Connections

In March, the afternoon sun finally managed to peek through the gray clouds over New York, glazing the asphalt on Jamaica Avenue with a thin sheen.

The police car pulled out of the 103rd Precinct, turned onto Jamaica Avenue, and headed east.

Patrick kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel. He drove at a steady, moderate speed, neither rushing nor dawdling.

Lin An sat in the passenger seat, his backpack by his feet and the police report card in his hands. He turned it over and over as he studied it.

The card was small, the size of a credit card, with a white background and black lettering. The New York Police Department's logo was printed in the upper left corner, his name and case number in the middle, and the date in the lower right: some day in March 2009.

As he looked at it, he caught the Bullet Screen flooding with comments out of the corner of his eye.

[Streamer, what's that police report card actually for? Isn't it just a little piece of paper?]

[Same question.]

[I lost my passport in the United States once. A police report card is one of the documents you need to get a replacement. Without it, the embassy won't issue you a new passport.]

[Right. When you apply for a replacement passport, you have to show proof that you reported it, to show you didn't lose it on purpose.]

[Same goes for visas and I-20s. You need it to get replacements.]

[And it's an official record. With that case number, you can use it as proof if you run into any problems related to your identity anywhere in the United States.]

[For example, if the police stop you and can't find your identity information, you can show them this card and explain that your documents were stolen and you're applying for replacements.]

[At least the police won't just haul you off.]

["At least they won't just haul you off"... I'm dying. That's America for you.]

[One more thing: the case number on this card is connected to a nationwide database. Police in other states can look it up too.]

[But it says "Visa information pending verification." Could that note cause problems?]

[It shouldn't be a big deal in New York. Other cops will give the 103rd Precinct some consideration and won't push the issue. Outside the city, who knows.]

[That's how a relationship-based society works. It's the same everywhere.]

[But don't you have to go to the Chinese Consulate in New York to replace your passport? You don't have a passport now, streamer. How are you going to get in?]

[Good question.]

Lin An watched the comments, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly... It wasn't a life-or-death problem. He had a plan.

He folded the card and slipped it into his pocket, then leaned back in his seat and watched the streets pass by.

The shops lined Jamaica Avenue shoulder to shoulder: hair salons, laundromats, Chinese restaurants, Dominican grocery stores, and 99-cent stores. Their signs came in every color, most written in English or Spanish. Now and then, he spotted a line or two of Chinese, French, or even Hindi.

There were plenty of people on the sidewalks—some pushing shopping carts, some carrying plastic bags, others standing on street corners smoking and chatting. Most were Black or Latino. The few white people he saw looked like they were there on business, not living in the neighborhood.

After driving for a while, Patrick stopped at a red light and lightly tapped the steering wheel twice with his fingers.

"Dr. Lin An."

"Yeah?"

"About that identity theft you mentioned. If I find the address linked to the account, what do we do next?"

Lin An thought it over.

"If you find the address, there are two possibilities."

"What are they?"

"First, it's a real address, and the person who stole your identity lives there. Second, it's fake—just a mailbox or an empty house."

Patrick nodded.

"What if it's real?"

"If it's real..."

Lin An smiled.

"The New York Police Department should have ways to make the criminal pay..."

At that, Patrick smiled too.

Of course. How could the New York Police Department not have its ways? Criminals who dared to steal a cop's identity wouldn't get off with a simple prison sentence.

"What if the address is fake?"

"Then it gets complicated," Lin An said.

"You'll need to file an identity theft affidavit with the IRS first, then contact JPMorgan Chase's fraud department and ask them to investigate internally."

He paused.

"Either way, it'll take time. But since you've already paid the fine, the most urgent part is over. The rest is just paperwork."

Patrick fell silent for a while, then sighed.

"I paid more than five hundred bucks, and now I have to spend months proving I shouldn't have had to pay it."

He shook his head.

"This system is fucking broken."

Lin An said nothing, only smiled.

The light turned green. Patrick stepped on the gas, and they drove on.

The Bullet Screen started scrolling again.

[I totally get how Patrick feels. Dealing with the IRS in the United States is like this: they say you owe money, so you owe it. Want to prove you don't? You might spend more time and money than the debt itself.]

[That's why most Americans just pay up and avoid the hassle.]

[Identity theft is different, though. If you don't deal with it, it'll come back to haunt you next year and the year after.]

[Patrick's lucky he met Lin An. Otherwise, the IRS might chase him every year.]

[In the United States, quid pro quo is the most efficient way to socialize.]

[That's what connections are: you help me, I help you. Just knowing someone isn't enough. Without a relationship or some goodwill between you, who's going to care about your mess?]

As the comments refreshed, the car turned onto 108th Street. The buildings changed from shops to old apartment blocks, with red brick walls and iron fire escapes. Most of the ground floors were shops, but many were closed, their roll-down shutters tagged with graffiti.

They soon arrived. The police car stopped in front of a dilapidated three-story apartment building.

A Black young man in a hoodie stood on the corner, watching the police car. After Lin An got out, the man turned and walked away.

Darnell, who was standing beside his bicycle at the roadside, noticed the scene and frowned.

"Dr. Lin An."

Lin An turned around after getting out of the car.

Patrick stood beside it with his hands in his pockets. He looked a little awkward, as though he wanted to say something but didn't know how.

"Um... when you come to the precinct tomorrow afternoon, could I bring my wife's tax forms too? She works part-time and changed jobs twice last year. I'm worried she might've filed them wrong."

"Sure," Lin An said.

Patrick let out a breath of relief and smiled.

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He was about to get back in the car when he paused.

"By the way, what was your friend's name again?"

"Darnell."

"Darnell..."

Patrick glanced at Ni Ge in the distance, then offered a warning.

"Things get rough around 108th Street at night. Tell your friend to be careful when he goes out. If anything happens, call the precinct and give them my name."

"Will do, Officer Patrick."

Lin An watched the police car drive away, then looked up at the Bullet Screen in front of him.

"Guys, I've got the police report card, so it's time to move on to the next step of my plan. Anyone free to control a crow and send it to Columbia University in Upper Manhattan to find Professor Robert Jero? Give me a hand, and when I need your help killing someone later, I'll pick you first."

[Me! I can do it. I'm free.]

[What good is being free? The most important thing is having points. Without points, how long can you keep the split-screen open? Pick me. I've got plenty of points. I can stake out Columbia University for two days.]

[Let me do it. I studied in New York in 2009, and Professor Robert Jero was my advisor. I know where that old bastard's office and house are.]

[It's a parallel world now. How do you know your information is still useful?]

[It's only different in a lot of ways. Sometimes, a lot of people and things are still more or less the same.]

"All right, you're up," Lin An said, pulling out a bag of bread.

"Once we find Professor Robert, I can move on to the next step of my plan."

A crow on the roof of a nearby apartment cawed, then swooped down and snatched the bread in one smooth motion... It was the crow's food and its pay for the job.

Paid daily, in advance.

Lin An waved at the crow as it flew off.

"Buddy, I'm counting on you!"

[No problem.]

Darnell rolled up beside Lin An on his bicycle. He had long since gotten used to this kind of thing and didn't say a word about it.

"Bro, did it go smoothly?"

"Yeah, no problem."

Darnell hesitated.

"Someone was keeping watch just now, bro. We might've been noticed."

Lin An turned to face him.

"Local or an outsider?"

"Local. The Rainstorm Gang probably heard about you and sent someone to see what was going on."

"Don't worry about them. It's nothing."

Lin An waved a hand, unconcerned.

He wasn't afraid of gangsters in the first place. While they'd still been in the police car, the Bullet Screen had warned him from far away that there was a suspicious-looking Ni Ge up ahead and suggested he get out and have the police arrest him.

Lin An had ignored the suggestion. He could've asked Patrick to make the arrest. The New York Police Department had the authority to stop people on the street and check their identification.

If the person in question was Ni Ge, saying he was suspected of involvement in some thefts and needed to be taken to the precinct for questioning would have been perfectly reasonable.

But if Lin An said that, it would mean he owed Patrick a favor.

So there was no need.

Besides, the local gangsters would stop snooping soon enough. As one of the local powers, they definitely wouldn't dare provoke the New York City Police Department's 103rd Precinct.

In plenty of TV shows and movies, the police were always portrayed as incompetent. In reality, the New York police commanded far more authority on the streets than those shows suggested.

Especially in 2009, when the lingering effects of Giuliani's "broken windows theory" were still being felt and New York, under Bloomberg, was slowly recovering from the financial crisis. The police had reached a historic peak in their control of the streets.

As long as the local gangsters had any sense, they wouldn't mess with Lin An.

"Come on, Darnell," Lin An said, greeting Ni Ge.

"Let's check on the safe house and see how Old Joe and the others are doing."

The Roadster Bicycle raced along the streets of Jamaica.

Darnell pedaled furiously, his long legs pumping up and down like pistons. The old bicycle creaked rhythmically beneath him, its chain turning with a bright, steady whir.

He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and lowered it over his brow. He looked like a gangbanger in his thirties fleeing the police, and pedestrians scattered out of his way as he passed.

Lin An sat on the back, one hand gripping the edge of the seat and the other tucked into his coat pocket. His backpack bounced behind him with every bump in the road.

The wind whipped past his ears. A New York afternoon in March was still a little chilly, but Lin An thought it was just right.

"Bro!"

Darnell shouted from the front, his voice coming and going with the wind.

"You—sure—you—don't—want—to—get—a—cab?"

"Sure!"

"I've—got—an—Uber—account!"

"I know!"

"Then—why—aren't—we—getting—a—cab?"

Lin An laughed but didn't answer.

The Bullet Screen flew past in front of him.

[Because a cab costs money, and riding Ni Ge's bike doesn't.]

[The streamer's got barely a hundred bucks left. How's he supposed to pay for a cab?]

[Darnell's a literal human engine. They must be going fifty kilometers an hour!]

[Fifty? Look how the trees are blurring past. They're going at least sixty.]

[This bike's pretty good.]

[It's not the bike. Aodebiao's the beast powering it.]

Lin An glanced at the Bullet Screen, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

Darnell shouted again from up ahead.

"Bro, hold on! Downhill!"

Lin An instinctively grabbed the seat. The bike suddenly accelerated, racing down a small slope. The wind roared in his ears, as if something were rushing past them.

[Wait, streamer! Tell Ni Ge to stop! There's danger ahead.]

Lin An's smile vanished.

"Darnell, stop."

Darnell didn't ask why. He clamped down on the brakes. The Roadster Bicycle squealed, skidding in a crooked arc before wobbling to a stop at the side of the road.

"What's wrong?"

Darnell looked back. Seeing Lin An's expression, he immediately lowered his voice.

"What's up ahead..."

Darnell didn't finish the question. Once the bike stopped, he heard the strange sounds coming from up ahead.

[There were two groups fighting it out by the Church.]

[Holy shit, those are real guns. This isn't a game.]

[At least a dozen people, shooting at each other.]

[They're going at it pretty hard.]

Lin An narrowed his eyes and looked toward the Church.

At the end of the street, he could just make out a few figures moving. A dull rumbling sound carried through the air, like someone setting off firecrackers in the distance, but Lin An knew it wasn't firecrackers.

Those were gunshots.

Nine-millimeter, .45, maybe even a .38 revolver—the different sounds blended together like an improvised percussion performance.

"Bro."

Darnell's voice dropped to a whisper.

"Those are gunshots."

"I know."

"We should..."

"You hide."

Lin An jumped off the back seat, shoved Darnell by the shoulder, and pushed him and the bike into the narrow gap between two buildings by the roadside.

The gap was so narrow that only one person could stand there sideways. He shoved the Roadster Bicycle in crosswise, its handlebars wedged against the wall, while the back wheel kept spinning.

Darnell leaned against the wall, utterly confused.

"Bro, we..."

"You stay here and keep an eye on things. Back me up if you need to."

Lin An cut him off.

Darnell froze for a moment.

"What?"

"Stay here. Don't move, don't make a sound, and wait for me to come back."

"What are you going to do?!"

Lin An didn't answer. He was already taking off his jacket.

He pulled off the black, lightweight hoodie, revealing a dark gray long-sleeved T-shirt underneath. He handed the hoodie to Darnell, then took off his backpack and set it beside the bicycle.

Darnell watched him, his eyes widening.

"Bro, have you lost your mind? There's a freaking shootout over there!"

"Just taking a look."

"At what?"

"The action."