Tinkerer

The healing collaborator, codenamed "Tinkerer," quietly appeared on the Continental Hotel's contact list.

The old gunslinger, whose full name was Charlie Fisher, was a great help to Henry in opening his business. He not only helped Henry find a house to open, but also personally helped to tidy up the premises.

While the two were cleaning inside the house, Henry asked curiously, "Charlie, you share the same last name as the hotel manager, Fisher. Who are you?"

"She's my niece," Charlie said frankly. Looking at Henry, whose appearance was considered above average by white standards...

He added, "If you're thinking of asking her out, I advise you to save your breath. You'll just end up being played."

Judging from Charlie's tone, Henry asked, "You two don't get along very well?"

"We're distant relatives. They're the main family, and the most successful one at that. Looking down on poor relatives is nothing new under this blazing Sun Pharma. Just because we share the same surname, Fisher, doesn't mean we're a loving family."

Hearing this lukewarm reply, Henry knew it was time to stop. Continuing to ask would only annoy him. Besides, this was a family matter, none of his business.

He became curious about the shop at the end of the alley and asked, "Charlie, how did you find this place?"

Charlie looked slightly angry and said, "Isn't this what you asked for? If you're going to open Black Clinic, of course you can't open it on a main road, nor can it be some deserted, godforsaken place."

"And then you want to open a shop in South Los Angeles. I just want to ask you, what are you trying to do by opening a shop in an area with the most Black and Mexico people? Are you afraid your business won't be good enough?"

"That's exactly what I wanted, but I didn't expect to actually find a place like this."

Just then, a few black men squeezed through the half-open iron gate. While some of them were the kind of black men with gold chains, half-rolled-up pants, and a rapper-like style, the leader was an Old Black in a sharp suit who tried to pretend to be a successful man, but couldn't hide his thuggish air.

The Old Black leading the group greeted Charlie with a fist bump, speaking in a trilled accent similar to that of a street urchin, "Old dog,"

"Is this the Continental Hotel who's going to open here?"

"Yes." Charlie then turned to Henry and introduced, "This is the person in charge of this area; we all call him Big O."

Charlie deliberately omitted his real name because some people don't like their real names being exposed, and those in the underworld need a name that sounds impressive.

He hadn't asked Henry beforehand, so he could only let the guy answer himself. If he revealed his real name, it wouldn't matter to Charlie. "Big O, nice to meet you. I'm the Tinkerer." Henry proactively extended his hand in greeting, and hastily came up with a pseudonym to introduce himself. Remembering Tom from Alaska's advice, he didn't foolishly reveal his real name.

As for the Continental Hotel, my identity was already known, so there was no point in trying to hide it now. Therefore, I didn't deliberately use a pseudonym there.

But the Old Black didn't immediately reach out. Instead, he said, "Young man, there's a rule. I don't sell medicine, because that's my business."

Henry promised, "I don't sell medicine. I only treat external injuries like wounds and fractures. For other difficult or complicated cases, if you're not afraid of death, you can come to me for treatment. Even mental illnesses are fine."

Looking at the young white man's smile, the Old Black man asked in surprise, "You can cure mental illness?"

"It's like hitting someone on the head with a baseball bat; if it doesn't work the first time, do it a few more times. No matter how severely insane someone is, I have a way to make them admit they're cured. Otherwise, only God can heal them."

"Ah, I know this treatment method too." The Old Black, grinning with two rows of white teeth, finally shook Henry's hand.

It swayed slightly from side to side.

Henry really wanted to ask how they managed to brush their teeth so white. Or was it some kind of racial talent?

Old Black glanced at his eager underling and asked, "Tinkerer, I think you're still missing a signboard. How do you plan to get one? I'll have my men help you."

As they spoke, a few of the henchmen pulled out several cans of spray paint from inside their jackets. It seemed they were planning to do street graffiti art again.

Henry, of course, wouldn't object; after all, it wasn't a proper clinic. Making it too formal and attracting government officials would be counterproductive. So Henry said, "Just use the word ' Tinkerer,' feel free to use it."

"Hey!" A few playful young black men, having been given permission, immediately crawled out of the iron gate, pulled it down, and began their painting.

Henry pulled up a few clean chairs for Old Black to sit down. He and Charlie had finished tidying up and could finally rest.

He then took out a can of beer and placed it on the table, serving one to everyone.

Nobody was being coy; they just pulled the tabs and started chugging. Even though it was springtime, Los Angeles California, was still quite chilly. But they were all grown men, and ice-cold beer was a winter's drink, so there was no Reason to refuse.

After everyone had taken a big gulp, Henry spoke first, asking, "Big O, this is my first time doing something like this. You should tell me the rules beforehand, so I don't cause any trouble if I make a mistake later."

Big O put down his beer can and said seriously, "You work for the Continental Hotel, and you've always been a neutral party outside."

It's none of our business. But if they want to do business on our turf, the condition is that they don't touch our business, which is medicine and women.

"So just do your job Tinkerer and don't do anything unnecessary, and we'll consider you one of us. Even if the cops want to cause trouble, they'll let you know first."

"I understand," Henry nodded.

To put it bluntly, the business of Continental Hotel and the business of local gangs don't overlap, which is why the two sides can coexist peacefully. If there were a conflict of interest between the two sides, they would probably fight each other to the death.

Charlie added at the opportune moment, "Tinkerer, as a service provider, while we don't forbid you from taking on outside business, you represent the Continental Hotel."

"Don't cross any taboos. If any minor trouble comes your way, ask Big O to handle it. If that doesn't work..."

Just contact me, or ask the manager to intervene.

"Just think about it, who are your main customers? It's not that there aren't people who dare to offend those people, but they certainly aren't young people who can't even speak clearly."

"I'll tell you how to mark this place later, so that the contract gunmen from the Continental Hotel can immediately spot the service providers nearby."

There's no need to search the hotel's contact list. Those in the know will understand to avoid trouble.

"Okay." Remembering something, Henry turned to look at Big O, the Old Black, and tentatively asked, somewhat uncertainly, "Regarding my shop here, are there any monthly fees?"

"Protection money?" Old Black asked, then chuckled to himself, saying, "With everyone armed, very few gangs use 'protection' as a pretext to collect money anymore. There must be some business dealings between the two sides to establish a good cooperative relationship."

"Then what about us...?"

Henry's question was clear, and old Charlie chimed in, "Your landlord is Big O. You have to pay him rent every month."

"Ah, so that's where we're waiting." Henry feigned sudden realization.

Old Black flashed his two rows of white teeth again, trying his best to appear kind and approachable. But actually, he looked more like a malevolent shark displaying its sharp teeth.