Might as Well Beat Him to Death

Shang-Chi was complaining to his uncle when Jessica walked in through the restaurant entrance.

She'd gone to Metropolitan Stadium to watch the Wolves play today. Shang-Chi was supposed to go with her, but the silly boy, who still hadn't quite caught on, had turned down a girl's invitation and insisted on staying behind to work his shift at the restaurant and earn tips.

Seeing Shang-Chi behind the bar, Jessica walked over and gave a loud snort. The good mood she'd gotten from the Wolves' victory seemed to fade a little.

Shang-Chi was a dyed-in-the-wool straight shooter from China. He frowned at Jessica and shook his head in confusion, as if asking whether she'd forgotten to take her medicine today.

Seeing Jessica's eyes flare up, Shang-Chi hesitated, then grabbed a glass of Soda Water and set it in front of her.

After glancing around at the people watching the show, Shang-Chi gave an awkward little cough. He leaned over the bar and looked at Jessica. "What's wrong with you? The Wolves won in style today!"

Old Kent sat at one end of the bar, watching Shang-Chi dig himself into a deep hole. The old Black Man laughed and called to Jessica, "Jess, Shang-Chi made a lot of tips off us today.

"I bet he'll have enough to finish renovating his place before long. Ha ha!"

Shang-Chi glared at Old Kent, who was enjoying the spectacle far too much. Then, rubbing his hands together awkwardly, he looked at Jessica's strange expression and said, "I, uh... I don't have to split the tips today, do I?"

As soon as Shang-Chi finished speaking, Jessica grabbed him by the neck and snatched the wad of small bills from his pocket.

Jessica hastily counted the bills in her hand, then stuffed what looked like a little