Dark Paradise by Solomon Blaze

Singapore.

01:17am.

January 1st 1993.

I’m sat at an empty table, in an empty restaurant, on the 56th floor of a 75 story hotel, that I, fucking, hate; eating an extremely tiny chocolate cake, that, I, fucking, love!

The bottom 5 floors are positively jam-packed with businessmen of the orient (dirty gangsters; 369 gang, specifically) - I’m from a little place called England, maybe you’ve heard of it?

‘Lee, I could hear your clumsy footsteps the second you stepped foot out of the elevator. What do you want?’ I say abruptly to Lee: my closest friend (the only person at work that I genuinely trust). Lee is Chinese, the same as everybody else hear, save for a few Malaysians here and there.

Of course Lee stops dead, bows quickly – it always looks more like a tilt in my opinion – and walks right up to my table, with an everlastingly resilient politeness.

‘Sir,’ he says in Cantonese, ‘Three, Oh, and Three, from the 303 gang have...arrived.’

Rage froths my mind into a flickering frenzy that I quickly push back into my stomach, with a deep breath that I can’t help but turn to a growl upon exhalation, ‘what is that supposed to mean?’ I demand in Cantonese through gritted teeth.

Lee’s body shifts slightly; I revolt Lee.

‘Sir I-‘

‘No.’ I answer flat out.

‘Sir?’

‘I told Him I wasn’t working tonight; no work Christmas weekend; no work New Years Eve or Day.’

‘I have been instructed by him personally, to inform you that you will be rewarded the usual 200% bonus for High Jobs on a holiday, as well as a paid one month vacation.’ Lee says without turning his gaze from my eyes once; this is why I trust Lee.

I feel a little better about the whole situation after that; I won’t lie to you.

Sigh, ‘go on then Lee, one for the New Year and all that eh?’ I say in English with a crooked smile.

‘I’m sticking to my “no S&M” rule this year,’ Lee says in a perfectly natural American accent and the usual Wong Wink – name never fails to make me laugh.

‘Right then!’ I declare, slamming my pals down on the table after my last bite of cake, jumping up from my chair, and throwing on my jacket and holster, ‘let’s go make some money.’

Lee Loads his Glock 32, ‘Right on bruh,; another wink – ting!

We walk side by side to the elevator, strutting all the way; you’d think we had springs in our shins.

Christ, I love this job. I think as I admire the handsome Devil in the mirrored surface of the lift doors.