Eating Smoke by Chris Thrall

Author:Chris Thrall [Thrall, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Maverick Publishing Ltd
Published: 2012-03-08T09:30:32+00:00

By 7.10pm Mr Liang had yet to materialise, so I thought, ‘Ah! I’ll take a walk over there.’

I left the security of the compound and began to jog along the deserted highway in near-total darkness. In the far distance, I could see a humongous flashing sign announcing ‘OK Nightclub’, the building itself lit up like a Vegas casino on the plain’s otherwise empty skyline. As I came up over the brow of a small hill, I met with the big grin and bows of China’s kung fu champion, the humble Mr Liang, coming in the other direction.

Walking up the red-carpeted boulevard, a bodyguard was the last thing on my mind, for thirty incredible-looking hostesses in figure-hugging cheongsams lined either side, shimmering in ruby like the scales of a koi carp. A slow wave of curtsies and alluring smiles squeezed us towards the main door, two soldiers snapping to attention as we entered the spacious lobby.

Mr Liang led me along a red-, gold- and cream-coloured concourse and into the main arena. We crossed the vast and empty dance floor to the sound of Canto-romantic pop and made our way towards a table situated in the shadows off to the side.

Mr Lee sat with four other gents, who at first sight could have been the original protagonists in the Cultural Revolution. Austere in both dress and manner, I couldn’t help thinking, ‘What do these relics know about running a nightclub?’ and was glad that, not speaking a word of English, they kept a measured distance.

Mr Lee proved to be the consummate host, though, supplying me with drinks, checking I was okay and enquiring into my past and family background. The only thing he didn’t ask me about was my DJ’ing experience – fortunately.

I also got the distinct impression I was being given a lesson in the art of war (Chapter IV: Tactical Dispositions) because when it came to discussing the post every question came with the precondition ‘If ...’ – ‘If we like you ...’ ‘If you get the job ...’

‘If we like you, what salary do you want?’ was the next one.

Wow! I hadn’t even thought about it.

‘Errrm ... ten thousand Hong Kong?’ I replied, deliberately pitching below the wages I’d previously earned, to make myself more marketable.

‘Hmmmh?’ Mr Lee mused. ‘Okay. We think abou’ that ... if you get the job.’

Ceremonious music interrupted our banter, a ballet troupe appearing out of nowhere to fall into formation on the dance floor.

The performance evolved from a subtle display of unblemished romanticism into one of passion and danger, all fuelled by thrilling acrobatics, fireworks timed to perfection and the flowing crêpe streamers waved wildly by the players, who looked sensational in their colourful tasselled raiment.

The show came to a sudden and decisive finale. A clash of cymbals the signal for the dancers to drop as one to the ground, remaining motionless as a dozen flash-bangs all around sent streams of bright white sparks arcing high into the air before floating back down to meet their prostrate pose.

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