After assigning Old Joe some tasks, Lin An climbed the ladder that had only been installed today and went inside the Abandoned Furniture Factory. On the second floor, they had already cleared out a room that was suitable for quiet meetings.
Lin An walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing through the empty space.
He noticed that the door at the end of the hall was ajar. When he pushed it open, a mixture of hay, feathers, and a faint smell of droppings hit him.
The room wasn't very big, just over twenty square meters.
Iron mesh covered the window, with gaps just wide enough for the crows to squeeze through. A few plastic bowls sat on the sill, filled with water, broken pieces of bread, and crackers.
In one corner of the room, a few thick branches carried up from downstairs had been fastened to the wall with wire, forming a crude perch.
The bark still smelled fresh, and a few withered leaves clung to the branches.
Some crows were perched on them. Lin An counted at least twelve.
They sat quietly on the branches, their eyes half-closed, as if dozing. A few cocked their heads and stared at Lin An with their black-bean eyes, his reflection visible in their pupils.
The one closest to the window was the biggest. Its wings were almost a whole span wider than the others', and the feathers on its chest were a little fluffed up, like it was wearing a puffy black vest.
When it saw Lin An come in, it tilted its head and let out a low croak, as if greeting him.
Oh, the crow leader.
[That crow is so cool. What's its name?]
[The streamer hasn't named it. Why don't we come up with one?]
[How about Little Black?]
Lin An looked at the biggest crow. It was cocking its head, staring at him without blinking with its black-bean eyes.
[Little Black is way too plain. It's the crow leader, so it needs a more impressive name.]
[How about "Prophet"? In mythology, ravens are Odin's eyes.]
[Those are ravens, not crows.]
[Close enough, close enough.]
[What about "Coal Ball"?]
[Does the coal ball at your house fly?]
[Call it "Black Pearl."]
[Too girly.]
["Shadow."]
[So edgy.]
["Director."]
[??? Why Director?]
[Because it keeps an eye on the cops. Director of Intelligence.]
[That works. Call it "Director of Intelligence."]
[Too long. Just "Director" is fine.]
While the bullet comments were still arguing, the biggest crow suddenly flapped its wings, hopped down from the perch, and landed on the windowsill.
It took a couple of steps, tilted its head to look at the water in the plastic bowl, then looked up at Lin An.
Then it lowered its head, picked up a small piece of bread from the edge of the bowl with its beak, set it on the sill, and nudged it toward Lin An.
[What's it doing?]
[Is it giving the streamer food???]
[Crows share food, especially with those they consider companions.]
[It thinks Lin An is one of its own.]
[Lol, the Director is paying tribute to the streamer.]
Lin An looked down at the little piece of bread on the windowsill, pecked into an unrecognizable shape, and the corner of his mouth curved up.
"I don't eat that."
The crow tilted its head, as if trying to understand him.
Then it picked up the bread and ate it itself.
[All right, the Director's a practical bird. If you won't eat it, it'll eat it itself.]
[Not wasting food. Like it.]
[So what's its name, then?]
[Director. It's settled.]
[Vote now! Type 1 if you support Director.]
A sea of [1] comments floated across the screen.
[That's it, Director wins unanimously.]
[Director, we're counting on you to run the intel network from now on.]
After finishing the bread, the crow called Director ruffled its feathers and hopped back onto the perch.
It crouched down, tucking its neck in and half-closing its eyes as if dozing, but its pupils kept moving, watching Lin An.
Lin An stood there for a while, then turned to leave. After walking back a few steps, he pushed open a door halfway down the hall.
Old Joe had cleared out this room yesterday. It was meant to be a room for the women in the factory, but Lin An thought it would be suitable for discussing things for now.
The room wasn't very big. The windows had been nailed shut with boards, but Old Joe had drilled a few small holes in them for ventilation and light.
Darnell was already inside.
He was sprawled in a folding chair, his long legs stretched under the table as he looked down at his phone. When he heard the door, he looked up and slipped the phone into his pocket.
"Bro, did you go see the crows just now?"
"Yeah."
"Are you raising those crows?"
"Yeah. For now, they're my collaborators."
Darnell nodded and didn't ask anything else. He was used to Lin An's strange, mystical business by now. He didn't ask why; even if he did, he wouldn't understand the answer.
Lin An didn't hurry to speak.
He reached out and produced two bottles of water from thin air. He tossed one to Darnell and unscrewed the cap on the other to take a sip.
Darnell watched him, waiting for him to speak.
"Two things,"
Lin An said.
"First, the money."
Darnell's eyes lit up, but quickly returned to normal.
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, putting on an "I don't care" act, though his fingers kept tapping his arm.
"That bag had three to four hundred thousand dollars in it,"
Lin An said.
"I'm not going to give you a lot."
Darnell's fingers paused.
"Why?"
"Because the money belongs to the Rainstorm Gang."
Lin An looked at him, his tone calm, as if explaining a math problem.
"This is the Jamaica Community, Rainstorm Gang territory. They lost a lot of money, so they'll definitely come looking for it. If some Black kid in the neighborhood suddenly gets rich, buys new clothes and a new phone, treats his friends to dinner, and starts buying things for his family, what do you think they'll think?"
Darnell opened his mouth, then closed it.
He looked down at the faded hoodie he was wearing, then at his sneakers, whose toes were coming apart.
"They'll come looking for me,"
he said, his voice a little quieter than before.
"Right,"
Lin An said.
"They'll come to ask where your money came from. They'll search your house, and they'll target your mom and your sister. If you don't tell them, they'll beat you until you do.
"If you do tell them, they'll take the money back—and take your life while they're at it."
Darnell fell silent.
He watched a patch of light on the tabletop, slowly clenching and unclenching his fingers on his knee.
"So you won't give me much money."
"Right."
"How much?"
"One hundred a day."
Darnell looked up at Lin An.
"Every day?"
"Every day."
"One hundred dollars?"
"Yeah."
Darnell did the math. Three thousand a month—more than he made from shoplifting, but nowhere near enough to make him look rich.
"What about the rest of the money?"
"Keep it for the things it needs to be used for."
Darnell fell silent again.
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. It was made of concrete, with a long, thin crack stretching from the middle to the corner.
Lin An didn't rush him. He picked up his water bottle and took another sip.
The bullet comments were scrolling by.
[The streamer's right. He can't just hand Darnell all that money.]
[A hundred a day is enough for him to spend, and it won't draw attention.]
[Darnell doesn't look too happy.]
[He's not unhappy. He's thinking.]
[He'll figure it out. The guy's not dumb.]
About half a minute later, Darnell sat up straight.
He took a deep breath, then let it out.
"Bro,"
he said.
"Actually, this money has nothing to do with me."
Lin An looked at him.
"You were the one who fought today. You made those five guys appear. I just got lucky and found the bag of money when I flipped the car. Without you, I wouldn't have done anything. I'd have just been hiding behind a dumpster, shaking."
He paused.
"You shouldn't give me any money."
Lin An shook his head.
"You rode with me on the bike, you found the bag, and you helped. You deserve a share, but I can't give it to you all at once. I can only give you some every day."
Darnell looked at him, the corners of his mouth slowly spreading into a grin.
"Bro, are you worried I'll blow it all?"
"I'm worried you'll die,"
Lin An said.
Darnell froze for a moment, then laughed.
"Fine. A hundred bucks a day. That's my paycheck."
He held out his hand, and Lin An bumped his fist.
"Second thing,"
Lin An said.
Darnell's smile faded, and he sat up straight.
"We can look into Sergei Kuzmin, Brighton Beach, and Black Sea Seafood."
Darnell nodded.
"We can do that, but before we start, we need to buy some things."
"What?"
"Weapons and ammunition."
Darnell's expression changed.
He glanced at the door to make sure it was shut, then lowered his voice.
"Bro, are you serious?"
"Yeah."
"Guns?"
"Yeah."
"Unregistered guns?"
"Yeah."
Darnell rubbed his face, then scraped his fingers over his chin, the faint rasp of stubble audible.
"Bro, I'll be straight with you. Ammo's easy to buy. Guns aren't."
"Go on."
"For ammo, New York State law says buyers need a firearm permit and ID, but guess what? A lot of gun stores don't even check.
"You can walk in, hand over the money, and leave with the ammo. Especially at the smaller shops—the owners just want to do business. Who cares whether you have a permit?"
Darnell spoke as he gestured with both hands.
"I know a guy who runs a little gun shop over in Queens. He doesn't even check your license—cash is all he wants. If you need bullets, I can go ask him tomorrow.
"That way, if anything goes wrong, I'm the one who goes to jail."
"What about a gun?"
Darnell lowered his hands.
"Guns are different."
Darnell looked rather helpless.
"You have to pass a background check to buy a gun..."
"I know. I'm asking about an unregistered gun."
"Maybe you can get one, but I don't know anyone who sells them."
Darnell looked at Lin An, his expression serious.
"Bro, I'm not some streetwise Ni Ge. I don't do drugs, I'm not in a gang, and I don't associate with criminals... Mom won't let me know anyone who sells unregistered guns."
Lin An nodded without interrupting him.
"And even if I did know someone, I wouldn't dare just show up and ask to buy one."
The Bullet Screen was scrolling by.
[Darnell has a point.]
[You can't just buy an unregistered gun whenever you want. You need connections.]
[So what now?]
[Is the streamer going to find one himself?]
[He's Asian. Asking around for an unregistered gun would look even more suspicious.]
[Why not have Old Joe do it?]
[Old Joe's a carpenter. He doesn't know anyone either.]
[What about Allen? He's a veteran. Maybe he has connections.]
[Could be. Veterans sometimes have those kinds of connections.]
[But Allen's leg still hasn't healed properly.]
[Just have him ask around first.]
Lin An looked at Darnell, the corners of his mouth curving up.
"You're right."
Darnell let out a sigh of relief.
"So we're not buying a gun for now?"
"We're buying one."
Darnell's expression fell again.
"But you don't need to look for an unregistered gun. Go buy the bullets first—9mm Parabellum. Get a lot."
Darnell nodded, pulled out his phone, opened his notes app, and jotted down the model Lin An had mentioned.
"How many bullets?"
"Start with a thousand rounds of 9mm."
Darnell tapped the screen a few times, then looked up.
"Bro, a thousand rounds of 9mm? Are you getting ready for a war?"
Lin An didn't answer. He only smiled.
Darnell looked at his smile and shook his head.
"Fine, a thousand rounds. I'll ask tomorrow, but if the shop owner wants to see ID and won't sell me any, don't blame me."
"I won't," Lin An said.
"What about the unregistered gun?"
Lin An thought for a moment.
"No rush. Let's see if we can get the bullets first. I'll figure out the gun later."
Darnell nodded and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
He got up from his chair and stretched, his bones cracking a few times.
"Bro, anything else?"
"No."
"Then should we head back? Mom made roast chicken today. She said you should come eat, too."
Lin An stood up and pushed the folding chair back under the table.
"Sure."
The two of them left the room, one after the other.
The hallway was still quiet. Sunlight slipped through the gaps in the wooden boards, casting long, narrow streaks across the floor.
As they passed the end of the hallway, Lin An glanced at the door, which was slightly ajar.
A faint "caw..." came from the gap.
The Director was greeting him.
Darnell heard it too. He glanced back at the door, then looked at Lin An.
"Bro, those crows really don't bite?"
"They don't."
"You sure?"
"No."
Darnell didn't quite catch what he'd said. Doubtfully, he looked away and quickened his pace toward the stairs.
The Bullet Screen was scrolling by.
[They got everything sorted out this afternoon.]
[Buy the bullets tomorrow, then figure out the unregistered gun.]
[Next, they'll investigate Sergei.]
[The Russians in the Brighton Beach neighborhood are not to be messed with.]
[Take it slow. No need to rush.]
"Right. Get everything ready first."
The two of them climbed down the ladder.
Allen was still standing in the shadows at the far end of the narrow alley. When he saw Lin An come down, he nodded.
"Boss."
"Keep watch tonight. Old Joe will bring someone to relieve you tomorrow."
"Yes, boss."
Lin An walked through the narrow alley and headed for its entrance.
Darnell was already on his bike. One foot was on the ground, one hand gripped the handlebars, and he waved to Lin An with the other.
"Bro, hop on."
Lin An sat on the back and rested one hand on Darnell's shoulder.
Darnell pushed off, and the bike shot forward, its chain creaking.
The March breeze still held a chill, but it felt pleasant against their faces. The bike turned out of the alley and onto the main road, passed the abandoned gas station, then headed toward the street near the church.
Darnell rode at an easy but steady pace. Sitting behind him, Lin An watched the buildings on either side slide past: the grocery store, the church, the barbershop, the laundromat—and then he saw the street.
The street in front of the church.
The site of yesterday afternoon's gunfight.
The street was quiet now, but traces of the violence were everywhere. Large patches of dark red blood stained the asphalt, trampled underfoot and crushed by tires until they'd blurred into smudges. A chunk of brick was missing from a roadside flower bed, and the rubble hadn't been cleared away. Police evidence stickers were attached to the windshields of several cars, and bullet holes were clearly visible in their windows.
Two police cars were parked by the roadside. Their roof lights were off, but their engines were still running, white exhaust drifting from their tailpipes.
Three officers stood on the church steps, speaking with a man in a suit. He looked like a detective, with a notebook in hand and a furrowed brow.
Darnell slowed down.
It wasn't because he wanted to. An orange barricade had been placed in the middle of the road, leaving only a narrow gap for people to pass through. A young officer stood beside it, holding a cup of coffee as he chatted with a hot dog vendor at the roadside.
When he saw Darnell riding toward him, he raised a hand.
"Hey, slow down. Slow down."
Darnell squeezed the brakes, bringing the bike almost to a stop.
The young officer glanced at him, then at Lin An on the back.
His gaze lingered on Lin An's face for a second... that refined East Asian face, with its polite, gentle smile.
The young officer nodded reflexively.
"Good afternoon, sir."
Lin An nodded too, the curve of his smile unchanged.
"Uh, good afternoon."
Darnell pushed down on a pedal, and the bike squeezed past the barricade, its chain creaking once more.
Before you continue