quiet. Our orders are to bring you to the boss alive.. if we can."
As they stood up, Norbert said in complete misery, "This is all my fault."
"Of course it's your fault!" snapped Sleet Robbins. "Who said otherwise?"
"Hey, Rico, that there is a real babe," said one of the gunmen. "Maybe if there's not enough room, she can sit on my lap, heh heh."
"Try to be professional," Rico told him. The three gunmen stepped aside to allow all four captives room to get through the door. Last to leave, Uncle Pao carefully turned off the lights and made sure the door was locked. This amused the thugs greatly.
"He thinks he's coming back here--" began one of them, only to be shushed by Rico.
All of them went down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk without incident. This had been planned well enough, as the group emerged, the doors of the black SUV were opened from within. There were three seats, and a gunman ushered two of the captives in, then followed and closed the doors. The leader Rico slid into the front and turned around to be able to cover everyone with his revolver. Without waiting for instructions, the masked driver eased out into the light winter traffic.
Next to each other in the rearmost seat, Uncle Pao and Sheng sat with their hands in plain view. Even under the circumstances, Pao could not resist a lecture. "I hope you have learned from this, nephew. Close and lock your office door at all times! It would not hurt to install a peephole as well. I am pleased to see you learning your trade the hard way, since that way it will stay with you."
"My trauma is your pleasure," Sheng replied. Looking over at the huge black hole of the revolver barrel pointed at his face, he said, "I don't suppose there's any point in asking questions?"
"Nah. We're only the delivery boys. You might as well keep quiet and get some rest."
From the front seat, Rico handed out black cotton eyemasks without openings. These were sold as sleep aids because they cut out all light, and worked well as blindfolds. Rico watched as the four prisoners placed the eyemasks on and he ordered the gunmen to be sure no one could see at all.
Sheng wondered about this. If the gang intended to kill all four of then, why bother hiding the route they were taking? Why bother wearing disguises themselves? The Moray had a reputation for being merciless and for not leaving witnesses, so this was puzzling.
Norbert's voice said, "Sleet, I'm so sorry," and was immediately answered by a female rejoinder, "You should be!"
The rest of the ride went by in an uneasy silence. Sheng had undergone training to allow him to reconstruct a journey where he couldn't see, but it failed this time. They made many turns and obviously backtracked several times, lengthening the trip. Sheng hoped to catch some distinctive sound. A train whistle, seagull cries, maybe a bell or machinery of some sort. Nothing. He was out of luck this time.
Well over an hour passed before the SUV rolled to a stop and they were hauled roughly out into the chilly night.
"One of you has to be snuffed," said Rico's voice. "It'll make the rest of you cooperate better."
V.
Two more men in dark clothing and the face masks had joined the assemblage. One held a double-barreled shotgun and the other had a Marlin .30-.30 tucked under one arm. These new additions to the gang stood at a distance as the prisoners had their eyemasks removed.
Under a murky winter sky with only a crescent moon, the sole light came from a single bulb over the door of a bungalow. Sheng had no idea where they were. No other buildings were in sight, just pine trees and a dirt road on which their SUV was parked. Off by the side of the bungalow was a dark Nissan.
The gunmen lined everyone up. The apparent leader, Rico, beckoned to Norbert Hoess to step forward.
"Come on, kid, this won't take long."
When Norbert didn't respond, Rico backhanded him hard across the face with a sharp retort. "I said, come on! Don't drag it out."
Giving Sleet a last tragic look, the trembling young men went with two of the thugs over to the edge of the woods. In the dim light, they were just three dark shapes against deeper darkness.
Sheng Mo-Yuan was ready to intervene but had to stop. A 357 Magnum barrel was pressed against the back of Uncle Pao's head and another at Sleet Robbins. The guns aimed at him would not have deterred him, but Sheng realized with a sinking heart that he could not act quickly enough to keep either Pao or Sleet alive.
As they watched figures under the pines, they saw Norbert be swung around to face the trees. There was the blinding white flash and sharp crack of a shot. Norbert fell straight down to lie in a heap. Sheng clenched his fists until they hurt but made no dramatic vows of vengeance. He had already decided he would not allow any of these men to see the dawn. Then something occurred to him and he eased up.
The two men hauled Norbert's form deeper into the woods. Rico snorted. "Now you folks are gonna take the situation more seriously. Come on, the boss has something to say."
Sheng glanced at Sleet Robbins. The beautiful face was set in a tight grimace but she had not made any sound. No tears fell. She obediently went where she was directed to go as if sleepwalking.
>"Nephew, think for a moment," said Uncle Pao. "There is so much deceit and deception here. What you think you saw--"<
"Will you shut up!" shouted Rico. "Damn it, I knew we shoulda take you to be shot instead of that kid."
Pao muttered but fell silent. Despite the grim situation, Sheng had to smile. Uncle would argue with a tiger while it ate him. But he thought he knew what the old man had tried to tell him.
Marched under watchful stares, the three prisoners were brought around to the back of the bungalow. Over the back door burned a 100-watt bulb so they could see clearly. Here was a stone-flagged patio, with a solid oak picnic table flanked by two benches. The gunmen tugged one of the benches back away from the table and ordered the captives to sit down.
Sheng saw Uncle Pao trying to catch his eye. In Cantonese, he gave the old man instructions and received a barrage of outrage in return.
"Hey, hey, talk American!" snapped Rico. "We don't savvy that Jap talk."
Smiling with relief as his conclusions took shape, Sheng said. "It's just as well you can't understand the names he was calling you."
"Yeah, I bet."
After a long uncomfortable silence, the back door of the bungalow opened and a bulky form in black robes emerged. With thin leather gloves and a full-head mask with only slits for eyeholes, the man was completely concealed. He looked like he was six feet tall and would weigh maybe two hundred and seventy pounds. With a grunt, he sank down on the bench to face them over the table.
"The Moray, huh?" Sheng said. "Okay, time to get down to business."
The voice that answered him came through a throat device that distorted it into a flat monotone. "Sheng Mo-Yuan, known to some in the Midnight War as Argent. I have heard too many reports of your unusual abilities to doubt them."
"Yeah, we all have our gifts," Sheng replied.
"I lost a good man trying to get possession of the Confederate half dollar," said the Moray in that robotic tone. "It is known that Julian Hayward has set up a number of quite illegal death traps guarding his collection. Evidently concealed poison barbs and electric shocks are part of them. You, Argent, are the only man I know who might be able to survive these traps and return with the coins."
The Chuiran shook his head, leaned forward and placed his palms on his knees. "Sorry, I'm not taking any new clients right now."
Next to him, Sleet Robbins gasped as if she had fallen into ice water. "Mr Sheng! You can't talk to him like that. This is the Moray."
"Drop the brash mannerism," said the mastermind through his electronic distortion. "You saw what happened to that unfortunate young man...."
"What I saw," Sheng said calmly, "was someone who did not walk across the patio and sit down like a fat man. He moved easily, like a thin man wearing some padding to look fat. You weren't shot, Norbert. That was just a pantomime to unnerve us."
After he spoke, the Moray sputtered in indignation. The gunmen had all moved around to make sure their bullets would not endanger their boss, so Sheng was facing the entire gang at once. He yelled, "Neng Mei!" and was gratified to see Uncle Pao drop down and scramble under the table.
Bounding up, Sheng used his Argent power to reinforce every cell in his body with gralic force. As he started beating on the gangsters, one bullet after another ricocheted off his body. He felt the stinging impact and knew he would be bruised but nothing worse. First, he seized the shotgun and wheeled around to smack its butt against the man with the rifle. Those were the weapons he particularly didn't want to face.
With over a decade of Kumundu training at Tel Shai, Sheng would have been an overwhelming opponent in any case. But when he was in his enhanced state, his fists were as dense and hard as solid metal. Every punch he threw broke bones or drove the air out of a man's lungs. More slugs pounded against him, ripping his clothing apart but not breaking his skin.
After a few seconds, only Rico was left. He gamely raised his fists and moved forward in a boxer's stance. Sheng crashed a wide overhand right that made sure Rico's jaw would need to be wired together in an ER. The last thug dropped and the Moray still had not reacted.
Lunging over to the bench, Sheng gripped the black cowl and ripped it off. Norbert Hoess blinked and gaped, unable to process what had happened in the past thirty seconds. He opened and closed his mouth without being able to speak.
Making up for that, Pao pulled himself up from under the table with some difficulty. "Do not trouble yourself with concern over a feeble ancient trying to get up off the ground," he grumbled. "I am fine. I do not require any assistance despite my advanced years...."
"Sorry, Uncle," Sheng said. He pointed a finger as Sleet had gotten up and started edging away. "Uh-uh, lady. You're not going anywhere except into police custody with these goons."
"Look at your clothes!" she breathed. "They're ripped to shreds. How can you not be hurt?"
"Oh, hell," Sheng said. "I liked this outfit. It cost me twelve hundred dollars when I was in Singapore. Now I know why Sable says to wear the field suit in combat situations."
Seeing Norbert start to try to escape as well, Sheng gave him a dope slap to the back of the head without remembering that his hand was still steel hard. The young man groaned and slumped over with a dazed expression in his crossed eyes.
"I don't understand any of this," whined Sleet in an uncharacteristic loss of assurance. "Didn't you think that they might shoot ME? Weren't you worried about my safety?"
Uncle Pao cackled. "Silly child. My nephew is not always as unperceptive as he seems. Your face fell when he started finding holes in your story. He knew right away that you are the one called the Moray. And that the imbecile in the black robes was working for you. Heh heh. If you had ever met Wu Lung or the Spinner of Webs, you would have an idea of what a REAL crimelord is like." He laughed again, then pulled out his phone. "I believe it is time to call the police and pray we reach those few who are not hopelessly corrupt or lazy," he said. "That obese Lieutenant Montez is almost competent."
"Yes, good idea." Sheng had been preoccupied with the sad state of his clothing, but now he went around gathering up the various firearms and getting them out of reach in case some of the gang recovered enough to be a threat. "I guess we can look forward to hours and hours of answering questions and signing statements."
"Not to mention the joys of appearing in court in a few months to testify while lawyers try to make us seem like chronic liars," said Uncle Pao. "And you do realize, nephew, that you did not take on any clients tonight? You should have signed on with this white-haired woman when she first appeared. Then you would have made some money." He let out a breath that carried vast disappointment. "At least I am glad you are learning some lessons through nights like this."
Sadly fingering the loose strips of his shirt, Sheng sighed right back at him. "My trauma is your pleasure."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
