Archive of Our Own

1920s Slang Glossary

Phrases and More

• The Frog's Eyebrow: A popular piece of nonsense slang used to describe anything exceptionally fine, nice, or top-tier

• The Cat's Pajamas / The Cat's Meow: The absolute ultimate compliment

• The Berries: Anything attractive or pleasing (“That new jazz record is the berries!”)

• The Bee's Knees: Terms for something or someone truly outstanding or “cool”

• Aces: Means something or someone is excellent, first-rate or wonderful

• Keep your chin up: Stay cheerful/hopeful during a hard time

• Razzle-dazzle: Flashy, showy action meant to impress

• Go on a Toot: Party or celebrate

• Paint the town red: Going out for a wild, flamboyant night of heavy drinking, partying, and celebrating

• Cut a rug: To dance

• Hoof: To dance. In the 1920s, the “hoofers” were the ones dominating the dance floor

• Croon: To sing or hum

• Wise up: To become aware, smarten up, or start thinking clearly

• Now get a load of this: Pay attention, similar to “Check this out”

• Beating the/their Gums: This is what flappers called chatting

• My dogs are barking: My feet hurt

• How’s tricks: How are you? or How are things?

• Know your onions: To be knowledgeable, aware, or think smart about what is going on

• Scuttlebutt: Rumor, gossip

• Hinky: Suspicious or not right

• What's his grift?: What is he up to?

• Razzed: Bullied or taunted

• Step on it: Hurry up or go faster

• Scram: To leave in a hurry (often when the police showed up)

• "Beat it!": The classic, snappy way to tell someone to get away from you

• Skedaddle: Run away or flee quickly

• Give them the bum's rush: To forcibly throw or physically eject someone out of a room or establishment

• Tell it to my Aunt Fanny: ‘That’s nonsense’ or ‘I don’t believe you’

• Give them the icy mitt: To freeze someone out, snub them, or reject them

• The bank’s closed: No kissing, petting, or making out allowed

• Gams: A lady’s legs

• Peepers: Eyes

• Glad Rags: Your best going out clothes

• Fob: Pocket for a pocket watch (like in a vest, jacket or pants)

• The Sticks: The countryside, backwoods or remote rural area far from the big city

• Bull Session: Informal group discussion

   

Nicknames:

• Flapper: Stylish young women who broke societies rules. Known to be independent, brash, pleasure-seeking and valued youth

• Doll: A frequent, endearing term of address among pretty, stylish women

• Dame: Everyday term for a woman but with a street-smart vibe

• Chick: A very common pet name for a young, alluring, or high-spirited young woman

• Minx: A bold, flirtatious, rebellious, young woman

• Vamp: A seductive woman who used her charm to lure and control men (short for vampire)

• Floozy: A woman with questionable morals or a disreputable reputation

• Fella: Everyday term for a man, short for fellow

• Dandy: A man who dresses fine; confident and stylish

• Darb: A man with money who could be relied upon to pay the check

• Sheik: A romantic, dashing, handsome, charming or seductive man

• Fat Cat: Wealthy person

• Cake-Eater: A fashionable “ladies' man” - womanizer

• Bent Cigar: A total grouch or someone who kills the mood

• Flat Tire: A boring person; a “party pooper”

• Rooster: An antagonistic man who actively picks fights or walks around acting overly confrontational

• Nudnik: An irritating, pushy pest

• Cellar Smeller: A moocher who always turned up wherever free liquor was available

• Dewdropper: An unemployed slacker who slept all day and did nothing

• Corn-Shredder: A clumsy guy who danced on a flapper's feet

• Father Time: Any man over the age of thirty (reflecting the flapper obsession with youth)

• Pushover: Someone who is easily persuaded or convinced to do something

Terms for Speakeasy - Booze - Gangsters - Police - Money:

• Speakeasy: An illicit nightclub where you needed a password to enter

• Giggle Water: Alcohol, specifically the kind that makes you lose your inhibitions

• Moonshine: Untaxed, homemade corn liquor often produced at night to avoid detection

• Rotgut: Low-quality, sometimes toxic, illegally distilled alcohol

• Hooch: Nickname for cheap, low-quality, or illegal alcohol

• Bootlegger: A person who made, sold, or smuggled illegal alcohol during prohibition

• Soldier: Loyal lower-level member of an organized crime gang; it can also refer to an empty bottle of booze (ex. Look at all the dead soldiers. When a table is covered in empty bottles.)

• Runner: An individual hired to secretly transport illicit contraband

• Gorilla: A hired thug, enforcer or bodyguard

• Goon: A stupid, foolish, or clumsy person; eventually the meaning shifted to hired thug or henchmen

• Flunky: Lackey or underling

• Copper: Police officer or cop, originating from the copper badges worn by early city officers

• Fuzz: A common term used by rum-runners and bootleggers to describe nervous, easily agitated cops or the police force in general

• Buttons: Police officers, derived from the metal buttons on their traditional uniforms

• Gumshoe: Police detectives or private investigators

• Pinch: To arrest someone

• Cabbage/Kale/Dough: Green bills, cash, money

• C-note: Hundred dollar bill

• Half a C-note: Fifty dollar bill

• Buffalo: A nickel (5 cents)

X———————X

Fedoras and Silk Stockings

Basen opened the back door of the Cadillac Sedan and Jinshi stepped out next to his other bodyguard, Lihaku. It rained most of the way to this bull session in the sticks and his mood reflected the weather. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of crushed moss and damp wood, as if the earth had just been washed clean. His shoes crunched over crushed stone with the few steps he took, and he cut an imposing figure against the other men present.

More than a dozen of Jinshi’s soldiers waited in silence, all eyes on him, while he brushed his long bangs back and adjusted his fedora. He checked the time on his gold pocket watch then tucked it back into his vest fob. Hands in his trouser pockets, he spit on the ground before speaking, “I hear we have some sort of problem.”

The men before him shifted their weight back and forth uncomfortably. Finally, one of them found an ounce of courage to speak up with. “Moon Prince, it’s not a problem, exactly. We just heard rumors that Lakan has his personal fuzz patrolling our regular routes. They’ll be waiting to pinch us.” A chorus of mumbles rose up from those assembled, silenced only by the crick, crick, of Lihaku’s knuckles cracking.

Basen tugged at the brim of his newsboy hat before pulling a roadmap out of his pocket and laying it out on the damp hood of the car. Wet drops immediately permeated the paper, but Jinshi had no concern about that. He gestured for the drivers to step closer, eager to explain the plan quickly so they could all be on their way.

“Come on boys, we need to wise up if we’re going to out-strategize the Strategist. Can’t have that rooster move in on the Emperor's turf. Now get a load of this, we’ll send decoy trucks on these routes,” he pointed to the map now clinging to the metal hood. “This old dirt road is probably the safest, but we’ll send one decoy ahead, if the coppers are waiting, lead ‘em on a chase to clear the path for our runner. Got it?”

All the men nodded their heads and split up into different vehicles. The Moon Prince, the alias Jinshi was known by, was the eldest son of the gangster known as the Emperor. He was the best bootlegger in Chicago and he intended to keep it that way. He ducked into the backseat of his Cadillac with Basen behind the wheel and Lihaku riding shotgun. They chose the smoothest route into the city, knowing their vehicle was so recognizable they would be pulled over and searched by the law regardless of the road chosen.

By the time he arrived at the speakeasy known as the Verdigris, the moonshine he was famous for had already been unloaded. His accountant, Baryou, nervously handed him the payment to confirm everything was legit.

“Good work, boys. Drinks are on me tonight.” Jinshi took some cash off the top and handed the rest back to Baryou. “Take a couple gorillas and get this stack to The Emperor. Now step on it.”

Baryou and a few guards quickly drove off with his father's loot. The rest of his men took the back entrance into the speakeasy. Jinshi was looking forward to spending some cabbage to go on a toot with his soldiers.

The rowdy men wasted no time commandeering the private lounge for their boss. He sat in the middle of one of the couches, the seats on either side of him remaining empty in case he found an attractive doll or two to cuddle with him. Lihaku’s main squeeze Pairin fell into his lap on the next couch over while Basen stood sentry near the lounge entrance. The rest of his boys ordered drinks and filled the remainder of the space in the lounge as well as taking seats in the main room.

Jinshi sipped his drink. He wanted to cut loose like his men, but a nagging doubt clouded his mind. They had expected trouble, yet made it here without any. Maybe the scuttlebutt was just a bluff to scare them away from making their delivery so Lakan could swoop in and sell his own hooch—or maybe it was something else. All he knew for certain is, it was easy—too easy—and when it came to the Strategist, nothing was ever easy.

X———————X

A heavy metallic clack, clack, clack echoed through the bedroom, as the brass plated crank caught each tooth. She sifted through her collection until she found her favorite jazz record and placed it on the turntable. Carefully lowering the needle on the smooth edge, she released the brake and waited with anticipation for the trumpets and sax to fill her soul and set the mood for the evening she hoped to have.

Wearing nothing but T-strap high heels, lace panties, thigh-high silk stockings, a six strap corset garter belt and a wicked grin, Maomao swayed with the whine of the muted trumpet as it blared through the horn of her gramophone. A light breeze made the gauze curtains billow and her bare buds constrict when the cool evening air kissed her flesh. Bending over Shisui's vanity she painted her lips a deep crimson, matching the nail polish on her fingers and toes.

A knock at the door and her friend Shisui opened it a crack, just enough to peep inside. “Bad news babydoll, your minder has tracked you down.”

Maomao groaned in frustration, “Tell the bent cigar I’ll speak to him after I put my glad rags on.”

“I don’t know what that means little sister.” Lahan called from somewhere at the rear of her friend.

Shisui giggled, closing the door behind her. Maomao could hear her friend’s voice explaining things to her cousin. “It means she’s indecent, must get dressed, and you are a mood killer.”

“Oh. Still rude then.”

Shimmying into her favorite dress, Maomao checked the mirror to make sure it was on straight and added a couple long pearl necklaces over the top. A black beaded headband with a red poppy flower and seven-inch long green ostrich feather affixed in her sleek, bobbed hair completed the ensemble.

She opened the bedroom door, beckoning Lahan in. She had plans and they didn't include him. The faster she gave the nudnik the bum’s rush, the faster she and Shisui could paint the town red.

Lahan spoke first, “Father has spent considerable effort trying to locate you.”

“Funny, I’ve spent surprisingly little effort avoiding him.”

He fiddled with the brim of his homburg in his hands. “He requests you join him for dinner.”

“Busy tonight. Try me again next year.” Maomao checked the seams running up the back of her stockings. Placing the toe of her shoe on a footstool, she pushed up her skirt to adjust her garter belt straps while Lahan averted his gaze.

“He will not be pleased,” he added. Maomao knew the source of Lahan’s nervousness. Lakan would never ‘not be pleased’ with her, but rather, he will not be pleased with anyone who is unsuccessful convincing her to do what he wants.

“Aww, you’re breaking my heart. Now if you’ll excuse me, I got places to be.”

The three exited Shisui’s apartment and headed to the parking garage behind the building with Lahan arguing the whole way. Maomao hummed a jazz tune in an attempt to drown out his incessant chatter. Once they arrived at her acid green Cadillac LaSalle, Lahan held the driver’s door open for her, still pleading with her to reconsider her father’s dinner invitation.

She turned the key with a sharp click until she heard the faint electrical hum in the dashboard. Going through the sequence to start her beloved convertible was a mechanical symphony to her ears. Once the engine roared to life, she waved bye-bye to her father’s adopted son while she and Shisui sped off with only one destination in mind: her favorite speakeasy.

The earlier rainstorm awakened a pungent mixture of sharp sulfurous coal and hot, wet iron from passing streetcars. Thankfully, the wind wasn't blowing from the stockyards on the South Side. Wet animal hair and industrial decay were some of her least favorite scents. As dusk approached, the skies were clear now, only the occasional splash of her tires rolling over a puddle provided evidence of the earlier storm. She hummed to herself, tapping on the steering wheel, happy she could keep the top down on her car.

Shisui had been beating her gums about one fella after another during the drive but Maomao had only been half listening. “Maomao, what do you think I should do?”

Shit, does she really expect me to remember all those names? “Ditch the cellar smeller, dewdropper and corn-shredder. You could let the cake-eater come to you, but you’re better off with a darb.” Maomao gave her friend a side-eyed wink. “But leave the sheiks to me.”

Shisui laughed joyfully, “Oh Maomao, you’re the cat’s pajamas!”

They parked down a ways from their destination, a strategy she learned from her old man proving he wasn't a completely useless old fart. She tipped a bum she recognized to keep an eye on her car and the two pulled the collars up on their knee length coats, hiding the sin inducing dresses they wore underneath.

They waved to the men selling produce off the back of a pickup truck blocking the alley, the first line of defense for the speakeasy's front entrance. When they reached the non-descript door in the alley, Shisui scanned the area while Maomao leaned against the frame, crossing her ankles. Feeling no one was watching except the workers, Maomao knocked and the small hinged door within the door swung open. A pair of beady old eyes peeped back at them.

“What do you want?” The woman's raspy voice greeted them with all the warmth of winter on the Great Lakes. A puff of smoke pluming out of the small window was a friendlier welcome.

“Verdigris,” Maomao said with a smile.

“Yeah yeah, get in.” The small door closed and the large door opened, giving them entry. The Madam, as she was called, ran this particular speakeasy. Not being very sociable, she preferred deciding who she did and didn't admit into her club rather than enjoy its amenities herself. She took another puff on her cigarette and collected a modest entry fee.

The Madam wasn't fond of Maomao’s old man, which made the cranky old dame aces in Maomao’s mind. Especially since she refused to be razzed by Lakan; she proved time and again she was no pushover.

As Maomao and Shisui headed down a second long, narrow hallway, Maomao turned an inquisitive eye to her friend, “Shisui, I forgot to ask, is your sister working tonight?”

“Uh huh. Her and Joka are working the bar, Meimei’s working the stage and Pairin’s no doubt working the fellas,” she added with a wink.

As they ventured deeper, they could faintly hear a steady base and a lovely voice drifting towards them.

A bouncer held a heavy metal door open only to close it quickly as soon as they passed through. The scent of tobacco and alcohol in the windowless room hit them like a brick wall.

On their left, they were greeted by the Madam’s right hand man, “May I take your coats?”

“Thanks, Ukyou. Meimei’s singing is the berries tonight!”

He passed their coats to the coat check girl and handed them each a ticket. “She’s the bee’s knees all right!” he answered with a grin.

In this joint, a bar lined the right side, tables and chairs lined the left. At the far end was a raised platform where the jazz band played. In front of that was a smaller platform one step lower where a beautiful seductress crooned about the fella that broke her heart. Dancers swayed on the wood floor in front of her.

As a regular patron of the Verdigris, Maomao knew there was a more intimate lounge area with velvet and leather couches around the bend on the other side of the bar. Seeing how most of the seats were taken, she wondered if it was also crammed with people.

“The joint’s hoppin’ tonight!” Maomao shouted over the din of the crowd.

“I see a fella who’s saved us a couple seats,” Shisui pointed.

Maomao followed her gaze, a pleasant looking man wearing a nice but ill-fitting suit and a boater hat leaned against the bar next to two open seats. He noticed them, giving a smile and a wave.

“That flat tire? Really Shisui? He’s practically Father Time! You know he’s just going to run back to the old fart to report on everything I do.”

Shisui ignored her and pulled her towards her father's flunky. “Maybe he’ll buy us a drink before he does.”

“I’d rather buy my own drink.”

“Fine, then he can buy me one,” Shisui whispered. “Hiya Rikuson, buy a girl a drink?”

“Miss Maomao, Miss Shisui, I’d be delighted to. Afterwards, perhaps you’ll allow me to escort you to your father's home? He is quite adamant about wanting to see you this evening.”

“Adamant? Something sounds hinky. What’s his grift?”

“Can't a father simply wish to dote on his daughter?” Rikuson held the brim of his boater hat in front of himself with both hands, turning it back and forth like a steering wheel.

Maomao put her hands on her narrow hips, her tone dripping annoyance, “Not this father and not this daughter. Spill.”

“I’m afraid I can't say more.” Rikuson gave one of his usual pleasant smiles before deflecting, “What drinks would you like?”

Maomao glared at him, thoroughly unsatisfied with his response. “Two giggle waters, the good stuff. None of my father's rotgut.”

A familiar voice carried to them over the steady beat of drums and the wail of the horns. “Cigars, cigarettes, tobacco.” The cigarette girl wore a short, black skirt that flared out from her waist, a tight yellow corset, matching pillbox hat and Mary Jane heels with one broken strap.

“Xiaolan, how’s tricks?”

She shifted the tray she carried, the straps clearly digging into her shoulders. “Oh hey Maomao. My dogs are barking tonight. I swear, if one more fat cat tips me a buffalo—just a buffalo!—I’m clocking out.”

“Keep your chin up, doll, I know you need the dough. Tell me, what’s the backroom look like?”

Xiaolan’s eyes grew round as saucers. “Oh you haven't fixed your peepers on it yet? The Moon Prince and his dandies took over that part of the joint.”

“The Moon Prince?” Maomao’s eyes lit up like the 4th of July. The son of the notorious gangster, the Emperor, had a rep that made her more than a little curious. The fact his family was a direct competitor to her father was just a bonus.

Rikuson immediately sensed danger. He understood her passion for getting herself into trouble, which meant more work for the men like him who had to get her out. “Miss Maomao, please don't get any ideas. Your father will not—”

“Keep your shirt on, Rikuson. I'm just going to take a little look-see.” Maomao strolled over. At the doorway, she rested one hand high over her head against the frame and the other on her hip.

The room was full of his soldiers, and the man himself arrogantly claimed an entire sofa for himself, long legs spread in front of him. His gray, three-piece tweed suit was the frog’s eyebrow. Tailored to fit his tall, muscular body perfectly. From under the brim of his fedora, sharp eyes peered back at her. A glint of excitement sparked between them like static electricity in the air. He gave a nod and flashed a signal to his goon in front of her.

Basen tried to use his eyes and a subtle shake of his head to warn his boss, but the Moon Prince ignored him, giving him the signal a second time. Basen reluctantly turned his attention to her, cleared his throat and said, “You may join the Moon Prince.”

Maomao laughed raucously, “Tell it to my Aunt Fanny!” She turned on her heel, only making it a couple steps before someone more annoying blocked her path.

“I see you couldn't get back there either. Guess you're not such hot stuff,” she taunted. The woman in front of Maomao wore a pleated beige skirt, a shapeless straight, beige blouse that stopped below her hips and matching beige Mary Janes. Her cloche hat was—shockingly— also beige. Her red hair was the only bit of color on her whole body.

“Yaqin. What’s the matter? Didn't have time to change your clothes after working at the library?”

Yaqin blushed redder than her hair. “I have class! Unlike a little flapper floozy like you.”

Maomao didn't bother to hide her snicker or her exaggerated eye roll. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

The band began playing The Charleston—her favorite—and Maomao was not going to let anyone stop her from stepping on the dance floor. Pushing past Yaqin, she crooked a finger at Shisui and Rikuson who promptly joined her. Maomao and Shisui knew how to cut a rug, but Rikuson only seemed to know two moves, so he alternated between them on repeat.

X———————X

When the hottest chick Jinshi had seen in this joint appeared in the doorway of the lounge, he forgot all about his worries concerning Lakan. She wore a crimson dress layered with black lace, sequins and fringe, so seductive it would make an ordinary man fall to his knees and beg. It was cut low in the front and high on her thighs, showing off her gams. A fit so perfect she looked like she was sewn into it.

Jinshi’s mouth fell with the shock of seeing that beautiful dame laugh in Basen’s face. He couldn't make out what she said, but he understood the message. The vamp gave him the icy mitt! That had never happened before, certainly not to him. Not even to one of his boys. Far from being insulted, he found himself more intrigued than before.

He waited a minute, not wanting to rush out. Maybe he misunderstood and she would come right back, but no. Unable to hold back his curiousity and desire any longer, he crossed the room to find the little minx.

“Moon Prince, forget that dame, she’s bad news,” Basen implored.

He spotted her on the dance floor, the fringe of her dress twirling around her small frame in the most tantalizing way. When her T-strap heels hit the hard stomps of the dance, her pert breasts jiggled, confirming to him nothing came between her flesh and the red satin of her dress. He smiled lasciviously, licking his lips, but maintained enough control to ask, “What kind of bad news?”

“That’s the daughter of The Strategist—the Belladonna, Kan Maomao!”

“Is it now?” Rather than discourage him, the news this doll was the daughter of his father’s rival only excited him more. What he didn’t like—really didn't like—was seeing her dance with another man. A deep, possessive jealousy infected him down to his bones. Like a fire that had been burning for centuries—a perpetual, pivotal moment doomed to repeat itself each time they were reborn, in this lifetime and the next.

Ignoring Basen’s warning, he handed his jacket to him instead. Before he could take another step, he found his path blocked.

“Moon Prince! Buy a girl a drink?”

Jinshi barely spared a glance at the redhead wearing boring beige from top to bottom. She looked like a very vanilla ice cream cone with only a disappointing sliver of a cherry on top. “What's the matter? Library don't pay you enough to buy your own?”

Brushing past the flat tire with the quivering lip, Jinshi strolled onto the dance floor, took Maomao’s hand and spun her gracefully to face him.

Rikuson’s face paled, but he summoned enough courage to stammer out, “Excuse me, we’re trying to dance.”

Jinshi’s eyes were locked with Maomao’s. She had a teasing spark in her beautiful blue irises, like sun glinting off a serene lake. Jinshi smirked down at her before glancing at Rikuson. “You were trying,” his gaze returned to her, “she was succeeding.”

Without another word, Jinshi clasped one of her hands in his, his other on her waist and hers resting on his arm. They danced as if it was the most natural thing in the world. In sync with every step, their hearts beating fast with every kick and twirl. The other dancers cleared the floor, preferring to join the audience of admirers rather than become an annoying hindrance to someone's view.

When the song came to an end, Jinshi flicked a bill in the air between two fingers in front of Meimei’s lovely face. A half a C-note the singer was quick to accept and tuck into her ample cleavage. “A request?”

Jinshi held Maomao by the small of the back, pulling her close. “Something slow and sultry,” Jinshi replied.

Their bodies were pressed together so tight he could feel her heartbeat, her every breath, and especially her soft but firm mounds against his abs. He could tell her buds were erect, and he had to fight the animalistic urge for his own sex to do the same.

“I’ve heard a lot of talk about the infamous Moon Prince, but I’ve never heard of you dancing.” Maomao’s breath was hot on his neck, the feather in her hair tickling his ear. A suspicion both acts were intentional to tease him gave rise to a building heat in his cheeks.

So she did know who he was and the little minx snubbed him anyway. The knowledge she was so brazen made him want to take her over his knee or better yet, bite her shoulder right here on this dance floor in front of everyone.

“Call me Jinshi. Maybe I was just waiting for the right partner.”

“Smooth, Jinshi. You use that line on all the dames?”

“Just you, doll, or would you prefer I call you Belladonna?”

“Ohhh, look at that. And here I thought you didn't know you were playing with fire.”

“You planning to burn me?”

“You seem like the sort of fella who would enjoy that kind of thing.”

Jinshi leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. Voice low and husky he murmured, “Careful, Belladonna… or should I call you Catnip? You’re going to start a blaze that I do not want to put out.”

Maomao returned the playful banter and contact, leaving lipstick on his collar and throat. “Cool your heels, Moon Prince or you’ll start running a fever,” she whispered.

Meimei hit the final high note of the song and Jinshi dipped Maomao back. She hooked one leg over his and their unbroken eye contact stayed fixed longer than Meimei could sustain the note. Feeling bold, he closed the distance, his eyes softened and he brushed his lips against hers.

Shisui interrupted them with a tap on his shoulder. “Sorry to break up the razzle-dazzle, but the bank’s closed! Get your coat doll, we need to skedaddle.”

Maomao, still inclined, narrowed her eyes at her friend while Jinshi inhaled the rosemary scent on her breast bone. “What’s eating you, Shisui?”

Shisui was already wearing her own coat. “I finally got the flunky to talk. Your father didn't want you here tonight because he made sure the Verdigris will be receiving uninvited guests—buttons, and lots of them!”

Uncoiling from the deep dip, Maomao rose with fluid control, arching her spine slightly as his hand supported her lower back. “That damn snake in the grass! Let’s beat it!”

The band abruptly stopped playing one song and began a new one. It was the one warning everyone the cops were at the door for a raid. Joka and Suirei, behind the bar, pulled a lever and all the alcohol dropped out of sight. Patrons downed their drinks or hid them under the table.

Jinshi and his soldiers were too well known by the law and Maomao had no desire to be dragged back to her old man. Their group headed for the secret back entrance, not wanting to wait around to get pinched.

Jinshi took his jacket from Basen and dropped it on Maomao’s shoulders since she was unable to retrieve her own. All the people kept getting buffeted back and forth in the tight hallway, and when Jinshi stopped to give instructions to a couple of his boys, he lost sight of the diminutive Maomao.

Once outside, he looked left and right, sliding his hands casually into his trouser pockets. Lihaku ran to get the car while Basen stayed by his side. Jinshi’s mouth curled up when an acid green La Salle convertible rolled past.

“Bye-bye Moon Prince, thanks for the loaner,” Maomao tugged at the lapel of his jacket, still draped over her shoulders. “Till next time, doll!” A slow, confident smirk and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes were the only parting gifts she left him with as she and her friend drove away.

While everyone else rushed past him in a panic, Jinshi stood unperturbed in the middle of the road, watching the tail lights of Maomao’s Cadillac fade away. The little minx has the nerve to call me ‘doll?!’ His lips turned up and he chuckled to himself, “Till next time, Catnip.”