were still descending two minutes later. It occurred to Nolan that they were riding inside the pipe he’d spotted before they’d entered the gigantic house.
When they reached the bottom, Sunny Hi opened the elevator door—and Nolan found himself looking out on the worst Shanghai jiuba yet.
It was small and smelly, with only one light, a dim, pulsating bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling. The bar itself was tiny, and there were very few bottles of liquor behind it. Yet there were at least fifty people jammed in here. Most were pirates, no doubt.
They cheered when Sunny Hi stepped out of the elevator.
“This was where my gang got started,” he said to Nolan and Twitch. “This little place, with a lot of these same people. They are my friends, too, and I never forget my friends or my beginnings. That’s why I built my house directly above this place. So I could always come back down here and remember how it all began.”
Nolan scanned the room again, this time studying all the armed men gathered here. They looked like the road company for an old-time buccaneer movie. All shapes and sizes, scars, weird beards, bald heads, loop earrings, tattoos. Most interesting, though, they were all races and colors—and apparently languages. In other words, Nolan could have blended into this place with little more than his eye patch and a few well-placed fake tattoos.
Son of a bitch, he thought. This whole nip-tuck thing wasn’t even necessary.
The three enormous bodyguards immediately formed a phalanx in front of Sunny Hi and led him across to the bar, Nolan and Twitch in tow. The crowd parted for the head pirate, but not with as much speed or reverence as Nolan would have expected.
He’s one of them, Nolan found himself thinking. And they are like him. Pirates, to the end.
Sunny Hi brought them to a small table circled by chairs filled with boisterous pirates holding fistfuls of money. Two Asian men were sitting at the table, and at first, Nolan thought they were playing cards. But while the table did have a deck of cards on it, it also held a pistol and a small bowl full of bullets.
That’s when he finally caught on.
The Ba Xi. The Game.
It wasn’t poker, or blackjack, or craps.
It was Russian roulette.
Sunny Hi cornered the man in charge of taking bets. He indicated Nolan and Twitch. “These two men are my friends. They will bet the maximum on both parties in each round, courtesy of me. Understand?”
The betting chief understood. What this meant was, no matter the outcome, Nolan and Twitch would win. And judging by how much money was in evidence, any win would be a substantial amount of cash.
The room quieted down. With Sunny Hi on hand, the game—and the drama—could begin. The two men at the table were trying to stare each other down. One wore a red bandana, the other a black one. Both were sweating and breathing heavily. A man sitting nearby was acting as a referee. On a sign from Sunny Hi, the man cut the deck of cards, coming up with a red eight. The crowd erupted in cheers.
The man wearing the red bandana got to spin the weapon. He did so, but the muzzle wound up back pointing at him. His face fell as he took the gun, put in one bullet, spun the chamber and put it to his temple. More yelling and cheering from the crowd. Much money changing hands. Then the referee shouted: You xi!
Play!
The man pulled the trigger.
Click.
The crowd cheered wildly. With much relief, the man with the red bandana pushed the pistol over to his opponent. This man picked it up, spun the cylinder and put the muzzle up to his head.
The crowd went crazy again. More money went back and forth. The ref yelled the command again. You xi!
The man squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Another wild cheer from the crowd. Money was falling like confetti.
The man with the red bandana picked up the pistol again, and a new twist was added. He took a second bullet from the bowl and inserted it into the chamber. Now with two live rounds in the six-shot pistol, the chances that the gun would go off were one in three.
The crowd was at fever pitch. The man spun the chamber and put the gun to his temple. More money, more screaming, with Sunny Hi leading the chorus.
The man squeezed the trigger.
Click.
The bloodlust in the room rivaled the thick, smoky air. The