As I was sitting down with Kristy at the Lot 10 Monorail Subway, a breeze past, and the tissue that was on the food tray flew. Instinctively, I tried to catch it, stretching my left leg to the front. Thwaaaang! Something hit the chair I was on. Kristy sprang from her chair like a cat, taking the table and me with her. She landed on the ground with a thud, and pulled me on my shoulder towards the shelter of the aluminum table.

Several more shots were stopped by the table, and somehow the bullets did not penetrate it. The table must have been fairly thick, and the rounds used must be of small calibre. Kristy pointed at the 24-hour shop across Subway, signaling she would run there. She pointed to the left, where I was to run and hide behind low concrete walls. We counted, and after about 25 shots we took our chances.

Ladies first, I smiled to Kristy. She grunted, as she got up and sprinted to the Kiosk. Barely a second later I ran in the opposite direction, but the hail of bullets continued, following me, with a few hitting the walls I passed. I hid behind a concrete partition, knees all bruised, heart pumping a hundred beats a minute. The fact that the shots did not follow Kristy but trailed me instead, suggested that the shooter was targeting only me.

Kraack! The edge of the cement wall just above my head exploded, the debris and dirt fell on my head; I controlled my breathing, otherwise I would be inhaling dirt. I couldn't move - I was sitting down with legs stretched - pinned down in that awkward position, panting for my life.

Kristy could only watch me from the inside of the 24-hour kiosk. She could not risk getting out, nor was there any need for her to.

Who could it be?

Most passers-by that walked past the place did not look at me twice, which was typical of KL-ites; nothing shocked them. Those that did looked confused, but went on ahead, to shop, eat, whatever. It was only when the glass wall of the 24-hour shop shattered suddenly that a woman screamed, and everyone started running.

Then the shots stopped.

It was just the break that I needed. Judging from the first shot at our table, then at the concrete partition, together with the ones at the post and at the Kiosk glass wall, and triangulating them one by one, the shot could only come from Parkroyal Hotel. That was the only line of sight that could reach where we were sitting. I removed my navy blue T-shirt, betting that my white undershirt would blend into the crowd, that was already forming around the Kiosk.

Safe now in the crowd, I could see that a window on the 9th floor of the hotel was slightly open. It was not that far from our position, barely 300 yards. The shooter must be one lousy shot, a poor marksman with a silencer.

I called Kristy on her cell. "He's at Parkroyal. And I am going to get him."

"Okay. I'll wait in the lobby. Your turn to get your ass on the line." Her confidence in me was inspiring.

How to woo a woman

I ran across the other side of the road, past the President's House, past Pretty Petals - hah, gotta buy Kristy some roses after that grinding, sweaty sex last night - and into Parkroyal Hotel. There were no bullets trailing me when I ran across the road underneath the monorail, which could mean one or two things; the shooter was packing up and running away, or he lost me and was waiting for me to reappear in the crowd.

Once I was in the lift, I breathed in and out slowly. Yeah, I took up yoga once, when I developed stress attacks after one harrowing job. I did not have a gun with me, and the only knife I had was that of Leatherman tool I always carried on my waist. Drawing it out when the lift reached the ninth floor, I was ready for anything. As the lift door opened, a man wearing a cream jacket stood and watched me - his eyes wide open.

"Pok gai!" He blurted. I was quicker for by the time he finished swearing, my foot was already on his stomach. He hurled backward from the kick, smashing the table and mirror as he hit the wall behind him, falling on flat on his back. I took jumped on top of him to smash his head with my right knee. A sickening sound of bone cracking followed by a muffled scream pierced the air. His nose had broken. Uh oh. I was going to get his blood on me.

"Who sent you?" I said, slowly. I placed the knife on his neck, and pressed it down as he tried to wriggle himself.

You ever felt the cool blunt of steel on your neck? Do this when you have the time: when it's a hot, sweltering day, freeze your chopper in the fridge and after a few minutes, take it out and place it on anywhere on your body. It's the cooling.

"Who sent you?" I asked again, as the knife pierced his neck slightly, and blood started seeping onto the blade.

Like slaughtering a cow

"Apa lu cakap!" And he started blabbing something I couldn't understand.

I didn't feel like talking to him any longer, not in Cantonese, anyway. And he was getting out of control. With a little bit more pressure, and with the assistance of the razor-sharp Leatherman tool blade, a copious amount of blood sputtered as I pressed down further to slit across his throat. His carotid artery was now visibly cut.

Did I tell you I once helped my late father sacrifice cows and goats for Qurban when I was a kid?

His body thrashed about wildly - I was beginning to enjoy this spectacle it took longer for a man to die from a knife wound than being shot at. No fun in seeing them dropping dead just like that. I want them to dance and flail about first.

Dance, man, dance.

I stood up. My hand was drenched in blood. Looking at my watch, it was five past three. I turned all the way around looking for the surveillance camera. I didn't care for the one in the lift. I covered my face with my hand and my D&G shades when I entered the lift.

Kristy smiled as I approached her at the lobby. I held up two fingers. She grinned.

"Good boy."

Arf, arf, I barked as I grabbed hold of her and smelled her neck.

THE ARMY CAPITAINE is a family man. All that he has written is true and not true. Email him at armycapitaine@yahoo.com.