"Finished talking?"
I nodded and handed the phone back to the policewoman. "Paul is an ambitious prosecutor. He'll definitely run for election in the future—maybe a senator or a mayor. This case is important to him. He's not going to be too nitpicky with me."
"You've grasped human nature." The policewoman looked at me quietly.
"I should say, I've seen through the interests. Everyone gets what they need, it's that simple."
"Alright, the bureau wants me to take Kelly back."
"OK, take care of her."
"I will."
"Boss, are you really going?" Kelly was still worried, after all, she was an illegal immigrant.
"Don't worry, it's all sorted. You just need to wait."
"Let's go, girl." Stella took Kelly back.
Watching the police car disappear on the street, I exhaled deeply.
"One thing done. Now, it's work and making money."
[Your employee participated in police-civilian cooperation! Your employee admires your wisdom.
Kelly's Constitution increased by 3 points, Constitution: 70]
Bringing employees to participate in certain events can upgrade them?
Because Kelly completed it, Ella didn't get any rewards.
I pondered as I looked at the notification box.
This woman's Constitution has reached 70 points, matching the physical condition of a strong adult male.
Oh God, what is this for?
Taking prostitutes to a shootout?
The phone rang, and Amir's voice came through.
"Hey buddy, I got smuggled cigarettes and alcohol at my place. Want to come and see?"
"At your home?"
"Yes."
"Is Melissa there?" I thought of something terrible.
"Buddy, that's my sister. What are you thinking?" Amir's voice doubled in volume.
"I want her to stay far away from me."
"Oh buddy, you can't say that. Everyone can see Melissa likes you. Plus, she's beautiful, with black hair and a full figure. She could even be a star, and the little guys who like her are as countless as the stars."
"Are you promoting your sister?"
"No, I'm just stating the facts. You're lucky, but you don't deserve her."
"Thanks for your conclusion, that's exactly what I wanted."
"Fack." Amir shouted and hung up the phone.
I drove to Amir's place.
His uncle runs a convenience store, with his cousin helping to move goods. Their family lives upstairs, while the shed in their yard was converted into a warehouse.
Melissa lives in the attic upstairs, but today she seemed to be out.
Arriving in the backyard, Amir, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, a cigarette in his mouth, tilted his head and motioned for me to follow him.
Some cardboard boxes were stacked at the entrance of the warehouse.
Opening one, Amir laughed loudly, "Brother, we're gonna make a fortune."
Picking up a pack of cigarettes, the Latin youth caressed the packaging like it was his lover.
"Look, these are all ours."
"And the booze?"
"Right here." Amir walked to the other side and opened a box. "These came from Cayman, duty-free."
I tore open the packaging, took out a pack of cigarettes, pulled out a stick and lit it. The cigarette emitted white smoke with crackling sounds inside.
Taking out another cigarette, I tore open the wrapping paper and poured the tobacco into my hand. As I sifted through the tobacco with my fingers, I found branches and grass roots inside.
"Fack, Amir look at this, it's defective. They're not duty-free cigarettes."
"How is that possible?" Amir came over, looking at my palm.
"Defective goods are different from duty-free smuggled cigarettes. Duty-free smuggled ones are genuine, produced by tobacco companies, and they wouldn't use fake raw materials. But defective goods are different, they're counterfeit cigarettes, and the cost difference between the two is huge."
"Buddy, alright, I didn't check. Next time I'll find him. Can these goods be sold at PINK?" Amir looked at me apologetically.
"Of course not. Defective goods are different from smuggled goods. We need a reputation. If customers find out it's fake, they'll cause trouble, and Sofia will terminate the partnership. Buddy, we want a stable business, not just a one-off job."
"Fack!" Amir kicked the cardboard box in front of him, "That bastard."
"Who gave it to you?"
"My uncle's supplier. I know he has some special goods. I asked him today, and he said he had products that met the requirements."
"He tricked you. The price of defective goods is only a quarter of that of duty-free cigarettes."
"Fack!"
"Where is he now?"
"Sorry buddy, he's at a warehouse near the airport highway, Mamun. His name is Mamon."
"Call your cousin Duke and Freddie. Bring the pieces, we're going to find him. This is our capital. Do you want it to just disappear like this?"
"Of course not." Amir was equally furious, the hope being dashed was more painful for him than being killed.
"Then let's find this scumbag!"
Duke and Freddie were waiting at the door in a van. As Amir and I got in, we saw two HK416 assault rifles placed on the seats.
I picked one up, loaded the magazine, and patted the gun's body, "Where did these come from?"
"The supermarket will be robbed tonight. Our family bought a lot of weapons. Dad doesn't like them; he prefers the Remington M870. These are ours. With these, those bastards won't dare to mess with our convenience store."
The driver, Duke, has the standard black buzz-cut of a Mexican, an Army Ranger with two tours of duty. Freddy, a young man with a colonial-style braid, served in the Marines.
As immigrants, their parents first came to Miami, and then the two brothers applied for visas. Joining the military was their quickest path to getting a green card.
Amir also plans to take the same route, but this guy can't get caught—a criminal record would make the visa application tricky. Unfortunately, he's a restless guy.
"That damn bastard. Dude, drive; we're going to find him." Amir yelled while holding a weapon and slapping the back of the front seat.
"Calm down, man." Duke started the car. "Are we really going to go after them with guns? Those guys are smugglers."
"Scared?" Amir stared into Duke's eyes, full of provocation.
"I'm not scared." Duke raised a middle finger at Amir. "We just don't want any trouble."
"No worries, this is Miami. We need to let those guys know that they must follow the rules on someone else's turf." I placed the gun on my lap.
"OK, you're the BOSS, whatever you say goes."
Duke stepped on the gas. The car left the block and hit the highway.
By the airport highway, there was a small path where the sunlight cast shadows from the roadside trees. At the end of the road, there was a small warehouse with many private storage units set around it, usually quite deserted.
Upon reaching the storage area, Amir pointed at the fork, "Left."
Duke steered the wheel, and soon we saw a manned warehouse.
There were three guys at the entrance playing poker.
Drinking beer and smoking cigarettes in the blistering sun didn't dampen their enthusiasm. To cool off, they even brought an ice bucket, shoving ice cubes directly into their mouths.
"Is it them?" I stared ahead, pointing at the three men.
"Yeah, the one wearing the hat is Mamon!"
Amir loaded the magazine, and Duke in the front readied his beloved Honey Badger assault rifle.
"Honk the horn!"
Following my words, Duke pressed the horn.
BEEP BEEP BEEP!
The jarring sound of the horn captured the attention of the three poker players immediately.
"Go check it out!" Mamon said discontentedly, taking out his cigarette.
The hefty guy next to him stood up, his massive frame exerting an intangible pressure. Picking up a wooden club nearby, he shouted, "Hey, this is private property, get lost!"
Amir extended his middle finger out the window.
"Fack." The hefty guy's expression soured, "Kid, you looking to die? I'll break your legs."
"York, looks like you're being challenged." Mamon took a sip of beer from his bottle.
"Boss, I'll make sure this bunch of idiots knows they've made a mistake."
"Teach them a lesson, York."
"No problem, boss." The heft guy stormed over with the wooden club, "Kid, you've pissed me off. Today, I'll show you what hell looks like."
I sat in the car, and everyone inside laughed.
"York, be gentle." Mamon laughed. York was his enforcer, the most loyal and reliable under him. In the past, when they encountered unruly folks, just York's presence would instill fear. His over-six-foot frame, muscular build resembling a bear.
"I will, boss. Kid, Uncle York will be a gentleman."
Slapping the club in his palm, York walked over, swinging it with a confident smile on his face.
"I'll shove your heads up your asses." York reached the car, grabbing the door, the window frame, four young men stared back, armed with assault rifles in their hands.
York froze; God, this is unfair. They have guns, and they're assault rifles at that.
Amir raised his HK416, aiming at the hefty guy.
I extended my hand, pointing at the wooden club in York's hand, then motioned with my four fingers for him to give it to me.
"You like it? It's yours!" York handed me the club.
"Thank you, how are you?"
York scratched his head, startled by my politeness, "I'm good, how about you?"
"I'm not so good, the weather's nice today, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir." York stood honestly to the side, eyes fixed on me.
"But my mood feels like a tornado hit, pretty foul."
"I'm very sorry, sir." York apologized to me immediately.
"Hey York, what are you doing?" Mamon shouted as he saw York doing nothing.
York turned to glance at his boss, internally wanting to shout, damn it fack!
What can I do? If you can, then you come.
"Kneel!" I whispered.
"WHAT?" York, with his mouth open, didn't understand what I was after.
"I don't like repeating myself, kneel!" I said as I released the safety and racked the slide.
Thud, York knelt by the car, hands raised over his head.
"I'm very sorry, sir."
"GOOD BOY!" With that, the four of us got out of the car.
"Fack!" Seeing York kneel, Mamon was stunned as four men got out of the car with assault rifles.
"Hey Mamon, if you try to run, I will shoot."
We walked up with our guns raised.
"What do you want to do?"
Mamon and another man raised their hands, kneeling on the ground.
I stood in front of him, looking down, patted Mamon's cheek, took out a cigarette, and lit it, "I'm Kenny, Kenny Clark. Pleased to meet you!"