Chapter 45: Eat My Lightning!

On Patane Street, inside the hall of an old tenement building, Knife-edge Tung sat beside the gambling table, his sharp gaze fixed on the two fat gulls in front of him who were spouting full sentences of English.

Having lost continuously through the entire night, the pair had already borrowed over half a million in usurious loans. With compound interest, the sum would double in just a month. Playing until now, even the most foolish person would sense that something was amiss.

Suddenly, a Singaporean man wearing a suit, his forehead beading with sweat, flipped his cards over and cried out in shock, "Impossible! Every single hand beats mine, there's a ghost in this!"

A junket agent standing beside the gambling table sneered, "If you can't afford to play, don't play. You claim we cheated? Bring out the evidence then."

Nine out of ten gambling dens are rigged. When fleecing fat gulls in external games, they always start by giving a little sweetness, then slowly slice away the flesh step by step. Only when the gull is completely ruined and deeply in debt do they detain the person and demand their family send money for a ransom.

As long as the money is paid obediently, the casino boss wouldn't go as far as taking a life. Knife-edge Tung sat in his chair, lit a cigar, slowly exhaled smoke, and took it all in stride. He said calmly, "If you don't want to play, fine. Clear your tab."

"Clear your mother's head! Cheating breaks the rules, believe it or not, I'll report this to the Judiciary Police." The Singaporean slammed his palm on the table, stood up, and shouted, his momentum surprisingly unyielding, making him look rather well-connected.

Crap-life Fei, lying prone in the grass on a hillside, held a pair of binoculars with both hands. Catching the signal, he picked up his headset and said, "Chicken Head, time to work."

As a hitman's broker, one must not only know how to take contracts and collect money, but sometimes also act as an observer to coordinate with the assassin. Having a good broker is like wings added to a tiger for an assassin. Every time a job was done, the broker and the assassin would split the earnings fifty-fifty.

Seeing that the fat gull still dared to stand up and shout, Knife-edge Tung was far from startled; instead, he was pleased. He applauded and said, "Good, very good, plenty of backbone you've got. Both of you are men of status, clearing a debt of several hundred thousand should be a breeze. Consider it making a friend. Next time you come to play, remember to drop my name."

"Ah Kit, give them a telephone."

The junket agent pulled the telephone cord and placed a landline telephone beside the gambling table. One of the fat gulls pushed the junket agent aside, reached across the gambling table, and attempted to snatch the debt note lying on the surface.

Knife-edge Tung narrowed his eyes, drew the Swiss pocket knife from his waist, and slammed it down hard onto the table. The curved blade stopped precisely against the gambler's hand, and he said coldly, "Try it. See if your hand is faster, or my knife. Just a useless piece of trash, and you want to cause trouble in my turf?"

Wearing a mask, Chicken Head easily vaulted over the wall, landed behind a henchman, swung a dagger, and viciously slashed across a throat. He then pivoted and threw a punch straight into the face of a second henchman, before following up with a forward thrust of his blade straight into the chest.

In terms of bare-handed martial arts, he could not compare to Wan Tsai, but as a winner of the Silver Flute Award and a Jianghu assassin, he possessed formidable fighting skills—only far more ruthless, with every single move aimed at taking a life.

Having eliminated the two guard dogs, Chicken Head retrieved a replacement firearm, clutching a Black Star pistol as he hugged the wall. He approached stealthily, flashed over to the living room entrance, and fired several shots right through the glass: "Bang, bang, bang!"

Crash, the glass shattered instantly, scattering like raindrops. Inside the room, the junket agent and the loan sharks—totaling four people—were each struck by a single bullet squarely in the forehead and instantly met their doom.

***

Hearing the gunshots, Knife-edge Tung felt a jolt of shock in his heart. Before he could react, he felt a surge of warm liquid splash across his face, obscuring his vision and leaving him too terrified to make another move.

As a man of the underworld, he understood all too well what had happened. He allowed the fat gull to snatch the debt note and ignite a lighter to destroy the evidence. After all, fingerprints were on it, and if it were left at the scene for the Judiciary Police to find, it would spell trouble.

Chicken Head pressed the muzzle of his gun against Knife-edge Tung's head and said coldly, "It seems your knife isn't as fast as my gun, Ah Tung."

Recalling the instructions given by his boss, Brother Kuen, that recent police scrutiny was tight and he shouldn't go out gambling, Knife-edge Tung felt a surge of hidden regret. But how could a street gangster restrain himself from killing when he encountered a fat gull?

The two Singaporean men grabbed their backpacks and swept the cash from the table into them with faces full of joy. Those willing to take the risk of setting up traps for assassins were all desperate outlaws; how could they not grab the cash?

"Brother, which road are you from?" Knife-edge Tung still hadn't loosened his grip on the knife. Chicken Head raised his hand, striking him with the pistol grip, instantly knocking Knife-edge Tung unconscious. He then looked at the two Singaporeans and said, "Leave half!"

Two o'clock in the morning.

A black Toyota parked at the entrance of the fishing pier. Chicken Head pushed open the car door, having already changed into a brown jacket with his hair combed straight and upright, the pistol at his waist left entirely unhidden.

Crap-life Fei followed him out of the car, opened the trunk, and together they dragged the gunny sack onto the pier, stopping about ten meters away from a fishing boat. Staring out at the churning, turbulent surface of the sea, a hint of cowardice flashed in his eyes.

The cargo was successfully delivered; the boat started up and sailed out into the open sea.

Cheung Kam-wing stood up inside the cabin, picked up a fishing lantern, shined it onto the face inside the gunny sack, and nodded, "Boss, that's him."

"Wake him up." Lam Tin-sing stood with his legs apart at the bow of the boat, leaning forward slightly.

Tang Geng-yun opened the fish-holding well, and like dumping trash, tipped Knife-edge Tung right into it.

"Plop."

Knife-edge Tung fell into the water and immediately began struggling. Thrashing inside the narrow hatch, he cried out, "Let's talk this over, let's talk this over, big bosses!"

Crouched on the deck with a sneer on his face, Tang Geng-yun spoke up, "If you don't want to die, give up the location of Big Beard Wing's arms warehouse."

"Big boss, I'm just a delivery lackey, how would I know where the warehouse is? There are special people handling the transport, you guys should investigate further." With a mournful expression, Knife-edge Tung played dumb, completely stripped of his earlier arrogance.

***

Tang Geng-yun pulled out a hand grenade, looped his finger through the pin, and flashed it in the palm of his hand: "You don't know anything? Sorry then, time to feed you a grenade."

Chan On cast a glance over, wearing a sneer. He felt Wan Tsai was being foolish, and tossed the backpack he was holding onto the bow of the boat: "A little over three hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars. I didn't count it precisely, just made a casual extra earning."

Lam Tin-sing kicked it away with his foot: "You earned it yourself, spend it yourself. Ah Fei put in the effort, he gets a cut too."

Chan On's hair was ruffled by the sea breeze as he tilted his head to light a cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Already split. Consider it a loan to you, go use it for business. Didn't you want to open up financial paths? I'm contributing some cash. When the opportunity arises, remember to promote me."

Lam Tin-sing gave Cheung Kam-wing a look and said, "Brothers bound by yellow paper, I won't stand on ceremony. Ah Wing, collect the money."

Cheung Kam-wing tightened his grip on the gun bag and nodded at Chan On.

Tang Geng-yun pulled the pin, making a motion to toss the grenade into the water well, frightening Knife-edge Tung into screaming, "There's no need for this, big boss!"

"Boom."

The grenade was thrown into the sea.

As Tang Geng-yun prepared to make another threat, Lam Tin-sing had already stood up, raised his gun, and said, "I don't waste words with useless trash. If you want to talk loyalty, your whole family dies together!"

Knife-edge Tung felt as though his throat had been blocked; he opened his mouth but could not utter a sound. He had already guessed the background of these men and harbored not the slightest doubt that these dirty cops would slaughter his entire family.

Those who had crossed dirty cops in the past and been wiped out down to the last family member were hardly the first. In the Jianghu, some doubted the integrity of the dirty cops and cursed them as a bunch of scum, but no one ever doubted their viciousness—they were far more ruthless than the triads!

"Bang."

Lam Tin-sing pulled the trigger of his Black Star pistol, sending a single bullet splashing into the water. Knife-edge Tung closed his eyes, let out a wail of despair, and shouted in sheer panic, "A shipment of goods is docking next week, docking next week!"