This time, the crow wasn’t wrong—there really was nothing good coming. Two days later, early Monday morning, a tall, disheveled figure appeared at the Liuliqiao bus stop. Brian Carter looked utterly exhausted, reeking of stale tobacco, his eyes bloodshot and ringed with huge dark circles, blending into the crowd waiting for the No. 300 bus. All you could see on him was bad luck—there wasn’t a trace of triumph about him.

Could it be that Brian Carter was sick again? No, but he felt even worse than being sick. He had lost—lost everything, and on top of that, owed two thousand yuan in gambling debt. These past two days had been pure torture for him, a real ordeal. Ever since he sat down at the card table, whether playing “Golden Flower” or mahjong, his luck had been as rotten as could be. Holding a triple, but someone else had two-three-five; just finished a pure straight, and the moment he played a tile, someone else won off him—even the rare East Wind tile, someone managed to win with it.

If it hadn’t been for Director Walker, who braved the bad luck of lending money at the table and loaned him money twice, he probably would’ve had to pack up and go home early Saturday morning—he lost the eight hundred yuan in his pocket in a single night. Unfortunately, his luck didn’t improve on Saturday or Sunday night; even the dealer could deal the wrong cards, and he could draw a dead hand. The worst part was, those guys he used to thrash finally got their revenge—they were all on a roll, none of them lost, and they all won off him alone.

At first, Brian Carter did suspect they were colluding to set him up, but after watching all night, he couldn’t spot anything fishy. With their level of skill, there was no way they could pull off such a sophisticated scheme. The only explanation was that his luck was just that bad. And the facts proved it—he really was just unlucky, couldn’t blame anyone else.

Losing money was a small matter; the main thing was that it gave them a chance to gloat and mock him for three nights straight. With his temper, if he hadn’t been so down on his luck, there’s no way they’d have dared to sneer at him like that. Losing face was what hurt Brian Carter the most. If he didn’t turn things around, every time he sat at the table in the future, they’d have plenty to say.

Chapter 0009: Venting His Anger

“Buddy, stop feeling around—I’ve got less in my pockets than on my face! How about this monthly pass? It works for both buses and the subway, worth over forty yuan. You can’t even buy one if you want, you need connections.” Talk about bad luck—Brian Carter couldn’t catch a break. He’d just gotten off the subway at Gulou Station when he felt someone reaching into his back pocket. He didn’t even have to turn around to know he’d run into a pickpocket. Normally, he’d have exploded, and if he didn’t catch the thief, he’d chase him for three kilometers, even if it killed him. But now, he didn’t even have the energy to care. He half-turned and said this over his shoulder, then pulled a monthly pass from his back pocket and waved it behind him.

“Who are you talking to! Got eyes on your feet or something? Who doesn’t bump into someone when getting on a bus? If you’re so afraid of being touched, drive yourself! Stop acting all high and mighty!” To Brian Carter’s surprise, the thief didn’t run—instead, he started acting tough. Maybe he was new to the game and not thick-skinned enough, or maybe he thought Brian Carter looked easy to bully and didn’t want to let it go.

“...Yeah, I’m talking to you. You’re a thief! Born with hands made for stealing! So what? I’m calling you out, and I’m going to catch you too, teach you a lesson. Next time you mess up, just admit it and take the scolding—who told you to pick this line of work? Love your job if you’re going to do it, got it?” Brian Carter was fuming. After three sleepless nights and losing nearly three thousand yuan, now he had to be lectured by a thief? No way. He decided to take out his anger on this pickpocket. He turned around, grabbed the thief’s hair, pushed his head down, and strode up the escalator, not caring if the thief could keep up, bent over as he was. If he couldn’t, he could just get a close-up with the metal steps—no way he was lifting his head, not with hair that long, practically begging to be grabbed.

“Ow, ow... damn you, let me go...” The thief hadn’t expected such a dejected-looking guy to be so fierce, to start a fight without hesitation. Wasn’t he afraid the thief might have accomplices? The problem was, he really didn’t have any, and now he couldn’t fight back. His head was lower than a bow, and he had to shuffle backward just to keep up with the big guy’s pace. Other than running his mouth, both arms were busy keeping his balance—no chance to pull out a weapon.

“None of your business! Get out of the way! I’m catching a thief here and you’re blocking me—where were you when he was stealing?” As soon as Brian Carter started tussling with the thief, the people on the platform scattered—some dodged, some froze, and some tried to step in and play the hero. But none of them knew which one was the thief—no one had actually seen the theft. Still, Brian Carter had no intention of stopping. He had a fire in his belly that needed venting. Dragging the thief toward the station exit, he loudly scolded the would-be heroes, making sure the two subway staff standing outside the ticket office heard him too, so they’d mind their own business.