“Excuse me, sir,” Seven said, holding up a crumpled photo. “Are you Old Chen? The one who makes the bland wonton soup?”
“It’s a good standard.”
From the alley, three real assassins emerged—masked, silent, hired by the pill smugglers to finish the job Seven wouldn’t. scissor seven assassin
Dai Bo looked up from his magazine. “Did you kill him?” “Excuse me, sir,” Seven said, holding up a
“The target is still alive,” said the voice on the other end. ” Seven said