He walked down three cracked concrete steps into the Volga nightclub. The lights were dim. It took a few seconds for him to see through the haze of cigarette and cigar smoke. The room was jammed with people, many speaking Russian loudly and sounding drunk. A silver coated ball twirled from the ceiling in the center of the room. A Russian singing voice on tape blared from a loud speaker. Straight ahead was a small stage. A busty blond in a G-string went through the motions of dancing. To the left was a bar. Qing, who was six foot four and walked ramrod straight, as they had taught him in the Chinese People’s Liberation Army, headed toward the bar. He had gotten his instructions from Sergei in Moscow a few hours ago. He knew what to do. Qing saw two empty seats at the bar. He took one of them, put the briefcase at his feet, and ordered a drink. “Macallan’s 12 year old on ice.” Ten minutes later, as he was sipping his drink, Qing felt a tap on the shoulder. He whirled around to see a tall man about six-six, with a shaved head and sandpaper beard, standing behind him.
What do You think about The Italian Divide (2016)?
