The night passed without incident.
When 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."
Less than two minutes later, Patrick hurried over from the far end of the hallway, smiling.
He wasn't in uniform today, wearing only a dark golf shirt, with his service weapon holstered at his waist.
"Lin, your timing's perfect."
Patrick patted Lin An on the shoulder.
"There are a few people waiting in the conference room. They've all been asking about you."
Lin An nodded and followed Patrick inside.
Darnell trailed behind them, looking all around the precinct. As a Ni Ge who'd spent his life on the streets, he felt especially nervous being inside as a visitor.
"Relax."
Lin An said without looking back.
Darnell swallowed and looked away.
Patrick opened the door to a small conference room on the second floor.
Three people were seated inside: two middle-aged women and a young Black man. None of them looked familiar.
"This is Dr. Lin An."
Patrick introduced him.
"He's from Columbia University's Department of Mathematical Finance. He's helping us with our tax forms for free."
The two middle-aged women immediately stood up, looking as though they'd seen their salvation.
"Dr. Lin, thank you so much."
The older of the two held out her hand.
"I'm Margaret. I've worked as a civilian employee at the 103rd Precinct for twelve years. This is my sister. She works at the Prosecutor's Office."
Lin An shook their hands, then turned to the young Black man.
"I'm Deshawn."
The young man seemed a little shy.
"I'm Patrick's nephew. I work at the Jamaica District Traffic Precinct."
"We're all on the same side here."
Patrick added.
"Deshawn only joined last year, and his tax forms are a mess too."
Lin An took the seat at the head of the conference table. Darnell settled into a corner.
"One at a time."
Lin An said.
Patrick took a tax form from his document folder and handed it over, looking a little embarrassed.
"Sir, could you 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 she owes back taxes and a penalty. I have no idea what she filled out wrong."
Lin An took it and laid it on the table for the audience to see. Following the Bullet Screen's advice, he asked a few more questions, and soon found the problem.
"Your wife entered too much tax withholding on her W-4, which meant not enough was withheld over the course of the year. It's a calculation issue. Have her fill out a new W-4 this year using the 'Married Filing Jointly' standard, and just change these two entries.
"As for last year's balance, she just needs to pay it. She can call and ask them to waive the penalty. First-time violations are usually forgiven."
Patrick let out a sigh of relief.
"It's that simple?"
"That's all there is to it."
Lin An handed the tax form back to him.
[But if no one spotted the problem and pointed it out, that cop would never have figured it out in his whole life.]
[It's simple: an engineer charges one dollar to draw a line while repairing a motor. Knowing exactly where to draw it is worth $9,900.]
Next was Margaret. She carefully handed over her document folder.
"Dr. Lin, my husband and I filed jointly, but he passed away last year..."
Lin An opened the documents and asked questions as he reviewed them.
"When exactly did he pass away? Did you sell any assets last year? Did you receive any distributions from retirement accounts?"
Margaret answered each question. Lin An pretended to listen carefully, and, guided by the answers from the Bullet Screen, quickly pieced everything together.
"After your husband passed away, you were eligible to file as a 'Qualifying Surviving Spouse.' That tax rate is lower than the single-filer rate."
Lin An said.
"But you previously filed your Form 1040 as single, which means you paid about $2,300 too much in taxes."
Margaret's eyes lit up. "Can I change it?"
"Yes."
Lin An nodded.
"Just file a Form 1040-X amendment. I've worked out the figures for you. Fill it out when you get home, attach your husband's death certificate, and mail it to the IRS. You should get your refund in about three or four months."
Margaret nearly burst into tears. Her sister quickly took her hand and repeatedly thanked Lin An.
Lin An waved them on to the next person.
Deshawn's problem was much simpler. He'd just entered the wrong withholding amount from one of his W-2 forms, turning what should have been a tax refund into a tax bill.
Lin An checked it for him and pointed out the error.
"Contact your department's payroll office and ask them to issue a corrected W-2C."
Lin An said.
"Then mail it to the IRS with an explanation. You don't owe anything. In fact, you'll get a $420 refund."
Deshawn sighed with relief and nodded repeatedly.
The last person was Margaret's sister.
Her issue involved the New York City and New York State resident tax credits, which made it a little more complicated. But the Bullet Screen was full of experts. Lin An only had to wait five minutes before they sorted it out and pointed out a few ways she could optimize her filing.
Lin An took less than an hour to resolve a problem that had been troubling them for a year.
Patrick handed him a cup of coffee. Having seen Lin An's abilities firsthand, he now believed completely in his credentials.
"Sir, are you really sure you don't want to charge us? We feel bad having you help us for free."
"No need."
Lin An took the coffee and sipped it.
"I have a lot of respect for police work. When you run into a problem, helping you is also helping myself."
Patrick smiled.
"Don't worry. If you ever need anything in the Jamaica Community, just call me."
He paused, his expression turning more serious.
"By the way, I wanted to warn you: stay away from the Jamaica Abandoned Factory District for a while. There was a small shootout on the outskirts yesterday.
"We responded and found bloodstains and shell casings all over the ground, but there wasn't a body or a weapon anywhere. These gang shootouts have been getting worse lately, so be careful."
Lin An smiled and nodded.
"Thanks for the warning. I'll be careful."
Just then, the conference room door opened, and Sergeant Morales walked in wearing a neatly pressed uniform, his service weapon and badge at his waist.
"Dr. Lin An, all done with the tax issues?"
Morales asked.
"Just about."
Lin An stood up.
Morales nodded with satisfaction.
"Then come with me. I'm taking some people to Rodman's Neck for routine training today. You can come along and get familiar with the firearms commonly used around New York City. Patrick, want to come too?"
Patrick waved him off.
"I'm on duty. You guys go ahead."
Lin An glanced at Darnell. Morales understood.
"Your friend can come too."
Morales drove a police Ford Crown Victoria along the Cross Bronx Expressway, heading north. Darnell sat in the back, watching through the window as the city skyline gradually fell behind them.
"Rodman's Neck is at the northernmost end of the Bronx, near City Island."
Morales explained as he drove.
"Our 103rd Precinct doesn't have its own firing range. Precincts across Queens have to go there to train.
"The Navy requisitioned the place in 1941. It was later transferred to the Army, and in 1960 it was turned over to the police department as a permanent training facility."
He paused.
"I go at least twice a month. Every officer has a required number of shooting-training hours. But the city's been arguing about moving the range for years. The residents of City Island hate the noise and have been suing over it for years."
"Where would they move it?"
Lin An asked.
"College Point, where the New Police Academy is."
Morales turned the wheel, and the car veered onto a side road.
"But that's for the future. Today, we still have to go to Rodman's Neck."
The car entered an area surrounded by chain-link fencing, with a guard post at the gate.
Morales rolled down the window and handed over his badge and credentials.
The sentry glanced at Lin An and Darnell in the back. Morales said, "Visitors," and the sentry waved them through.
[Ah, how did the streamer get in so easily? No ID check or sign-in?]
[That's how things work when you know people. If they don't know you, they follow the rules. If someone brings you in, they make things easy. And this isn't against the rules.]
[If anything goes wrong, they'll just have to give themselves a slap on the wrist, because everyone does it this way and no one will investigate too closely.]
The training ground was much larger than Lin An had imagined.
Several rows of firing lanes stretched across the open grounds, with an earthen berm in the distance to catch the bullets.
Several officers were already training there, gunshots ringing out one after another.
Morales parked and led Lin An to the weapons administrator's hut.
"Jim, I'm borrowing a few guns. The ones we arranged ahead of time."
The administrator was an old man with graying hair. He glanced at Lin An, asked no questions, and took several handguns from a cabinet, laying them on the counter.
"These are all models New York City residents can legally own."
Morales picked them up one by one.
"A Glock 17, a Glock 19, a Smith & Wesson M&P, a Sig Sauer P320, and a Ruger LC9.
"They're mostly chambered in 9mm and .380 ACP. New York restricts ammunition, so civilians can't buy anything too powerful."
Lin An picked up a Glock 19 and weighed it in his hand.
It was the model he'd used in the shootout yesterday, though that one had been modified for fully automatic fire. This one was a standard semi-automatic.
"The grip feels comfortable."
Lin An said.
"Glocks are the standard sidearm for New York police officers."
Morales said.
"But we use the Glock 17, which has a 17-round magazine. The 19 is the compact model, better for concealed carry."
He showed Lin An step by step how to check the gun, load it, chamber a round, and aim.
Lin An learned quickly. He'd already had some experience using a gun before the lesson, so he improved fast and remembered each step clearly.
"Relax your stance a little. Don't hunch your shoulders."
Morales corrected him.
"Hold the gun with both hands, thumbs together. When you aim, keep the front sight centered in the rear sight and line it up with the target. Squeeze the trigger evenly. Don't jerk it."
Lin An aimed at the target paper twenty-five yards away—about twenty-two meters—took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.
"Bang!"
The bullet hit the lower-left corner of the target, missing the center by a mile.
Morales laughed. He was now certain Lin An was a firearms novice. A beginner's first shot couldn't be faked.
"That's pretty good for a first try. Just keep practicing."
Lin An wasn't discouraged. He kept shooting.
After a few shots, with guidance from the Bullet Screen, he gradually found his rhythm, and his shots began to move closer to the center.
"Try another one."
Morales handed him the Smith & Wesson M&P.
Like the Glock, this was a favorite among law enforcement agencies. It was a semi-automatic pistol made by Smith & Wesson, designed to compete with the Glock.
Lin An took it and familiarized himself with the grip angle and trigger travel.
The gun's balance felt different from the Glock's, but after a few shots he adjusted, and his accuracy was actually a little better.
"Everyone has different hands, so the right gun varies from person to person."
Morales said.
"Once you've shot enough, you'll know which one feels best."
Lin An also tried the Sig Sauer P320 and the Ruger LC9.
The P320 had the best trigger feel, while the LC9 was too small and uncomfortable to hold.
"That's about all you can buy around New York City."
Morales put his gun away.
"With long guns, shotguns and hunting rifles aren't as strictly regulated, but you need a special permit for a semiautomatic rifle. It's a hassle.
"You Chinese might not be used to it, but in the United States, guns are tools. Whether you need one is another matter, but you should know how to use one."
Lin An nodded.
"I understand. Thanks, Sergeant Morales."
"Just call me Morales."
The sergeant waved a hand.
"You've helped us so much. This is nothing. Come by whenever you want; I'll just give the administrator a heads-up."
Darnell sat in the lounge nearby, listlessly flipping through a copy of American Rifleman he'd picked up from the administrator.
Lin An could handle a gun, but Ni Ge couldn't, so he could only watch. When Lin An came over, Darnell stood up.
"How'd it go?"
"Not bad."
Lin An rolled his gun-handling wrist.
"We'll talk on the way back."
When they walked out of the 103rd Precinct, the March sunlight outside was a little harsh.
Darnell followed behind Lin An, silent the whole way. He didn't speak until they'd both gotten on their bikes.
"Lin, you looked like a real lawyer back there."
"I'm not a lawyer."
Lin An pedaled.
"I'm just good at math."
"No, that's not what I mean."
Darnell shook his head.
"I mean, sitting there with all those cops gathered around you, listening to you talk... You made them feel like you were useful."
Lin An didn't answer.
Darnell went on.
"In Jamaica, if people think you're useful, you're safe. Those cops won't mess with you now, because they need you. Like you said, that's how the United States works."
"Did I say that?"
Lin An asked.
"You forgot?"
Darnell said.
"You told me a few days ago."
Lin An didn't reply. He rode behind Darnell, watching him pedal through the drab streets of Jamaica toward the Abandoned Furniture Factory.
They passed through the neighborhood where the gunfight had happened yesterday. The scene had already been cleaned up.
The yellow police tape was still there, but there was no blood left on the ground. A few Ni Ge kids played beside the tape as if nothing had happened.
Darnell glanced that way and said quietly,
"If we'd been caught yesterday..."
"But we weren't caught."
Lin An cut him off.
Darnell fell silent.
When they reached the Abandoned Furniture Factory, hammering and drilling echoed from the basement. Old Joe worked fast; he'd already started soundproofing.
"Boss."
Old Joe set down his tools and came over.
"You said yesterday that you wanted to hire people. I've found three. Two are veterans, and one's a mechanic. None of them use drugs."
"Did you check their backgrounds?"
Lin An asked.
"I did."
Old Joe nodded.
"They're all reliable. Allen knows one of them and says he fought in Iraq before. Since coming back, he's been doing odd jobs."
"Have him come see me."
Lin An said.
"This afternoon, here."
Old Joe acknowledged him, then went back to work.
Lin An went up to the second floor, found an empty room, and started practicing with his gun... It wasn't convenient to shoot here, but he could practice changing magazines quickly.
Meanwhile, the Bullet Screen chatted away on its own.
[Lin An's move here was solid. He's secured his ties with the precinct.]
[The 103rd Precinct is basically Lin An's second home now.]
[He went to the shooting range today. How does the Glock 19 feel?]
[The cops warned him about the abandoned factory district? LOL. Lin An's the one behind it.]
"Caw!"
A crow's call interrupted Lin An's practice. He turned and saw a crow perched outside the window, Bullet Screen messages refreshing above its head.
[Streamer, I found Professor Robert Jero and confirmed his commute route and home address. Also, I made an unexpected discovery.]
Before you continue