He had never been to a Chinese restaurant with a live band. It was amusing to see the singer.
The song was a bad musical version of some old Chinese tale which most of the guests in the restaurant did not understand. But the singer intrigued him. She was obviously a made up Chinese and was completely faking her identity.
His expert eyes could easily see through the deception. What caught his attention was the tone of her voice. In spite of the bad choice of song there was sadness in it. It left a melancholy taste and he was feeling distracted from his task.
So many young girls ran away from home in search of fame and landed in such shady joints, scantily dressed, singing bad songs. The song was about to end, she took a high note. Did he just notice a tear on her cheek or was it just a light effect?
He heard a click. The touch of cold metal on his temple made him shiver. The melancholy singer joined the gunmen. She seemed to be in command carrying a Smith & Wesson 38 Caliber.
“Since when are the Chinese known for their quality?” he joked.
She smiled and said, “Yeah you are right. That is why they reached out to you.”
“You really were not cut out for being a double agent, Mark. You don’t even recognise your own people.”