Chapter Four - (7 & final part)

The following morning we slept in late and woke to the sound of Ah Tong knocking the door to bring the newspaper and our breakfast - two bowls of chicken porridge, fried dough, and hard-boiled eggs - which we ate at the table in our pajamas. At the same time I browsed through the paper; there were no further updates on Song Jiao-ren. I was a bit disappointed. The no news is good news proverb certainly did not apply to me here. I was also surprised at myself. In all my previous assignments I would just do my job, not giving a hoot about who my victims were, and move on. But this Song Jiao-ren character was different; I was keen to know more about him, feel for him even. Did the Almighty grant me the cruel privilege of being a human at last?

Perhaps Lau Beng could make some sense out of this conspiracy, as Suet-foong called it, and enlighten me when I got back. I may be good with the gun, but I am a bit of a greenhorn when it comes to politics. Anyway I could not care less about all this political wrangling - it was very wearisome to me. What I wanted now was to enjoy my month-long vacation; I had not taken a decent break in ages.

"A penny for your thoughts," said Suet-foong when she saw me looking pensive.

"I was thinking of Lau Beng," I replied. "He's my sifu. You remember the old goat, don't you?"

She smiled sweetly before drinking her cup of tea. "Yes, you told me all about him when we were having our dinner near my studio the other night," she replied, wiping her mouth with her serviette. "He's a former gun trafficker who took you under his wing and trained you to become a hit-man or a liquidator as you like to be known - you say it sounds more sophisticated. He's long-winded, but he has a heart of gold, and he's a surrogate father to you." She paused. "Goodness me, you call your sifu 'old goat' ... directly at him?"

"Err, no ... only when his back is turned."

She chuckled. "I've got a name for my father too."

"Really?" I asked. This was getting to be amusing, I thought. "And you tell him straight to his face?"

"Of course, I'm not chicken-hearted like you."

"Wow! I admire your guts! What do you call him, eh? Old cow? Limp-dick? Useless codger?"

"No. I call him Pa."