That night, the three vampires were packaged and sent to the secret laboratory of Stark Industries.
Stark, clear-headed after vomiting, already had several good ideas for weapons against vampires. He needed some test subjects to verify the effectiveness of his weapons.
Director George was immensely satisfied with the final outcome. Even in his wildest dreams, things hadn't gone this smoothly. Happily, he went back to prepare to organize a team specifically to deal with vampires. Of course, he first had to go to Washington for that unknown meeting.
In the following days, Alven didn't rest either. He wasn't a savior; he couldn't single-handedly charge into the vampires' lair and wipe them all out.
But Alven was a man of action. I can't solve the vampire problem for all of New York, but I can keep Hell's Kitchen clean, ensuring my family, children, and the school's students are safe from vampire threats.
With a physical reference, Ghost Wolf could easily sniff out the scent of vampires. During the day, taking Ghost Wolf, searching street by street, dragging those vampires hiding in the shadows out into the sun was no challenge for him.
When Alven, accompanied by the three Ghost Wolves, "Athens," "Rome," and "Sparta," stepped onto the first street outside his district, Hell's Kitchen began to churn and boil like oil poured into clear water.
The big and small gangs of Hell's Kitchen began to spread the word, becoming tense and vigilant. Everyone in Hell's Kitchen knew that although Alven was the boss of three blocks, he strongly disliked gangs.
If Alven were to expand his territory, many gangs might bleed out and disappear, just like what happened to 25th Street. To this day, no one knows what happened to the original gang members there.
Alven stood at the intersection of 27th Street, looking at the dozen or so cars blocking the entire street not far ahead. About 20 guys, who looked more like laborers than gang members, held firearms, peeking out from behind the cars.
A phone call came in. Alven looked at these people, amused; it was rare to see gang members so timid. He answered the phone.
"This is Alven, who are you?"
......
"Yes, I'm standing at the intersection of 27th Street right now. Do you have a problem, Kingpin?!"
......
"Oh, yes, we had an agreement, but so what? Just because we had an agreement, I should stand here and wait for your son of a bitch to come over? Hmm?"
......
"Hmm, if you had said earlier that you were calling me as a school board member, I wouldn't have been so rude. I'll wait for you for a bit. You'd best call everyone who has a say in Hell's Kitchen; I can perform a magic trick for you."
......
"Okay, okay, I'm not a gangster, and I'm not interested in your so-called territory. Mr. School Board Member, today's matter has nothing to do with territory, I promise."
......
He hung up the phone, and after a while, a short, stout, bald Irishman with a ruddy nose came jogging over.
Alven knew him. He was the boss of this street, named Clark Gable. One-third of New York's counterfeit shoes were sold through him.
Although his appearance did a disservice to such a good name, he wasn't a bad person; at least Alven had never heard of him doing anything particularly heinous.
Clark jogged up to Alven, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and carefully led Alven into an Irish pub.
The pub wasn't open yet. Clark dismissed the equally panicked bar owner and personally served Alven a cup of coffee.
Alven smiled, looking at Clark, who stood like a waiter, and chuckled, "You don't have to be nervous, Mr. Gable, I'm not here to cause trouble today. Please sit down, we have time to chat, and maybe even do some business."
Clark was momentarily stunned. He was actually a businessman, but his company selling counterfeit goods was illegal in America, so he had settled on 27th Street with a group of guys who were more like factory security guards than gang members.
In fact, Clark didn't dislike Alven. Sometimes he wished his street also had a giant wolf roaming around. That way, he could save a lot on the expense of hiring thugs.
Driven by his business instincts, Clark asked, "I wonder what good business Boss Alven has for me."
Alven rubbed his nose, a little embarrassed, and said, "Clark, you know about the community school, right?" Seeing Clark nod, he continued, "Our children don't have proper uniforms yet, which is very detrimental to establishing our school's image. You're in the clothing, shoe, and hat business; you should understand that this is a good deal."
What's there not to understand? This deal was too good. A school with over a thousand, almost two thousand, children, two sets of uniforms each for summer and winter, replaced annually.
Everyone knew that Boss Alven was a fair man. This wasn't just talking business; this was practically giving money away!
Clark excitedly wiped the sweat from his forehead. Without even asking what price Alven would offer, he decided that even if he lost a little, he would take the business.
But the school uniforms must bear the "Gable" brand. If the school teachers needed them, I could also make suits. And I've never heard of Alven letting anyone lose money on a deal; the guys who deliver supplies to his restaurant always get cash.
"Tomorrow, Boss Alven, tomorrow I'll bring samples to your store. Any style available on the market, I have them all here.
My second son is in 7th grade at the school; he's a defensive end on the school's football team. I sponsor all the football team's uniforms and shoes. You can rest assured I'll give you the best materials."
Alven smiled and nodded. He had some mature ideas about the appearance of the school uniforms, which the students probably wouldn't like too much.
Without another word, Alven waited patiently for Kingpin to arrive. He had to kill two vampires in front of them to dispel the doubts of these bumpkin gangsters and assure them that he could wander around their territory with his big dogs.
Soon, the pub door was pushed open, and a large crowd noisily entered. Leading them was a black Fat Man over two meters tall and weighing more than 150 kilograms.
The last time such an orderly gathering of gang bosses occurred was during the community school's "principal election."
Kingpin was wearing a golden suit with a green shirt underneath. His shiny bald head looked freshly waxed, reflecting the sunlight streaming in from the doorway. Surprisingly, this New York underground boss had an unusually honest appearance: large eyes, a big nose, and thick lips. If he were wearing a different uniform, he would look more like a simple farmer than a gang boss.
Kingpin held a cane with a large gem embedded at the top, looking very imposing. With a wave of his hand, he told the people behind him to disperse and sit down.
With heavy steps, he made the pub floor creak. The beast-like Kingpin ignored the protests of the poor chair and sat down with a thud. He silently watched Alven, waiting to see what he would say.
He was very afraid of Alven because he knew Alven had some strange abilities that could take his life at any moment. But he couldn't back down; he was the underground boss of this city. If he retreated, other ambitious gangs would swarm over like sharks smelling blood, tearing him apart.
Alven actually admired Kingpin, this guy who had climbed to the position of New York's underground boss by stepping over the corpses and blood of his opponents from Hell's Kitchen. He always knew what he had to do, no matter the consequences.
Just like now, even knowing that offending Alven wouldn't lead to a good outcome, he still had to sit in front of Alven and negotiate with him. Because losing his status was more terrifying to him than losing his life!
Perhaps this was the characteristic of successful people from Hell's Kitchen. I might be bad, but I'm tough!