Two Cases of Moutai for a Location

In the corner of the bar, Sing Sing held up his glass and swirled it at the bartender.

"Hey buddy, fill up those two guys' rooms next door, it's on me!"

The bartender, a redneck old man, heard this and strolled over, cigar in his mouth, leaning on the bar and looking down at Sing Sing.

"Kid, there's no such rule here. What's your purpose?"

"My purpose? I just want to have some fun."

Sing Sing pulled out a banknote and placed it on the table, then pushed it towards the bartender with his finger. "Old buddy, drinking alone can make you homesick sometimes, so consider this a tip."

"A fool wouldn't make money if he could," the old bartender said, taking a deep drag of his cigar and exhaling into the air. He then wiped the area in front of Sing Sing with a rag and grabbed a handful of nuts and salt and pepper crunches.

Two dockworkers at the next table saw that there was free beer and immediately raised their glasses to him in greeting.

They were just two workers, with little money and no pretty wives.

What's there to gain from someone else?

"Thanks, buddy. Alone? Come on over and grab a drink."

"OK!"

Sing Sing picked up his cup, moved over to join the table, and introduced himself with a smile:

"I'm in the used car business, just arrived from Vancouver to pick up a few cars. I'm completely new to the area, so I'm relying on everyone's help. Any business opportunities you guys have to recommend me to? Hahaha..."

A long-haul truck driver nearby also joined in, and with three mouths and five glasses of wine, the conversation immediately started flowing.

"You're coming to Seattle to pick up your car? Dude, you really picked a bad time."

The truck driver took a swig of his drink and clicked his tongue. "This damn city's been acting really weird lately."

"Oh?"

Sing Sing peeled nuts, a hint of pain in his eyes.

"The market is bad? Sigh... I've already put my deposit on the line."

"Market trends are nothing, it's all about fate!"

The bearded man glanced around and lowered his voice, "Didn't you notice that hardly anyone goes out after eight o'clock? Everyone's either gathered together or staying at home."

The truck driver slammed his cup on the table and moved closer to Sing Sing.

With keen insight, Director Zhou pulled out a pack of Marlboros and started handing out cigarettes, then raised his hand and asked the bartender to bring over a few bottles of beer.

This behavior made the group quite comfortable.

"Dude, you've come at the wrong time. There's been a lunatic in the underworld lately, I heard he has white hair, gray skin, and his codename Scatter."

Rednecks

"Scatter?"

Sing Sing was a little surprised and joked, "This nickname sounds really corny, not much different from 'groundhog'? Hahaha..."

"Earth?"

The truck driver took the cigarette, Old Zhou lit it.

"Once that weird gun in his hand is pointed at your forehead, you won't think it's so corny anymore."

Another dockworker added, "That gun was really weird, it looked like something out of a science fiction movie. One shot and a person was instantly turned into a sieve. The guys who collected the bodies had been doing it for twenty years, and they always came out with green faces."

"And what's more! This guy specifically targets Mutants!"

The truck driver counted on his fingers.

"Two lay in the dock area last month, and another one in the city center a few days ago. They're all unlucky guys who showed off their abilities. There are even a few kids among them, the kind who usually drape a bed sheet over themselves and call themselves superheroes."

Sing Sing was truly helpless.

He was out all over the world finding jobs and providing benefits to Mutants, but instead, they were being hoarded and hunted, and the victims were mostly young, upstarts.

Sing Sing pushed the snack plate forward. "Murder is murder, but where are the police, the surveillance cameras, the FBI? Don't those superheroes care?"

"Police?"

The dockworker chuckled dismissively, "Last week, a passerby glanced at that lunatic a couple of times and got beaten to a pulp right there in the street. The police haven't caught a hair on his head yet."

"The surveillance cameras are all broken, all the witnesses are mute, and the newspapers and television don't mention a word about it. Isn't that amazing?"

"We need to know what that madman looks like, right? We can't just hide from every white-haired person."

"Red eyes, with dark lines around the eye sockets, like they'd been hit by firecrackers."

The truck driver gestured to his face. "But I just heard that from someone else. Apparently, no one who saw my face survived. I don't know who started that."

No matter how skilled an assassin is, can he really cover the mouths of everyone in the city?

Surveillance cameras break down so easily, newspapers fall silent so easily, and the police go blind so easily?

Bullshit!

"Thanks everyone, I'll cover all the drinks tonight."

Sing Sing stood up and said, "I'm the kind of person who listens to advice the most, I need to go back to sleep now!"

It was early morning, around 1 a. m.

Sing Sing Chow wandered through a maze of turns and ended up in a dead-end alley, at the end of which hung a pawnshop sign.

Pawnshops that keep their lights on at this hour usually don't accept items that can be easily exposed to the light of day.

Pushing open the door, I saw a fat man wearing gold-rimmed glasses sitting behind the counter, examining a pocket watch with a magnifying glass.

"We're closing, buddy."

"I don't treat things as objects, I buy things."

What to buy?

"Buying information. White hair, weird gun, Scatter. Name your price."

The fat man put down the magnifying glass and scanned him from head to toe. "Five thousand."

"How much!? Five thousand? Are you trying to rob me?"

"A life-or-death deal, friend," the fat man said slowly. "Ask around, five thousand is considered a 'familiar price'."

"Two hundred."

Why don't you just rob it?!

"Five hundred."

Sing Sing casually tossed his trench coat behind his waist. "I can't afford any more. I'm really strapped for cash lately."

The fat man opened his mouth to curse, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the hilt of the knife tucked into his waistband.

The dark wooden handle was polished to a shine, with a dark red tinge at the end.

Those people in this line of work have a keen eye; those things aren't just for show, they've actually seen bloodshed.

"Five hundred it is. Actually, I'm always happy to help others!"

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Sing Sing slammed the money on the counter and grabbed a handful of candy from the plate.

The fat man came out from behind the counter with the money in his hand, looked around at the door, and then came to Sing Sing's side.

"I don't know the specifics, but there used to be a very eerie place underground in Seattle; the older folks in the city called that Core Zone.'"

"The old factory buildings above ground have been collapsed for almost twenty years, but underground they've never been idle. Trucks come and go, but no one has ever seen what the loaders look like."

"Where's the address?"

The fat man shook his head repeatedly. "Really, I don't have that. If I could even get an address, the grass on my grave would be two meters high by now. I'm just a meter collector!"

Back in the hotel parking lot, Sing Sing got into his car and lit a cigarette.

A strange gun with white fur and gray skin, specifically designed to kill Mutants.

The underground Core Zone, old factory buildings.

"Guardian, please scan the city's public archives for me. Keywords: Core Zone, old factory buildings, underground freight."

"Mr. Zhou, I'm just the vehicle's infotainment system."

"Come on, do you think anything the Guardians make doesn't have a backdoor? If you find out, I'll send your boss two cases of Feitian Moutai."

It still has to be thatch.

"Suspected script for exchanging favors detected... Recorded... File retrieval is a standard driver assistance function, initiating retrieval..."

"... Search complete. The old cannery in South Harbor District, registered as North Shore Warehousing Center, is owned by Ringstar Logistics Ringstar Logistics parent company is Kellman Industries."

"Kellman Industries' registered address is the same office as three shell companies of the Silver Peak Consortium."

Ha!

Silver Peak Consortium!