Chapter Ten - (Part 1 of 2)

I began to think about retirement.

With the demise of my business agent, I realized that no new contracts would be forthcoming for me. But I did not go to pieces because of this. After getting mired with this liquidation shit for donkey's years, I was fed up with it anyway. It was high time to cast away my guns. Also, when Suet-foong came into my life, she changed me. I could no longer feel my adrenalin pumping in excitement when I blew somebody's brains off, like in the case of Mayor Tan Chin. Right now, the only thing able to stir me up was the soft moans and the pleasurable writhing of my wife when we made love. Guess her flame of femininity, ignited by both the god and beast in her, had morphed me from a killer into a lover, if you know what I mean. Blame it on my raging hormones.

Of course Suet-foong did not believe me when I told her of my intention.

"You're full of baloney," she remarked. We were sitting on the verandah with the nocturnal creatures and the moonlight after dinner.

"No, I'm serious," I protested. "I'm getting tired of killing people. There must be a healthier way to make a living."

"You can never retire, Ake."

"That is not a very encouraging answer."

"I know. But let me ask you this: apart from being a sharpshooter, what else can you do best?"

"Well, I ... umm ..." I spluttered, trying to think of something. But my mind was blank. In the end, I kept my mouth shut.

"Did I hurt you with my not-so-subtle choice of words?" she asked.

"Nah, it didn't hurt one teeny-weeny bit. To tell you the truth, I like my wife to be honest to me."

It hurt like hell, goddammit.

"Take another break, this time a longer one," she suggested. "You are just exhausted. Get away from this hellish place. You need to renew, refresh, and re-energize yourself. Decide what you want to do with your life only after you return."

My eyes lit up, remembering our wonderful sojourn in Hangzhou. That experience had triggered my interest in travelling that I was not aware of. "Wow, that's a swell idea!" I replied with mammoth excitement. "And I guess you will be joining me again, right?"

"It's either that or I am divorcing you."

"What, divorce?" I almost yelled. "Hey, this word is banned between us!"

"Then don't ask silly questions, do I make myself clear?"

"Loud and clear, skipper."

The months turned. Spring gave way to summer. The Moon Festival came and went. Despite our eagerness to begin our sabbatical, all the more so for Suet-foong when she smelled adventure, we were not able to do so straightaway. For one thing, my wife found it absurd to pay rent for an unused studio after our departure. With that thought, she decided to put her business up for sale. Easier said than done, it was an arduous task looking for buyers; she, like many other artists in China, was ahead of her time and her works were not highly regarded by the people here. Eventually in early October, her good friend Mabel Wong, the head organizer of the art fair, and one of the very few who recognized her genius, accepted half of her proposal; she would purchase all her illustrations, but declined to take over the lease of the studio as she had her own gallery. Suet-foong agreed and after inking the deal, she gave a month's notice to her landlady before vacating the premises as stipulated in her tenancy agreement. Then with the proceeds from the transaction and the seven paintings sold at the art fair including the butt piece, she sent three hundred dollars home. The rest of the money was deposited in the bank under our joint savings account.

Upon reflection, these few months were our happiest in our oh-so-brief time together. Making the commitment to apply ourselves to our marriage with the same energy that we placed in our respective line of work, we undoubtedly got on very well. We would take turns to cook dinner, go shopping or watch an opera during the weekend, or just gaze at the sunset while holding hands. I would write her love notes and put them in places where she would expect to find them, like the laundry basket or her purse. She would fix my favorite jasmine tea drink, and buy herself sexy outfits, saying that they were actually presents for me to ultimately take them off her body. Yeah, memories are all that I have now, sweetened as time goes by, just like wine.

On one of my rare nights out with the boys, I caught up with my best buddy Du Sze-hoi at his nightclub. Only thirty-one years old, he was the leader of the Green Gang who controlled the narcotics trade in Shanghai. Having ears that stood out like mushrooms and eyes of a triumphant rat, he was a homicidal and vulgar drug lord with bottomless talent for inducing fear. But when he was with me, he always showed his softer side. Perhaps knowing I am Mr. Clean had something to do with him holding me in high regard.

After Sze-hoi and I had made ourselves cozy at a private corner, we laughed and chatted away while drinking our Johnnie Walker like a fish to water. But when he offered to get a few of his buxomly hostesses to join us, I politely declined out of my respect for Suet-foong. My pal was naturally jabbed by shock; this was the first time I said no.

"You got fucking castrated or something?" he bellowed.

Told you he was vulgar.

"No, I got married," I replied casually.

To be continued ...