Deep, rugged breaths came from the mouth of a next victim, laying on her stomach in a pool consisting of a mixture of her own blood and mud. The decrepit back alleys of Shanghai were a perfect location for them to strike, because of a lack of police and other locals getting in the way. The womans' back was marked by three separate stab wounds, each deep enough to kill on its' own. Together, they ensured that the woman's' chance of survival were nihil. For six months Shanghai had been tormented by these killings - they appeared random and while initially believed to be a serial murder targeting poor and disconnected women, that theory was soon proven wrong when the next murder occurred in the house of the local chief of police - his wife and son were both murdered in cold blood. Their throats had been cut open by a sharp blade followed by the three individual stabs in their backs. Upon further investigation it turned out that through the hole in her throat, the murderers had taken a piece of the police chiefs' wifes vocal chord, and through the hole in his back, the murderers had taken his sons' liver, or pieces of it. Police investigation had turned up empty - well, it had turned up that the two were murdered and that the weapon was a knife of sorts. Police soon gave up investigation into a solo serial-killer style murderer and instead focused their efforts on organized crime, anticipating an investigation into organ trafficking and theft to show them more results.

Empty. That's what the outcome of the investigation was.

Laying there, the woman coughed, pulling an arm up next to her face and pushing onto the ground, rolling herself over. Blood gushed from her wounds whenever she moved, but she needed to do this. Looking up at the sky, she felt the cold rain pouring down on her face. Was this it? A lifetime in squalor and poverty, only to die when things were going to change? A faint smile was forced onto her lips, her eyes closing and enjoying the rain for one last time.

Footsteps then approached rapidly from the direction she'd attempted to escape - she knew who it was, as there was only one person that would have followed the bloody footsteps from her house. But he was too late. Whatever these people had stolen from her, she was not going to survive the theft.

“Liling, LILING!” his voice shouted, stumbling on his hurried approach, slipping in the mud as he approached, and crawling the last few meters on all fours. His hand reached out to her head, lifting it up to support her as he looked at her face. “Liling, it's okay, I'm here now! I'll get you to the hospital, get up!”

There was no reply, not even when the man pulled on her shoulder, trying to lift her up over his shoulder. It wouldn't work. Liling opened her mouth but could not produce enough sound to call the man to attention. Only when she opened her eyes and stared into the eyes of her own brother did he stop shaking her. “Don't do this,” he told her with a shaky voice. “It's too soon. Please. PLEASE LILING!”

“It's okay, gēgē. It's not your fault.”

The man was silent for a minute, pulling his sister closer to him and resting her head on his knees. The expression on his face changed with every second, going from sadness to grief to anger. “Who did this? Tell me who did this, and I'll make them pay. I'll make the wrath of the eternal heavens come down upon them, I swear it,” he finally hissed, looking up from his sister and into the sky. From the corner of his eye he saw the blinds of one of the windows shift.

“Móguǐ,” his sister whispered. “A devil did this.”

Sirens were approaching rapidly then, and Liling knew her brother could not stay. He would surely be seen as the murderer, given his allegiances to the underworld of Shanghai, and it would be all too easy to write off the murders onto his name. She would not let the family name be soiled like that. “Go now,” she whispered, “run.”

The sirens did not phase him, nor the rapidly approaching footsteps. Rather, it was a desire for vengeance and justice for his sister that made him get up, and run away through the nearby alleyways. He was a local to these streets, and managed to find his way away from the crime scene despite the tears in his eyes and the anger in his heart. The fading voices of approaching policemen and constabularies told him he was in the clear.

That night, under the watchful eye of the police, Liling passed away as the result of an extreme and vicious attack in the night. While the investigation was ongoing, her brother found himself in a seedy speakeasy, where snazzy jazz music was being played. Most unfitting for the moment, but it was the only place he knew to go to - a place controlled by his triad brothers.



“What can I do you for, Jiao?” the bartender asked him. In his one hand the bartender held a glass, while the other obsessively rubbed a cloth on it, cleaning out whatever was in there. The mans head was shaven, exposing the various scars running over his head, with one very large one running directly over and through his right eyebrow, over his scalp all the way to the back of his head. He was a very ugly man, but one that Jiao had gotten to trust over the years.

“I need to track someone down,” Jiao answered, his head in his hands. It was an unusual request, and Jiao knew it. Usually the triads didn't need any outsider help for these things, but this was a special case. “A devil.”

The bartender seemed unimpressed, continuing to clean the glass without moving. “A devil? Have you been hitting the drugs? I told you, don't mess with the opium..”

“No. Just tell me, who is willing to track down a devil?”

“Well, there is one person...”

And so it was arranged. Jiao went home after a few more hours of collecting his thoughts. After he arrived at his home - a seedy apartment in an equally seedy street, decrepit and run-down - he received a visit from the police to inform him about the death of his sister. He remained remarkably calm, near emotionless. He only thanked them for the information and closed the door, remaining stoic. He'd already known about her death, and his path was clear now. The loss of his sister could not be undone, but the loss of further lives could be prevented.

It was ironic, really ironic, to Jiao. He, a triad member, who had indirectly contributed to the death of tens, if not hundreds of people through the drug trade and the wars with rival triad groups, was now on a mission to track own whoever or whatever had killed his own sister, Liling. It gave him a rather morbid feeling, as if he finally understood the concept of losing someone close to you. Perhaps he was now not only moving out of vengeance but also out of a feeling of guilt to all those people, he wasn't really sure about himself anymore, and for all his feelings, he could not help but feel like giving up on this whole quest. It seemed like madness.

Never the less, he called the number that had been given to him by the bartender. After lighting up a cigarette and breathing in the smoke, he went outside into the rain and walked over to the nearby phone booth, pushing some money into the machine. On the receiving end, the phone would ring, and Jiao patiently waited for the phone to be answered.

“Hello, this is Jiao Shuwai,” he calmly stated, staring blankly into the distance, which by now had been covered by the darkness of the night. It was quiet in the street, the only thing audible being his own voice. “I am calling about the murder of tonight. Liling Shuwai, that's right. I would like to meet with the private detective.” Patiently he tapped the ash off of his cigarette against the cold metal of the phone booth, waiting for the assistant on the phone to finish talking. “Yes, that's right. I would like to meet her. Tomorrow, at 6. In the Cotton Club, yes.”

While the assistant rattled off again about writing down some details, Jiao put the cigarette to his lips again and inhaled deeply, before lowering his hand. “Xièxiè,” he concluded the phone call and hung the phone back into its' metal casing.

The meeting itself was poorly planned. Only having been on the receiving end of an investigation, and not the other side, Jiao had no idea what information was required. He figured that would be the detectives job, not his. He arrived early to smoke a cigarette before the meeting, his hands nervously shaking now. It was clear his sisters death had hit him rather hard, although he wouldn't show it as any other would. Or maybe he was trying his best to hide it, to stay strong. His body betrayed him though, since he felt like throwing up every waking moment of his day.



When the detective arrived, she would find Jiao himself sitting at the bar, one elbow on the bar while the other held onto another cigarette. From the amount of fresh cigarettes in the ash tray, the one he held would have been his third or fourth. When Jiao noticed the detective as well, not paying as much attention as he perhaps should have, he quickly pushed the cigarette into the ash tray, putting it out, and then standing up. He extended a hand towards the detective, which pulled his sleeve up a little bit, exposing the otherwise relatively hidden tattoos.

They clearly gave him away as a triad, which was a warning sign for what was to come for the detective, paired with the 2 'x's' tattooed onto his knuckles, each of which marking a five year period of service to the triads. Since Jiao looked young - at a maximum of 26, 27 at a push, that meant he must've joined the triads at an early age, which was not uncommon. Few would've lasted as long as him, though.

Dressed in simple clothing - a white button up shirt, with some dress pants and leather black shoes - it was not hard to see that he was somewhere in the middle in terms of wealth. Although you wouldn't have known it from his appearances, he'd been poor for most of his life until recently, when the triads began using him for bigger hauls and he began earning more earning the trust of the bosses and his fellow brothers. But now he was jeopardizing all of that by meeting with a private eye, who was perhaps not as threatening as the police or constabularies, but certainly was seen as an extension of the law.

His hands were coarse, a reminder of his days as a poor man - despite affiliations to the triads, he had to work in a local factory to earn a keep big enough for him, his sister, and still have something left to send back home to the country side. If she could not tell his background from his clothing then perhaps his hands.

“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. Jiao Shuwai,” he stated rather forwardly, without much play in his intonation. He wanted to get down to business right away. He let go of her hand and sat back down, putting an arm on the bar and resting the other on his leg. “As you have heard by now, my sister Liling Shuwai was murdered last night. I was there when she passed,” he continued - already showing an inconsistency in the story with the police, who had reported that there were no witnesses to the woman's death. Jiao would not have been aware of that, but perhaps the detective was.

“She was stabbed to death, three times in the back. I don't know why. The police is still investigating, but I have no faith they can solve it now. It will be swept under the rug - that's why you are here. I need you to find the murderers. In fact, I need you specifically.” He glanced down at the bar for a moment before looking back up, wondering how to word it. He figured the best way was to just say it. “She said the one who murdered her was the devil.”

After she had a chance to ask her questions, and he could answer them, he would stand back up again and put a piece of paper on the table. It listed his name, telephone number and where to find him otherwise. Then he stepped away, to the door. “I don't care how much this will cost me. I will take out a mortgage if I have to. Just find the killers. Call me when you get news from the police and figure out more. I'll do what I can as well.”

“You said you wanted the truth, Mr. Woodard,” a low, feminine tone sounded through a cloud of smoke. “And I delivered.”

The man, dressed in a navy blue, well tailored suit slouched in his chair and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck.” His eyes finally peered up at her for the first time since she played the DVD she burned. “Well, what do I do now?”

Penny scoffed and took another drag of her cigarette. “Therapy will cost you more.” The cigarette now rested on the lip of the ashtray, and she straightened her posture to look directly at the man. “Look, I did my job. I don’t care if you like what I find or how I found it, but the point is that it’s done. She has no idea I trailed her. No one does.” She stretched her arms out and groaned as a few bones cracked; she had been sitting in that chair for what felt like hours.

A fellow American, James Woodard. A wealthy, attractive businessman in his late thirties who, assumingly, would have any woman clawing at their chance to be his wife, but it seemed as though no matter what someone’s status would, they weren’t immune to the misfortune of being fucked over. Mr. Woodard began to question Hilda’s actions. She was staying out later and later with friends, started to seem uninterested in conversing with him, and of course, she stopped putting out.

Now, Penny had stopped taking low-profile cases like this long ago. She wanted to be taken seriously, to seem like a powerful threat that lurked in the shadows of the city, and she found that cases like this didn’t push her career along, but instead made her look like she was on an episode of “Cheaters.” But her and James had been introduced by mutual friends at a party a couple months ago, and when he approached her, she couldn’t decline. Penny could feel that his heart was pure and she pitied him for being in his position. That, and he paid well.

A week of trailing Mrs. Woodard and many nights sitting in the car with binoculars finally paid off.

His wife had told him she didn’t feel well enough to attend one of his work events, but in reality, she left the house ten minutes after James headed out for the night. With a shaky hand, Penny filmed an entire night between the woman and her lover, easily visible from his sliding glass door four floors above the street, and she couldn't help but shake her head in their stupidity. "Too easy."

“And you’re sure that everything you said actually happened? I mean - “

“Do you want me to play the footage again, Mr. Woodard?” she interrupted, leaning towards him from across her desk.

“God, no” he sighed, throwing his hands up. “I can’t watch that again.”

“Very well,” Penny smirked. “You’ve already provided half of my payment. I need the other half.”

James reached into his coat pocket to pull out a small black booklet. “You take check?”

“As long as it doesn’t bounce,” she smiled while taking a sip from the wine glass sitting next to her. “Then I suppose it’s fine.”



Hours later, she was home: a dimly lit studio apartment that seemed to get smaller and smaller as the months past. Pieces of art and other memorabilia stretched across the brick walls, and a white lumpy couch sat dead in the center in front of a small TV, and her queen sized bed was tucked away in a corner on the ground. It was nothing special, but it became a haven for Penny that kept her shielding from the world around her, once she still couldn't quite understand.

This wasn't where she saw herself at 28 years old. If you had asked her as a girl where she would be by now, Penny would have sworn she'd be married with a large house and a nice car, working for a firm that took her investigative skills seriously. Instead, she sat stranded in a foreign country, working for people who could order her dead in a moment. The thrill was the only thing that kept her going at times.

“I told you, I’m working,” she spoke into her phone speaker.

“You sound drunk,” came from the other end. “And I hear your Pink Floyd record playing in the background.”

Penny couldn’t help but smile. “I’m researching. And I have 15 unread emails from potential clients.” She had been hunched over on her laptop for an hour by now.

“I could help you,” Connor responded, his tone changing from suspicious to concerned. “I….I miss you.”

“You know I can’t let you see this shit. It’s private. Plus it’s not as exciting as you’d think.”

“Whatever,” he sighed. “Have you thought any more about coming home?”

Penny scratched at her head as she hesitated. “Based on what I’ve heard, the heat hasn’t died down quite yet. Richards will give me the green light as soon as I can come back.”

“Well, I hope it’s soon. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“I won’t,” she sighed. “Good night, Connor.”

Penny tossed her phone to the other side of the couch and rubbed her face forcefully. The past eight months in China had been quite lonely, but her career had blossomed, so much so that it was difficult to imagine moving back to the States. It wasn’t as though it had been her choice, but now that she was here, it would be a waste not to take advantage of the recognition she was getting. Why move back and throw it all away?



“The fuck?” Penny startled, nearly falling off the couch to the sound of her phone ringing. What time was it? When did she fall asleep?

“H-Hello?”

“Ah, Penny,” a thick accent greeted her. “I’m sorry to call you so late, but I have an acquaintance who needs your services. The more quickly, the better.”

“It’s fine, Liko,” she yawned and removed herself from the couch and relocating to the window that looked at the busy streets below. “What’s the situation?”

“A murder of a young woman. Her brother is the one who would like to hire you.” He paused for a few moments. “I don’t know much more than that, but there will be news coverage certainly.”
“Great,” she scoffed. “Text me where to meet him, I’ll be there.”



The following day, Penny arrived by cab at the Cotton Club, a spot notorious for business men and criminals alike to do business while enjoying overpriced drinks and attractive waitresses prancing about. A bit corny if you asked her, but she would usually go out of her way to make her clients feel comfortable, and that usually included them picking where to meet. She found it made people more open to be in their own habitat, more willing to share more information that would help her.

Upon entering the club, Penny removed her large, round sunglasses, allowing her blue eyes to scan the restaurant for her potential client. Her dyed black hair sat tucked behind her ears and trailed down her back, still damp from her shower. The man seemed to have spotted her rather quickly, so she assumed Liko explained she was American. Most clients didn’t seem to mind, but there were instances in the past where they were caught off guard or decided not to hire her due to the fact that she would draw more attention to herself.

She always attempted to look professional for her first meeting, depending on social status of the client and the location she was told to go, but sometimes it was not so easy. She was used to being in the background, not center stage, so when it came time to put her best foot forward in regards to appearance, Penny struggled.

She wore a pair of high-waisted, fitted black pants with a black shirt tucked in that reached up to the collarbone, both articles of clothing hiding her tattoos; she had learned her lesson with more traditional clients looking down on her for them. A tan, trench coach hung to her sides which shielded her from the rain on her way in, and a pair of black, four-inch heels carried her to the bar where her client sat alone, obviously distressed.

She shook his hand firmly in return. “Of course. Penelope Goodman.” Observing the man in front of her, it was hard to sniff out exactly what he was. His clothes were expensive and his mannerisms seemed of someone old and wise, but, by her guess, he was younger than she was, and she couldn’t help but notice the tattoos that popped out of his shirt sleeve. It took her a moment, but her eyes widened slightly when she she noticed their familiarity, and it became quite clear why Jiao had chosen to go to her than to trust the police.

Rather than leading in with any sort of cliche introduction, Penny listened to him speak. He explained how he had found his sister and what she said before passing, causing her to cock her head to the side in curiosity.

Then, abruptly, he made it sound like things were coming to a close as he passed her his information on a piece of paper. “Wait,” she said lowly and turned her full body on the stool to him. “There are a few things we need to go over.”

The drink she ordered finally arrived, and she took a large sip then cleared her throat before continuing. Her voice remained low and unwavering. “This is just a formality, but I must explain this all to you, although something tells me this isn’t your first rodeo.” She smirked briefly, resuming her serious manner. “ 1. I need your trust. You may not like what I find or how I find it, but I do my job and never have issues delivering. I expect that I will have your full support.”

Another sip of her drink. “2. If you use any of the information I give to you seek revenge, you must not name me. Whether to police, to colleagues, whatever. I had no involvement as far as anyone is concerned. We do not know each other.”

“3 -” she mumbled through the cigarette she was lighting. “I expect you not to hide information from me. I understand some things may be uncomfortable to speak of, especially of your sister, but if you want me to do my work to the best of my ability, I need information. Good information. Some cases don’t require much contact between me and my clients, but due to the nature of the incident, I think it’d be best if we kept in touch.”

She took another drag of her cigarette and rested it on the lip of the ashtray they shared. “I have an office a few streets down from here.” Her hands dug through a small black purse until a business card was found and handed to Jiao. “Meet me tomorrow. 3 PM. Bring any information you can that will help me discover what happened to your sister.” Her eyes glanced down to the location where she had seen the tattoos a few moments prior. “It’s probably best to discuss details in a more private setting.”

Penny finished the contents of her drink and stood up, offering her hand to the man once again. “It was a pleasure, Jiao. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And without waiting for a response, she turned and walked through the club, exiting out onto the street and hailing a taxi.

Once in the back of a cab, she mulled over what Jiao had explained to her. “Murdered by the devil,” she whispered to herself, and the corners of her lips couldn’t help but turn upward slightly. “This should be fun.”