One Hundred Daily (Bonus Chapter for Tips)

After arranging tasks for Old Joe, Lin An climbed the newly installed ladder to the interior of the Abandoned Furniture Factory. On the second floor, a room had already been cleared out, making it suitable as a quiet meeting space.

Lin An walked down the corridor, his footsteps echoing through the empty space.

He noticed the door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, a scent mixed with hay, feathers, and a faint odor of droppings rushed toward him.

The room was not large, covering just over twenty square meters.

The window was sealed with wire mesh, with gaps just large enough for the Crows to slip through. Several plastic bowls were placed there, containing water, broken bread, and crackers.

In the corner of the room, several thick branches brought up from downstairs had been secured to the wall with wire, forming a makeshift perch.

The bark on the branches still carried a fresh scent, with a few withered leaves still clinging to some spots.

Some Crows were standing on those branches; Lin An counted at least twelve of them.

They sat quietly on the perch, eyes half-closed as if dozing. A few tilted their heads, staring at Lin An with eyes like black beans, their pupils reflecting his Shadow.

The one closest to the window was the largest, its wings nearly a full circle wider than the others, and the feathers on its chest were somewhat fluffy, as if it were wearing a puffy black vest.

Seeing Lin An enter, it tilted its head and let out a low caw, as if greeting him.

Oh, it's the Crow leader.

[This Crow is so cool, what's its name?]

[The streamer hasn't named it yet, how about we give it one?]

[How about "Little Black"?]

Lin An looked at the largest Crow, which was tilting its head, staring at him unblinkingly with its black-bean eyes.

[Little Black is too tacky. This is the Crow leader, it needs some prestige.]

[Call it "Prophet"? Crows are Odin's eyes in mythology.]

[That's a raven, not a crow.]

[Close enough, close enough.]

[How about "Coal Ball"?]

[Does your coal ball fly?]

[Call it "Black Pearl."]

[Too girly.]

[Call it "Shadow."]

[Too edgy.]

[Call it "Director."]

[??? Why Director?]

[Because it's responsible for keeping an eye on the police, the Director of Intelligence.]

[That works, call it "Director of Intelligence."]

[Too long, just "Director" is fine.]

The Bullet Screen was still arguing when the largest Crow suddenly flapped its wings, hopped off the perch, and landed on the windowsill.

It took two steps, tilted its head to look at the water in the plastic bowl, and 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, placed it on the windowsill, and nudged it toward Lin An.

[What is it doing?]

[Is it giving the streamer food???]

[Crows share food, especially with those they consider companions.]

[It considers Lin An one of its own.]

[LMAO, the Director is paying tribute to the streamer.]

Lin An looked down at the misshapen piece of bread on the windowsill, the corners of his mouth curving upward.

"I don't eat that."

The Crow tilted its head, as if trying to understand the words.

Then it picked up the bread and ate it itself.

[Alright, the Director is a practical bird; if you don't eat it, it eats it itself.]

[No wasting food, five stars.]

[So what are we calling it?]

[Director, it's Director.]

[Vote, vote, type 1 if you support Director.]

A sea of [1]s drifted across the Bullet Screen.

[Alright, Director, it's a unanimous vote.]

[Director, from now on, this intelligence network depends on you.]

The crow called Director finished the bread, shook its feathers, and hopped back onto its perch.

It crouched down, tucked its neck in, and kept its eyes half-closed as if dozing, though its pupils were still moving, fixed steadily in the direction of Lin An.

Lin An stood there for a moment before turning to leave; he walked back a few paces and pushed open a door in the middle of the hallway.

This was a room Old Joe had cleared out yesterday, intended for the women in the furniture factory, but Lin An felt it was perfectly suitable for discussing matters for the time being.

The room wasn't large, and the windows were boarded up, but Old Joe had drilled a few small holes in the wood for ventilation and light.

Darnell was already inside.

He was sprawled out on a folding chair with his long legs stretched under the table, looking down at his phone; hearing the door, he looked up and shoved the phone into his pocket.

"Bro, you just went to see the crow?"

"Yeah."

"Are those crows yours?"

"Yeah, they're my collaborators for now."

Darnell nodded, not pressing further; he was already used to Lin An's mysterious ways—he didn't ask why, because even if he did, he wouldn't understand the answer.

Lin An didn't rush to speak.

He reached out and pulled two bottles of water out of thin air, tossed one to Darnell, and unscrewed the cap on his own to take a sip.

Darnell watched him, waiting for him to start.

"Two things."

Lin An said.

"First, the money."

Darnell's eyes lit up, but they quickly returned to normal.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, putting on an "I don't care" act, but his fingers tapped incessantly against his arms.

"That bag of money, thirty to forty thousand dollars."

Lin An said.

"I won't give you much."

Darnell's fingers paused.

"Why?"

"Because this 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, the Rainstorm Gang's turf. If they lost this much money, they'll definitely come looking. If a young Black guy in the community suddenly gets rich, buys new clothes, a new phone, treats his friends to meals, and buys things for his house, what do you think they'll think?"

Darnell's mouth opened, then closed.

He looked down at the faded hoodie he was wearing, then at the sneakers on his feet with the soles peeling off at the toes.

"They'd come knocking."

He said, his voice lower than before.

"Right."

Lin An said.

"They'd come to your door to ask where the money came from, tear your house apart, and target your mom and sister. If you don't talk, they'll beat you until you do.

If you do talk, they'll take the money back and take your life along with it."

Darnell fell silent.

He stared at the spots of light on the tabletop, his fingers slowly clenching and unclenching on his knees.

"So you won't give me much money."

"Right."

"How much?"

"A hundred a day."

Darnell looked up at Lin An.

"A day?"

"A day."

"A hundred dollars?"

"Right."

Darnell did the math: three thousand dollars a month. It was more than he made from looting, but nowhere near enough to be considered "getting rich."

"What about the rest of the money?"

"Keep it, and use it where it's needed."

Darnell fell silent again.

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling; it was made of concrete, with a thin, long crack stretching from the center to the corner of the wall.

Lin An didn't rush him, picking up his water bottle to take another sip.

The Bullet Screen was scrolling.

[The streamer is right, this money can't just be given to Darnell directly]

[A hundred a day is enough for him to spend without drawing attention]

[Darnell doesn't seem very happy]

[He's not unhappy, he's just thinking things through]

[He'll figure it out, this guy isn't stupid]

After about half a minute, Darnell sat up straight.

He took a deep breath and let it out.

"Bro."

He said.

"Actually, this money has nothing to do with me."

Lin An looked at him.

"You fought the battle today. You were the one who conjured those five people, and that bag of money was just something I luckily found after the car flipped. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been able to do anything; I would've just been shivering behind a dumpster."

He paused.

"You shouldn't be giving me money."

Lin An shook his head.

"You rode the bike to get me out of there, you found that bag of money, and you put in the work. You deserve a share, but it can't be given all at once—only daily."

Darnell looked at him, the corners of his mouth slowly curling up.

"Bro, are you afraid I'll spend the money recklessly?"

"I'm afraid you'll die."

Lin An said.

Darnell froze for a moment, then laughed.

"Fine, one hundred dollars a day. That's my salary."

He reached out, and Lin An bumped his fist against his.

"Second matter."

Lin An said.

Darnell wiped away his smile and sat up straight.

"We can investigate Sergei Kuzmin, Brighton Beach, and Black Sea Seafood."

Darnell nodded.

"That can be done, but before we start, we need to buy some things."

"Buy what?"

"Weapons and ammunition."

Darnell's expression shifted.

He glanced at the door to make sure it was closed, then lowered his voice.

"Bro, are you serious?"

"Serious."

"Buying guns?"

"Yes."

"Black market guns?"

"Yes."

Darnell rubbed his face, his fingers scraping against his chin, producing the faint sound of stubble friction.

"Bro, let me be honest with you. Bullets are easy to buy, but guns are not."

"Go on."

"As for bullets, New York State law requires the buyer to have a firearm license and identification, but guess what? Many gun shops don't check at all.

You walk in, pay the money, and you can walk out with the ammo. Especially those small gun shops; the owners just want to do business, who cares if you have a permit or not."

Darnell spoke, gesturing with both hands.

"I know a guy who has a small gun shop over in Queens. He doesn't even check for a driver's license as long as you pay in cash. If you want to buy ammo, I'll head over there tomorrow and ask.

That way, even if something goes wrong, I'll be the one going to jail."

"What about the gun?"

Darnell lowered his hands.

"A gun is different."

Darnell looked quite helpless.

"Buying a gun requires a background check..."

"I know, I'm asking about an illegal one."

"Maybe it's possible to buy one, but I don't know anyone who sells illegal firearms."

Darnell looked at Lin An with a very serious expression.

"Bro, I'm not some street-hustling Ni Ge. I don't do drugs, I'm not in a gang, and I don't deal with criminals... Mom didn't raise me to know people who sell illegal guns."

Lin An nodded, not interrupting him.

"And even if I did know someone, I wouldn't dare just show up at their door to buy one."

The Bullet Screen was scrolling.

[Darnell makes sense]

[You can't just buy an illegal gun whenever you want; you need connections]

[So what now?]

[Is the streamer going to look for one himself?]

[An Asian face asking for an illegal gun would be even more suspicious]

[How about asking Old Joe?]

[Old Joe is a carpenter, he wouldn't know either]

[What about Allen? He's a veteran, maybe he has connections]

[It's possible, veterans sometimes have those kinds of channels]

[But Allen's leg hasn't fully healed yet]

[Just have him ask around first]

Lin An looked at Darnell, the corners of his mouth curving slightly.

"You're right."

Darnell let out a sigh of relief.

"So, we're not buying a gun for now?"

"We are."

Darnell's expression collapsed again.

"But you don't need to worry about the illegal gun; just go buy the ammo first. 9mm Parabellum, get plenty."

Darnell nodded, pulled his phone from his pocket, opened his notes, and wrote down the model Lin An mentioned.

"How much ammo should I buy?"

"Start with a thousand rounds of 9mm."

Darnell poked at his screen a few times, then looked up.

"Bro, a thousand rounds of 9mm? Are you preparing for a war?"

Lin An didn't answer, just smiled.

Darnell looked at that smile and shook his head.

"Fine, a thousand rounds. I'll go ask tomorrow, but if that shop owner asks for ID and I can't get the ammo, don't blame me."

"I won't blame you."

Lin An said.

"Then what about the illegal gun?"

Lin An thought for a moment.

"No rush. Let's get the ammo first. I'll figure something out for the gun."

Darnell nodded and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

He stood up from the chair and stretched, his bones popping with a series of clicks.

"Bro, anything else?"

"Nothing."

"Then shall we head back? My mom is making roast chicken today, and she said you should come over to eat too."

Lin An stood up and pushed the folding chair back under the table.

"Alright."

The two walked out of the room one after the other.

The hallway remained quiet, with sunlight leaking in through the gaps in the wooden planks, painting long, thin streaks of light across the floor.

As they passed the end of the hallway, Lin An glanced at the door that was left slightly ajar.

A faint "caw..." sound drifted out from the crack in the door.

The Director was greeting him.

Darnell heard it too; he looked back at the door, then looked at Lin An.

"Bro, are those Crows really not going to bite anyone?"

"They don't bite."

"Are you sure?"

"Not sure."

Darnell didn't quite catch the answer, withdrew his gaze with a skeptical look, and quickened his pace toward the stairs.

The Bullet Screen was scrolling.

[Everything has been sorted out this afternoon.]

[We'll buy bullets tomorrow and figure out a way to get black-market guns.]

[Next is investigating Sergei.]

[The Russians in the Brighton Beach community are not to be trifled with.]

[Take it slow, don't rush.]

[Right, get the preparations done first.]

The two stepped onto the ladder and went downstairs.

Allen was still standing in the shadows at the end of the narrow alley; seeing Lin An come down, he nodded.

"Boss."

"Keep watch tonight. Old Joe will bring people to relieve you tomorrow."

"Yes, boss."

Lin An walked through the narrow alley to the entrance.

Darnell was already on his bicycle, one foot propped on the ground, one hand on the handlebars, and the other waving at Lin An.

"Bro, hop on."

Lin An sat on the back seat and placed one hand on Darnell's shoulder.

Darnell pushed off, and the bicycle shot forward, the chain creaking loudly.

The March wind still carried a chill, feeling comfortable against the face. The bicycle turned out of the alley onto the main road, passed the abandoned gas station, and further ahead was the street near the Church.

Darnell wasn't riding fast, but he was steady. Lin An sat in the back, watching the buildings on both sides of the street recede. Grocery store, Church, barbershop, laundromat—then he saw that street.

The street in front of the Church.

The place where the shootout happened yesterday afternoon.

The street was quiet now, but traces remained everywhere. There were large patches of dark red blood on the asphalt, which had been trampled and run over by tires, turning into blurred stains. A large chunk of brick was missing from a flower bed by the roadside, and the rubble hadn't been cleared yet. Police evidence tags were stuck to the windshields of several cars, and bullet holes in the windows were clearly visible.

Two police cars were parked on the side of the road; their roof lights weren't on, but the engines were still running, and white smoke puffed from the exhaust pipes.

Three police officers stood on the steps of the Church, talking to a man in a suit—he looked like a detective, holding a notebook in his hand with a furrowed brow.

Darnell's speed slowed down.

It wasn't that he wanted to slow down, but there was an orange barricade in the middle of the road ahead, leaving only a narrow gap for people to pass through. A young police officer stood by the barricade, holding a cup of coffee, chatting with a hot dog vendor at a stall.

He saw Darnell riding over and raised a hand.

"Hey, slow down, slow down."

Darnell squeezed the brakes, and the bicycle almost came to a stop.

The young officer glanced at him, then looked at Lin An on the back seat.

His gaze lingered on Lin An's face for a second... that refined, oriental face, with a polite, gentle smile at the corners of his mouth.

The young officer nodded instinctively.

"Good afternoon, sir."

Lin An nodded back, the curve of his mouth unchanged.

"Uh, good afternoon."

Darnell pushed the pedal, the bicycle squeezed past the barricade, and the chain creaked again.