Money was the new god, friends who were already shallow became even more shallow, some became gods, some monsters, blinded by power, wealth, false security. Everything was black or white, there was no grey, there was an arrogance, and piteousness that assailed people.

“I don’t owe you shit, man!” screamed a teenage boy on a motorbike when he accidentally rammed into Omar’s car one night. “You’re fucking rich, you can afford it! Fuck off!” He was high.

Perhaps it was better that Alba was gone. She could have turned out in terrible ways. She could have turned into a spoilt, rich brat, selfish and sullen, she could have become a burden to him and to Del. The city was already corrupt, and perhaps it was going to stay that way.

Marina looked up from her manager’s table as her nine o’clock stumbled in through the heavy wooden doors. He was already drunk and was being held up by two giggling Chinese girls. Marina walked up to him, her long skirt swishing against her legs, “Good evening, Mr Chan, welcome back to Noble Inn. Always a pleasure to see you,” she chimed.

“Gimme my regular room,” he growled, “And my bottle.”

“Of course, follow me, please,” she replied. Marina led them through the long corridor to the private rooms. The two girls almost stumbled to the floor in their heels. The corridor was dark, lit only by low lamps on the walls, and all three almost tumbled to the floor until a pair of hands reached out to stop them, as if by magic.

Marina whispered softly, “Thank goodness you’re here, Hassan. Mr Chan is drunker than usual tonight.”

Hassan smiled back, “Yes, madam, all okay now,” and strode off, Mr Chan in tow.

Hassan was a tall, strapping Bangladeshi, the club’s resident bouncer who was more accustomed to hauling sacks of rice on his shoulders than slovenly, overweight men. But it was the eve of Chinese New Year, so he was more than prepared to have a sore back the following day. Tips were good this time of the year, so he was grateful. The two giggling girls tottered off into the dark corridor into the comfortable air-conditioned room where Mr Chan would snore to the singing of Cantonese pop songs. Hassan came out and straightened his black suit.

“All okay, madam, I give him water first, but you know he will drink again when he wakes up.”

“Uh huh.” Marina smiled, and checked her bookings for the night again. It was going to get packed later on, and she had to make sure that there were rooms for walk-ins. As if on cue, the phone rang.

“Hello, Noble Inn, Gong Xi Fa Cai! How can I help you?”

Hassan disappeared into the corridor, headed for the kitchen. He had to make sure that the chefs had enough food prepared for the buffet, that ice was aplenty, and that the rooms were ready.