VIP at the Police Station (Celebrating Two Thousand Favorites)

The night passed without incident.

When Dr. Lin An arrived at the 103rd Precinct the next day, the officer at the front desk already recognized him.

"Sir, please wait a moment."

The officer picked up the phone and dialed an extension.

"Patrick, your Chinese friend is here."

In less than two minutes, Patrick walked quickly from the end of the hallway with a smile on his face.

He wasn't wearing his uniform today, just a dark golf shirt with his service weapon holstered at his waist.

"Lin, you've come at the perfect time."

Patrick patted Dr. Lin An on the shoulder.

"There are a few people waiting in the conference room, and they've all been talking about you."

Dr. Lin An nodded and followed Patrick inside.

Darnell followed behind, his eyes scanning the interior of the police station... As a guy who had spent his life on the streets, being here as a guest made him feel incredibly nervous.

"Relax."

Dr. Lin An said without turning his head.

Darnell swallowed hard and pulled his gaze back.

Patrick pushed open the door to a small conference room on the second floor.

Inside sat three people, two middle-aged women and a young Black man, all of whom were unfamiliar faces.

"This is Dr. Lin An."

Patrick introduced him.

"From the Department of Mathematical Finance at Columbia University. He's helping us look over our tax returns for free."

The two middle-aged women stood up immediately, their expressions like they had just seen a savior.

"Dr. Lin, thank you so much."

The older one reached out her hand.

"I'm Margaret. I've been a civilian employee at the 103rd Precinct for twelve years. This is my sister; she works at the Prosecutor's Office."

Dr. Lin An shook hands with them and then looked at the young Black man.

"My name is Deshawn."

The young man was a bit shy.

"I'm Patrick's nephew, over at the Jamaica District Traffic Precinct."

"They're all our own people."

Patrick added.

"Deshawn just started last year, and his tax return is a total mess too."

Dr. Lin An sat at the head of the conference table, and Darnell consciously took a seat in the corner.

"One at a time."

Dr. Lin An said.

Patrick pulled a tax form out of a file folder first and handed it over, looking a bit embarrassed.

"Sir, please take a look at this first. It's my wife's tax return. She underpaid by about a hundred dollars last year, and the IRS sent a letter saying we owe back taxes plus a penalty. I have no idea what we filled out wrong."

Dr. Lin An took it and placed it on the table, letting the audience see it. Then, guided by the live chat, he asked a few questions and quickly discovered the source of the problem.

"Your wife filled out the withholding amount too high on her W-4 form, which led to insufficient withholding for the whole year. This is a calculation issue. Have her fill out a new W-4 this year, follow the 'married filing jointly' standard, and just change this part and this part here.

As for last year's difference, just pay it back. You can call them to negotiate a reduction on the penalty; first-time offenses are usually waived."

Patrick let out a sigh of relief.

"It's that simple?"

"It's that simple."

Dr. Lin An handed the tax form back to him.

[But if no one had spotted the problem and reminded him, this cop would never have figured it out until the day he died.]

[It's a simple truth: an engineer fixing a motor charges one dollar for drawing a line, but nine thousand nine hundred dollars for knowing where to draw it.]

Next was Margaret, who carefully handed over her file folder.

"Dr. Lin, my husband and I filed jointly, but he passed away last year..."

Dr. Lin An opened the documents and asked questions as he reviewed them.

"The exact date of his passing? Did you sell any assets last year? Were there any distributions from retirement accounts?"

Margaret answered one by one, while Dr. Lin An listened with a feigned air of focus; based on the answers provided by the chat, he quickly sorted out the situation.

"After your husband passed away, you became eligible to file your taxes as a 'qualifying surviving spouse,' which has a lower tax rate than filing as single."

Dr. Lin An said.

"However, the Form 1040 you filed previously used the single status, which resulted in you overpaying about twenty-three hundred dollars in taxes."

Margaret's eyes lit up: "Can it be changed?"

"Yes."

Dr. Lin An nodded.

"Just fill out a Form 1040-X amended return. I've already calculated the numbers for you; go back and fill it out accordingly, attach your husband's death certificate, and mail it to the IRS. You should receive your tax refund in about three to four months."

Margaret almost burst into tears. Her sister quickly took her hand and thanked Dr. Lin An repeatedly.

Dr. Lin An waved his hand, signaling for the next person.

Deshawn's problem was much simpler... he had just filled in the withholding tax figure on a W-2 form incorrectly, causing what should have been a refund to turn into a tax debt.

Dr. Lin An helped him double-check it and pointed out where the error was.

"Contact your department's payroll office and have them issue a corrected W-2C form."

Dr. Lin An said.

"Then attach an explanation and mail it to the IRS. You won't need to pay any back taxes; instead, you'll be able to get a refund of four hundred and twenty dollars."

Deshawn let out a sigh of relief and nodded repeatedly.

The last one was Margaret's sister.

Her problem involved the dual resident tax credit between New York City and New York State, which was slightly more complex, but the chat was full of talented people; Dr. Lin An only had to wait five minutes before the masters in the chat cleared up the logic and pointed out several areas that could be optimized.

It took Dr. Lin An less than an hour to handle the problem that had been bothering these people for a year.

Patrick handed over a cup of coffee. Having personally experienced Dr. Lin An's capabilities, he was now firmly convinced of the latter's identity.

"Sir, are you really not considering charging a fee? Helping us for free like this makes us feel embarrassed."

"No need."

Dr. Lin An took the coffee and took a sip.

"I admire the work of the police. You encounter problems, and by helping you, I am also helping myself."

Patrick smiled.

"Don't worry, if you have any trouble in the Jamaica Community in the future, just give me a call."

He paused, his expression becoming more serious.

"By the way, a word of advice: don't go near the Jamaica Abandoned Factory District lately. There was a small-scale shootout on the outskirts yesterday.

We responded to the scene and saw bloodstains and shell casings all over the ground, but there wasn't a single corpse or weapon to be found. The recent gang wars are getting more and more out of hand, so be careful."

Dr. Lin An nodded with a smile.

"Thanks for the heads-up, I'll be careful."

As soon as he finished speaking, the door to the conference room was pushed open, and Officer Morales walked in, wearing a neatly pressed uniform with his service weapon and badge holstered at his waist.

"Dr. Lin An, are the tax issues resolved?"

Morales asked.

"Just about."

Dr. Lin An stood up.

Morales nodded with satisfaction.

"Then come with me. It just so happens that I'm taking some people to Rodman's Neck for routine training today, so you can come along and familiarize yourself with the mainstream weapons used in New York City. Patrick, are you coming too?"

Patrick waved his hand.

"I'm on duty, you guys go ahead."

Dr. Lin An glanced at Darnell. Morales understood.

"Your friend can come along."

Morales drove a police Ford Crown Victoria, heading north along the Cross Bronx Expressway. Darnell sat in the back seat, looking out the window as the city skyline gradually fell behind them.

"Rodman's Neck is at the northernmost tip of the Bronx, near City Island."

Morales introduced as he drove.

"Our 103rd Precinct doesn't have its own shooting range; all the precincts in Queens have to go there.

That place was requisitioned by the Navy in 1941, later transferred to the Army, and wasn't handed over to our police department as a permanent training base until 1960."

He paused.

"I go there at least twice a month. Every officer has a mandatory number of shooting training hours, but the city has been arguing about moving the range for the past few years. The residents of City Island complain that the gunfire is too loud; they've been suing for years."

"Move it where?"

Lin An asked.

"College Point, New Police Academy."

Morales turned the steering wheel, and the car veered onto a side road.

"But that's for later; today, we still have to go to Rodman's Neck."

The car drove into an area enclosed by chain-link fencing, with a guard post at the entrance.

Morales rolled down the window and handed over his badge and identification.

The sentry glanced at Lin An and Darnell in the back seat, and after Morales said "visitors," the sentry waved them through.

[Ah, how can the streamer get in so easily? No ID check or registration?]

[That's how a society based on personal connections works. If they don't know you, they follow the rules, but if someone brings you in, they open the door. And this isn't technically against the rules.]

[Even if something happens, it's just a slap on the wrist because everyone does it, and no one will investigate deeply.]

The training grounds here were much larger than Lin An had imagined.

The open field was dotted with several rows of shooting stations, with earthen berms in the distance to catch the bullets.

Several police officers were already training on-site, the sound of gunfire rising and falling.

Morales parked the car and led Lin An toward the armorer's shed.

"Jim, I'm here to borrow some guns, as arranged."

The armorer was an old man with graying hair. He glanced at Lin An, asked no questions, and turned to take several handguns from a cabinet, laying them out on the counter.

"These are all models that citizens of New York City can legally own."

Morales picked them up one by one.

"Glock 17, Glock 19, Smith & Wesson M&P, Sig Sauer P320, and the Ruger LC9.

The calibers are mainly 9mm and .380 ACP. New York has restrictions on bullet calibers; civilians aren't allowed to buy anything too powerful."

Lin An picked up a Glock 19 and weighed it in his hand.

This was the model he had used in the shootout yesterday... though that one had been modified for full-auto, while this one was a standard semi-automatic.

"The grip is comfortable."

Lin An said.

"The Glock is the standard-issue sidearm for the New York City police."

Morales said.

"But we use the Glock 17, which has a 17-round magazine capacity. The 19 is a compact model, suitable for concealed carry."

He taught Lin An step-by-step how to clear the weapon, load the magazine, chamber a round, and aim.

Lin An learned quickly. He already had experience using firearms before this, so he progressed rapidly, remembering every step clearly.

"Relax your stance, don't hunch your shoulders."

Morales corrected him from the side.

"Grip the gun with both hands, thumbs together. When aiming, center the front sight in the rear notch, align it with the target, and pull the trigger with even pressure—don't jerk it."

Lin An aimed at the target paper twenty-five yards, or twenty-two meters, away, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

"Bang."

The bullet hit the bottom left corner of the target, nowhere near the bullseye.

Morales smiled. He was now certain that Lin An was a firearms novice; a beginner's shooting couldn't be faked.

"Not bad for your first time. Just keep practicing."

Lin An wasn't discouraged and continued to shoot.

After firing a few rounds, with the guidance from the live stream, he slowly found his rhythm, and his groupings gradually moved toward the center.

"Try another one."

Morales handed over the Smith & Wesson M&P.

This gun was similar to the Glock, both being favorites of police and law enforcement agencies. It was a semi-automatic pistol released by the Smith & Wesson company, intended to compete with Glock for market share.

Lin An took it, re-familiarizing himself with the grip angle and trigger pull.

The center of gravity for this gun was different from the Glock, but after adapting for a few rounds, his accuracy was actually better than it had been with the Glock.

"Everyone's hand shape is different, so the gun that suits them is different too."

Morales said.

"Once you've shot more, you'll know which one feels the most natural."

Lin An then tried the Sig Sauer P320 and the Ruger LC9.

The P320 had the best trigger feel, while the LC9 was too small and felt uncomfortable to hold.

"These are about all the models you can buy on the market in New York City."

Morales holstered his gun.

"As for long guns, shotguns and hunting rifles aren't as strictly regulated, but semi-automatic rifles require special permits, which is a real hassle.

You Chinese might not be used to it, but in America, a gun is just a tool. Whether you end up using it or not is one thing, but you have to know how."

Lin An nodded.

"I understand. Thank you, Officer Morales."

"Just call me Morales."

The officer waved his hand.

"You've helped us so much, this little thing is nothing. Feel free to come by whenever you want; I'll just have a word with the administrator."

Darnell sat in the nearby rest area, holding a copy of American Rifleman magazine he'd swiped from the administrator, flipping through it out of boredom.

Lin An could handle guns, but Ni Ge couldn't; he could only watch. As Lin An walked over, Darnell stood up.

"How was it?"

"Not bad."

Lin An flexed his wrist after holding the gun.

"We'll talk when we get back."

Walking out the doors of the 103rd Precinct, the March sunlight outside was a bit blinding.

Darnell followed behind Lin An, remaining silent until they both got on their bicycles, at which point he finally spoke.

"Lin, you looked like a real lawyer in there just now."

"I'm not a lawyer."

Lin An pedaled his bicycle.

"I'm just good at doing the math."

"No, that's not what I meant."

Darnell shook his head.

"I mean, the way you sat there, with those cops surrounding you, listening to you talk... you made them feel like you were useful."

Lin An didn't answer.

Darnell continued.

"In Jamaica, if you make people feel like you're useful, you're safe. Those cops, they won't touch you now because they need you. Just like you said, that's how America is."

"Did I say that?"

Lin An asked in return.

"You forgot?"

Darnell said.

"You told me that a few days ago."

Lin An didn't respond. He sat on the back of the bicycle, watching Darnell ride through the gray, dusty streets of Jamaica, heading toward the Abandoned Furniture Factory.

Passing the block where the shootout happened yesterday, the scene had already been cleaned up.

The yellow police tape was still there, but there were no bloodstains left on the ground. A few young Ni Ge were playing near the tape as if nothing had ever happened.

Darnell glanced in that direction and whispered.

"If we had been caught yesterday..."

"But we weren't caught."

Lin An interrupted him.

Darnell shut his mouth.

When the two arrived at the Abandoned Furniture Factory, the sounds of hammering and electric drills drifted up from the basement. Old Joe was highly efficient and had already started installing soundproofing.

"Boss."

Old Joe put down his tools and came over to greet them.

"Yesterday you said you wanted to hire people, so I've already found three. Two are veterans, and one is a mechanic. None of them are on drugs."

"Did you check their backgrounds?"

Lin An asked.

"I did."

Old Joe nodded.

"They're all reliable. Allen knows one of them, says he fought in Iraq and has been doing odd jobs ever since he got back."

"Have him come see me."

Lin An said.

"This afternoon, right here."

Old Joe grunted in response and went back to work.

Lin An walked up to the second floor, found an empty room, and began to practice with his gun... It wasn't convenient to fire shots here, but he could practice how to quickly swap magazines.

During this process, the bullet comments chatted away on their own.

[Lin An's move here is solid; his relationship with the police station is secure now.]

[The 103rd Precinct is basically Lin An's home base now.]

[You went to the shooting range today, how does the Glock 19 feel?]

[The police warning about the abandoned factory district? Hilarious, it was Lin An who did it.]

"Caw."

The cry of a crow interrupted Lin An's practice. He turned his head to look and saw a crow standing outside the window, the bullet comments refreshing above its head.

[Streamer, I found Professor Robert Jero. I've confirmed his commute route and home address, and well, there's an unexpected bonus.]