Desperate Old Man (Bonus Chapter for 200 Monthly Votes)

The streetlamp at the Broadway intersection was flickering in the cold wind, making one's eyes ache.

Lin An watched the black car for a moment, then, acting like a tourist, pulled Darnell back the way they came.

"Darnell."

He spoke in a low voice, his lips barely moving.

"Yeah?"

"Don't look back. Follow me, act like a tourist."

He turned around and walked in the direction they had come from. Darnell was stunned for a second but quickly caught up, the camera around his neck swaying.

"What's wrong?"

Darnell lowered his voice.

"That black car."

Lin An's voice was very soft.

"A Ford Crown Victoria. It's parked across the street, and the engine is still running."

Darnell's footsteps faltered for a moment.

"Don't stop."

Lin An said.

Darnell kept walking.

The two walked about thirty meters north along Broadway, then Lin An turned into a small alley.

The alley wasn't deep; on both sides were fire escapes and trash cans from old apartment buildings. At the end of the alley was a wall, with several black garbage bags piled at its base.

Lin An pulled Darnell into the shadow of a fire escape.

From here, through the gap at the alley entrance, a portion of the 110th Street intersection was visible.

The black car was still there, the low rumble of its engine carrying across half the street like a lurking beast purring.

Darnell crouched down, clutching the camera to his chest, his voice at its lowest.

"Bro, who's in there?"

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know there's a problem?"

"The Crow told me."

Darnell glanced at him without pressing further.

"So what are we doing now?"

"Waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"Waiting for an opportunity to solve my identity problem, and then we can go all out to solve your trouble."

Darnell looked thoughtful.

"Is my trouble that troublesome?"

"Isn't trouble that can mobilize a hit squad of over twenty people in New York, plus a monster to hunt you down, a big deal for the two of us?"

"Uh, well... that... I don't know, bro."

Time ticked by, second by second.

The night wind blew into the alley, carrying the chill of March.

Darnell was wearing that thin souvenir shirt, the fabric fluttering, yet he acted as if nothing were wrong. Lin An, on the other hand, was shivering in the cold wind and had to quickly retrieve a windbreaker from the System Store to put on.

Such an action naturally drew mockery from the live stream comments.

Lin An didn't react much to this; he was watching the comments that reported on the scene.

[There's a person in the driver's seat, and someone in the passenger seat too.]

[The rear windows are tinted black, so it's hard to see, but judging by the shape of the tires, there should be people in the back as well.]

[Just not sure if it's one person or two.]

[So, there should be three to four people in that car.]

[I'm the one who spotted this car. It was circling around Columbia University this afternoon. When the Crow landed on the roof, I heard the people inside discussing how to make a move on Professor Robert.]

[So, what is the streamer planning to do?]

[Secret.]

12:50 AM.

From the direction of Columbia University, a figure emerged from behind the iron fence. A crow in a nearby tree quickly flew over, circling above his head for a moment to confirm his identity.

It was Professor Robert, wearing a dark coat with a scarf draped over his shoulders, carrying a brown briefcase in his hand.

The elderly professor with slightly graying hair emerged from the iron gate and began walking south along Broadway.

This was his regular route... from the Mathematics Building to 110th Street, then turning west to walk three blocks along Amsterdam Avenue until he reached his apartment building.

"Strange, why would there be a Crow at night?"

Robert looked up at the Crow overhead, then glanced at the black bird silhouette perched on the streetlight at the intersection ahead. He shook his head, cast the doubt to the back of his mind, and continued toward home.

Just as he reached the intersection and prepared to cross the street, the black car parked on the opposite side moved.

The tires let out a short screech against the asphalt, and the vehicle lunged forward, cutting across the professor's path.

The car doors opened simultaneously, and three men jumped out—two from the front, one from the back.

The first lunged at the professor, covering his mouth with one hand and pinning his arm with the other; the second grabbed his briefcase and threw it into the car; the third pulled the door open.

The entire process took less than three seconds.

The professor struggled, but how could a sixty-year-old mathematics professor be a match for three young men?

He was shoved into the backseat, and the door slammed shut.

The black car accelerated violently, speeding south along Broadway, its taillights leaving two streaks of red light in the night.

Darnell stood up.

"Bro..."

"Don't move."

Lin An pressed down on his shoulder.

He stood where he was, listening to the sound of the car's engine fading into the distance, then he looked up at the streetlight.

The Crow was still perched on top of the lamp, its black feathers trembling slightly in the night wind.

It tilted its head to look at Lin An, then flapped its wings and took flight, chasing in the direction where the black car had disappeared.

The live chat was scrolling rapidly.

[Holy crap, a kidnapping.]

[The prey got snatched by someone else.]

[I memorized the license plate of that car, streamer, call the police!]

[Memorizing it is useless, license plates on cars like that are usually fake.]

[Streamer, hurry up and chase them!]

[The Crow is following, the Director is awesome.]

Lin An did not move. After a while, there were no sirens, no screams, and no sound of windows opening.

He finally confirmed that no one had called the police.

Or rather, no one near this intersection had seen it, or if they had, they didn't want to get involved. In New York, seeing someone being shoved into a car in the middle of the night, the safest choice was to pretend you hadn't seen anything.

Lin An tossed his coffee cup against the base of a wall, stuffed his camera into his backpack, and zipped it up.

"Darnell."

"Yeah!"

"Get on the bike, we're chasing."

Darnell looked at him, then looked toward the direction where the black car had vanished.

"Bro, that's a car, and this is a Roadster Bicycle."

"You said you could outrun a motorcycle."

"That was just bragging!"

"But your legs aren't bragging. Hurry up and chase, I'll give you a hundred bucks."

Darnell's eyes widened.

"For real?"

"For real."

Lin An pulled out five twenty-dollar bills right then and there. Darnell snatched them up, stuffed them into his pocket, took a deep breath, mounted the Roadster Bicycle, and gripped the handlebars tight.

Lin An sat on the back rack, one hand steadying himself on his shoulder.

"Head south, Broadway."

"No problem, hold on tight, bro!"

Darnell stomped down on the pedals.

The Roadster Bicycle lunged forward like a bull stabbed with a knife; the chain let out a harsh rattling sound, and the tires ground a smell of burnt rubber into the asphalt.

Darnell's legs moved like two pistons, pumping up and down, each stroke sending the bike surging forward.

The streetlights of Broadway flew backward on both sides.

Lin An kept a hand on Darnell's shoulder, watching the live chat.

[The Director is at Broadway and 106th Street, the black car turned west.]

[Speed is about sixty, still accelerating.]

[Can Darnell keep up?]

[What is his speed right now?]

Lin An did not know the speed.

But he knew the wind hitting his face hurt more than before.

Darnell's breathing was heavy, but he wasn't panting; his legs seemed to be equipped with an engine that would never tire, pumping one after another with a rhythm as steady as a metronome.

"Bro!"

Darnell's voice was distorted by the wind.

"If I get caught by the police, help me tell my mom..."

"Tell her yourself."

"I mean, just in case!"

"There is no 'in case'."

The Roadster Bicycle surged through the intersection of 106th Street.

Lin An looked up at the sky... the black silhouette of the Crow flashed through the halo of a streetlamp, heading west.

"West, Amsterdam Avenue."

Lin An said.

Darnell swerved sharply, the bike leaning until it was almost scraping the ground. The tires let out a screech before it straightened out and continued to charge forward.

Amsterdam Avenue was narrower than Broadway, and the streetlights were dimmer. Old apartment buildings lined both sides, most of their windows dark, with an occasional light glowing like an insomniac eye.

The black car was two blocks ahead, its red taillights flickering in the night.

"I see it."

Darnell said through gritted teeth.

"Slow down, don't get too close."

"I know."

Darnell eased off the speed, maintaining a distance of about two blocks—just enough to keep the taillights in view without being spotted.

The chat was scrolling.

[The car turned north, West 122nd Street.]

[That's a residential area, further north is Harlem.]

[Where are the kidnappers taking the professor?]

[Keep up.]

Compared to the car, the Roadster Bicycle rolled silently over the asphalt.

The bicycle had no engine noise, only the faint clicking of the chain and the hum of the tires; in the dead of night in Manhattan, such sounds were insignificant to the cars passing by on the main road.

The Crow circled in the air, its black wings spread wide like a flying Shadow.

It would occasionally land on a streetlamp to wait for them, then take flight again to catch up with the car ahead.

Lin An looked at the time on his phone.

One-ten in the morning.

The black car continued north on Amsterdam Avenue, and after passing 125th Street, it turned east into a narrower street.

Darnell slowed down, the bike wobbling slightly under the streetlamp.

"Bro, I've never been here before."

"Follow the Crow."

The black silhouette in the sky drew an arc under the moonlight and headed east.

Lin An patted Darnell on the shoulder, and the Roadster Bicycle accelerated again, its tires crushing through a patch of uneven asphalt and splashing into a small puddle.

The surrounding architecture was changing, shifting from brick apartment buildings to wooden detached houses. The lawns in front were small, but every household had marked out a little territory with low wooden fences.

There were fewer streetlights, with only one every block, casting a dim light as if someone had intentionally turned down the brightness.

The black car slowed down ahead.

Darnell immediately dropped his speed, stopped pedaling, and let the bicycle glide on momentum. The clicking of the chain vanished, leaving only the faint rustle of tires against the asphalt.

The car turned into a driveway and stopped in front of a two-story detached house.

The house was small, its white exterior paint peeling, and the porch light was off.

At the end of the driveway was a garage with the rolling door shut, fronted by a waist-high wooden fence, behind which lay a small patch of withered yellow grass.

The car door opened.

Three people emerged from the car. The one in the back seat hunched over, dragging a struggling figure out from the seat.

One person hoisted the figure's upper body, another lifted the legs, and the third walked ahead to push open the front door of the house.

The door opened, and the light from inside spilled out for a fleeting moment, illuminating a rocking chair on the porch.

Then they quickly went inside and shut the door.

Soon, a room on the second floor lit up.

The curtains were drawn.

Lin An and Darnell crouched behind the bushes across the street, separated by a distance of about twenty meters.

"Bro, why are we here?"

"To get things done, talk less."

Darnell shut his mouth.

Lin An hid behind the bushes. He didn't need to poke his head out; the viewers in the chat were observing the house for him in great detail.

[There is a camera at the front entrance, mounted on the porch ceiling, a black dome facing the driveway.]

[The camera angle is about 120 degrees, covering the entire area in front of the door.]

[The front door is solid wood, doesn't look thick, could be kicked open, but it would alert the people upstairs.]

[The first-floor windows all have curtains drawn, can't see inside.]

[There shouldn't be any cameras at the back of the house; you can circle around from the side.]

Lin An watched the chat for a few seconds, then turned his head to look at Darnell.

"Let's go."

"Go where?"

"To the back."

The corner of Darnell's mouth twitched. His face clearly read "I don't want to go in," but his legs had already taken a half-step forward.

The two men hunched over, creeping along the shadows of the street to the side of the house. The wooden fence wasn't high; Lin An braced his hand and vaulted over. Darnell followed, his movements looking much more agile than Lin An's.

However, Lin An landed silently, while Darnell stepped on a dead branch. A "crack" echoed, sounding exceptionally harsh in the quiet night.

Both of them froze at the same time.

Footsteps came from upstairs... someone walked a few steps in the room, then stopped.

Lin An held a finger to his lips, remaining motionless.

After about ten seconds, the footsteps upstairs resumed, continuing at the previous rhythm.

Darnell let out a sigh of relief. Lin An glanced at him; there was no reproach in that look, but Darnell's face still flushed red.

The side passage was narrow, cluttered with two trash cans and a rusty barbecue grill. The ground was gravel and mud, crunching underfoot.

Lin An hugged the wall, placing every step where the gravel was thinnest. Darnell followed behind him, mimicking his movements.

Behind the house was a small yard with withered grass and a bare maple tree in the corner. The back door was wooden with a small window, the glass too dirty to see through.

The chat was scrolling.

[No camera at the back door.]

[The lock looks like a standard spring latch, not hard to open.]

[The light in that second-floor room is still on, curtains drawn tight.]

[Can't see inside from the outside, can't see outside from the inside.]

Lin An reached out to test the doorknob.

It was locked.

But that wasn't an issue. Lin An took out a master key, poked it into the keyhole, fiddled with it twice, and with a click, it opened.

He looked back at Darnell, who was crouching behind him, clutching his camera with wide, round eyes, his face full of resistance.

Lin An didn't speak; he simply took out a baseball bat, handed it to Darnell, and made a swinging motion.

Darnell swallowed hard and took the bat.

Good.

Lin An gently pushed the door open a crack, then squeezed through the gap sideways. Darnell followed him in.

The back door led to a kitchen—messy, smelly, and nothing worth looking at.

At the other end of the kitchen was a door leading to a hallway, which ended at a staircase.

The stairs were covered in deep red carpet, which was good news; it would muffle their footsteps.

The footsteps upstairs continued, pacing from one end of the room to the other.

Lin An slowed his ascent. He landed with his toes first, then the ball of his foot, then his heel, his body leaning slightly forward with his weight on his front foot. This way, even if he stepped on a creaky stair, he could shift his weight away before the sound fully manifested.

Darnell followed behind, mimicking his movements.

The two of them headed upstairs.

[Walk boldly, there are only four people in the house, and they are all in the room at the end of the hall.]

[Damn, hurry up, streamer, they're about to mess with the old man.]

[Ugh, disgusting.]

The room on the second floor was small, about twenty square meters.

A double bed covered with dark blue sheets sat against the window, and a lamp on the nightstand cast a dim, yellowish light.

Professor Robert Jero was shoved into the room.

His shoulder was pressed down by a thick palm, causing him to stumble forward two steps until his knees hit the edge of the bed, sending him sprawling onto the mattress.

"Don't move."

A voice spoke from above him. It was low and emotionless.

Robert didn't move, nor could he; an old man dedicated to academic research was no match for a burly man in a physical struggle.

"Get up."

That hand grabbed Robert by the back of his collar and hauled him up from the bed, finally allowing him to see the situation in the room.

There were other people in the room.

He counted them.

Four: a bald man, a fat man, Ni Ge, and a Latino man.

"Is this him?"

The bald man standing in front asked.

"This is him."

The fat man replied.

"A professor from Columbia University, in financial mathematics, exactly the same as the photo the employer gave us."

The bald man nodded, walked up to Robert, bent down, and leaned close to his face.

"Robert Jero?"

Robert's lips were trembling, and he bit his teeth together to keep from making a sound.

"I'm asking you a question, are you Robert Jero?"

"Yes."

The bald man straightened up and glanced at the fat man, who nodded in return.

"Then that's right."

The bald man turned around, walked to the other side of the room, picked up a black canvas bag from the corner, placed it on the bed, and unzipped it.

Inside were several bundles of cash held together by rubber bands, all hundred-dollar bills, brand new.

"The money is here, fifty thousand. Count it."

The fat man walked over, picked up a bundle of bills, rubbed them with his fingers, and held them under his nose to smell them.

"Real."

"No kidding."

The fat man put the cash back, zipped up the canvas bag, and held it in his hand.

"The person is fine, the money is fine, pleasure doing business."

The bald man didn't respond; he looked at the fat man, then at Robert, and said something that made Robert's heart nearly stop.

"There's one more thing."

"What thing?"

"The boss said, take the video before letting him go."

The fat man paused for a moment, then slapped his forehead.

"Oh, right, boys, come over here, let's have some fun."

The bald man walked to the bedside, reached out to pull open the nightstand drawer, and took something out.

A tripod.

He unfolded the tripod and placed it at the foot of the bed, facing the bed directly, then took a black Sony camcorder out of the drawer.

He mounted the camcorder onto the tripod, adjusted the angle, and pressed the power button; a red indicator light turned on.

Robert's blood ran cold.

"What... what are you doing?"

His voice was trembling, and he was losing control of his bladder.

The bald man ignored him, taking a second camera out of the drawer, mounting it onto a second tripod, and placing it on the left side of the bed, before setting up a third one on the right.

Three cameras, three angles, no blind spots.

Robert saw those cameras, and his body began to tremble.

"No..."

"Don't speak."

The Latino standing behind him reached out from behind and pressed his hands onto Robert's shoulders; his fingers were long, and his nails were neatly trimmed.

"Old darling, cooperate nicely, and it will be over soon. If you don't cooperate..."

The man paused.

"It might hurt."

Robert's teeth began to chatter.

Four hands began to tear at Robert's clothes.

"No... please... don't..."

Robert's struggle was like a fish pulled onto the shore; his body writhed between those thick arms, but his strength was too small, so small it could be ignored.

Soon, he was left with only a pair of gray briefs.

His sixty-year-old body was as thin as a bundle of dry firewood, and he curled up helplessly on the edge of the bed like a peeled shrimp.

"Help me..."