Chen Meiling walked in. She stopped in the living room doorway, spotted Darnell, and immediately frowned.
"Bro, you haven't shaved again."
"I just got home."
"What does just getting home have to do with shaving?"
As she spoke, she walked in and hung the faded canvas bag from her shoulder over the back of a chair, moving briskly.
The strap looped once around her fingers. She hung it up, turned to face Darnell, planted her hands on her hips, and lifted her chin.
The pose made her look considerably taller than she really was.
"You said yesterday you'd shave today. The day before that, you said you'd shave yesterday. And the day before that..."
"All right, all right."
Darnell raised his hands in surrender.
"I'll shave tomorrow."
"You always say tomorrow."
Chen Meiling rolled her eyes, then shifted her gaze from Darnell to the third person sitting beside the dining table.
It was like a radio being tuned to a different frequency.
Her shoulders relaxed, her hands dropped from her hips, and she clasped them unconsciously in front of her.
She straightened her back a little, lowered her chin, and her mouth shifted from a look of distaste to a faintly pursed smile.
"Lin An, you're back too!"
Lin An nodded to her.
"Just got back?"
"Yeah. The restaurant was especially busy today, so Auntie Li had me stay two extra hours."
She went into the kitchen and washed her hands at the sink, following a precise routine... She turned on the tap, pumped the soap twice, scrubbed her palms, the backs of her hands, between her fingers, and her fingertips for three seconds each, rinsed, turned off the water, shook her hands three times, and dried them on her apron.
It was muscle memory she'd picked up at the restaurant.
Then she dried her hands and went to the fridge. Opening it, she took out two lemons wrapped in plastic wrap.
"Lin An, would you like some lemon tea?"
"Thanks."
"Extra ice, less sugar?"
"Thanks."
Chen Meiling lowered her head, the corners of her mouth curving up slightly.
The lemon tea was ready in no time. She held the glass in both hands, carried it over to Lin An, and dipped her head slightly.
"Lemon tea."
Lin An took it and had a sip.
"That's good."
He said it in Chinese.
Chen Meiling's eyes lit up for a moment, then she quickly suppressed the glimmer. With her lips pursed, she murmured, "Mm," before turning and sitting in her usual seat.
Darnell had watched the whole exchange, his expression as complicated as if he'd bitten into an unripe lemon.
"Meiling."
"Yeah?"
"Where's my lemon tea?"
"Don't you like Coke?"
"I feel like lemon tea now."
"Make it yourself."
Chen Meiling picked up her fork and speared a piece of potato, her tone back to normal... She spoke quickly, in a high pitch, with the distinctive rhythm of Black English.
"Why should I be nice to you? You don't even shave, you wear that same blue polo shirt all the time, and you look like a homeless guy when you squat beside the food truck eating a burger. Being nice to you would just be a waste of breath."
Mary made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough.
Darnell opened his mouth, then shut it again... He decided to keep quiet and eat.
The mood at the table relaxed, like a pot of beef stew cooked to perfection... Calm on the surface, bubbling away underneath.
The Bullet Screen drifted quietly along the edge of his vision.
[Meiling is so good at cutting lemons.]
[She learned at the restaurant. That three-second handwashing routine too.]
[She's a completely different person when she talks to Lin An versus Darnell.]
[She's kind of a flirt.]
[The way Mary looks at Lin An—is that the look of a mother-in-law sizing up her son-in-law?]
[Such a warm family dinner.]
Everyone had eaten their fill.
Mary's plate was empty. Darnell's had been licked clean ages ago; he'd even used bread to wipe up the gravy. He always seemed hungry.
Half a piece of cornbread remained on Meiling's plate... She ate slowly, one small bite at a time.
There were still a few pieces of beef on Lin An's plate. It wasn't that he couldn't eat them; Mary had kept adding more, and he hadn't been able to keep up.
"Are you full?"
Mary watched him set down his fork.
"I'm full."
"Really? There's more in the pot."
"Really."
Mary studied him for two seconds, making sure he wasn't just being polite, then nodded in satisfaction.
"Meiling, clear the table."
"Why does it have to be me again?"
"Because your brother brought a friend home today. That counts as doing something right."
"How does bringing Lin An home count as doing something right? It's not like he caught Lin An and brought him back."
"Less talk."
Meiling stood and began clearing the plates.
As she passed Darnell, she bumped the back of his chair with her knee. It wasn't hard, but it was just enough to make the chair wobble.
Darnell said nothing.
Lin An stood too and took a few bills from his pocket.
Three crisp hundred-dollar bills, folded neatly as if he'd taken care to arrange them.
"Auntie."
Mary turned around. The moment she saw the money in his hand, her smile disappeared. She wasn't angry; it was the instinctive reaction of a Chinese parent faced with a child trying to give them money—first refusing, then wavering, and finally accepting it with reluctance, all accompanied by a great deal of verbal theater.
"An, what are you doing?"
"This month's food and rent."
"I don't want your money."
Mary's voice rose half a note. She wiped her hands on her apron twice, then put them on her hips and lifted her chin slightly, striking a pose that said, "I'm about to get angry."
"You're a student. Where would you get that kind of money? Don't you need money for your research at school? For books? Keep it for yourself! You don't eat much or take up much space here. What would I need your money for?"
"It's my scholarship."
"Scholarship? What scholarship?"
"A scholarship from Columbia University."
Lin An said it calmly, lying without batting an eye.
Mary's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Columbia University? The Ivy League one?"
"Yes."
Mary's hands dropped completely from her apron. She turned to look at her son, who was pretending to wash dishes in the kitchen, and her voice rose a full octave.
"Darnell, look at An!"
Darnell didn't turn around, but he started wiping the plates noticeably faster, as if trying to escape the storm that was about to break.
"I know, Mom."
"What do you know? Tell me, what do you know?"
Mary put her hands on her hips.
"An's the same age as you, and he's at Columbia University on a scholarship. What about you?"
"Mom..."
"Why can't you study hard and keep improving every day?"
Darnell came out with a helpless look and glanced over at Lin An.
The latter sat on the couch with his lemon tea, took a slow sip, and let the corners of his mouth curl up slightly.
Darnell took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a wad of small bills, counted them, and set them on the table.
"Mom, here. This is my share of the household expenses this month."
Mary's lecture stopped dead.
She looked down at the money on the table, then up at Darnell.
"What's this?"
"Money."
"I know it's money. I'm asking where you got it."
Her voice hadn't lowered, but her anger had changed direction.
"Darnell Washington."
Her voice suddenly dropped, transforming from a loudspeaker into a subwoofer.
"Did you go looting again?"
"I didn't!"
"Then where'd you get these three hundred dollars? You make three hundred a month? The last time you tried one of your side hustles, you made a few dozen dollars in three months. Now you've made three hundred in just a few days? Did you rob a bank?"
"I..."
"Tell me the truth."
A hint of fear crept into Mary's voice... She was afraid her son would go astray, afraid he'd end up like those Ni Ge on the street who ran with gangs.
"Auntie."
Lin An set down his lemon tea and stood up from the couch.
"That isn't money from looting."
Mary turned to him.
"Then where'd it come from?"
"It's from a project Darnell and I are working on."
Lin An spoke earnestly.
"Professor Jero gave me a research assignment that requires a lot of fieldwork in Jamaica Community. Darnell's been riding his bike to take me around. It's been hard work."
He glanced at Darnell.
"The professor's pleased with my work and gave me a scholarship. I gave Darnell three hundred dollars of it for transportation."
The kitchen fell silent for a second.
"Transportation?"
Mary's gaze shifted back and forth between Lin An and Darnell.
"Really?"
"Professor Jero gave me a generous scholarship."
Lin An didn't bat an eye.
"Really?"
Mary's gaze settled on Darnell.
"Is what An said true?"
Darnell nodded firmly.
"Yes."
Mary stared at him for three seconds.
Three seconds later, her tense shoulders relaxed, and the subwoofer turned back into a loudspeaker.
"Then why didn't you say so earlier?"
She reached out and smacked Darnell on the head. The blow landed harder than the one she'd given Lin An, with a sharp smack.
"If it's honest money, why didn't you tell me sooner? You had me worried sick! I thought you'd gone off to Brooklyn to get up to your usual nonsense again!"
"You didn't give me a chance to tell you..."
"I didn't give you a chance? When have I ever not given you a chance? Every time you come home, you act like a thief. How could I not worry?"
She picked up the wad of bills and tucked it into her apron pocket, as naturally as could be. At the same time, she couldn't suppress her smile, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes crinkled into little flowers.
Meiling poked her head out from beside the sink.
"Bro, you helped Lin An with a project and made three hundred dollars these past few days?"
"Yeah."
"That's way better than my restaurant job. I only make a hundred and fifty bucks a week... Lin, can I work with you too?"
"No."
"You still have school to go to. Your studies are the most important thing."
Mary came over just then, took Chen Meiling aside, and scolded her. Unlike the way she'd yelled at Darnell, though, her reprimand was gentle and quiet, without raising her voice at all.
Darnell looked over at Lin An. Their eyes met, and Darnell spread his hands and shrugged.
Over the next few days, Lin An settled into a very regular routine.
He got up in the morning, then had Darnell pedal him to the 103rd Precinct. He spent the morning helping officers and their families with tax problems. After a good meal, he waited for an officer with some free time to drive him to the shooting range, where he spent two or three hours practicing.
In the afternoon, Darnell took him to the abandoned Queen Furniture Factory to check on things there.
Old Joe was a capable man. At Lin An's request, he recruited ten more people, bringing the staff to fifteen.
Several of them, like Hector Gonzalez, an undocumented Mexican immigrant, and Catherine Miller, a white woman, had families in tow.
Lin An welcomed employees like them. Having a family meant having people to care about, even if it also meant they needed a lot more food and clothes.
That was no problem for Lin An. With the Bullet Screen's donations, clothes and food were basically free for him.
With a relatively adequate workforce, Old Joe could finally send people out to work: selling clothes in the neighboring community, getting a feel for the local homeless population, and handing out flyers for the cleaning service to businesses along the commercial street.
Three lines of business at once.
Of course, perhaps they hadn't been at it long enough, or perhaps the homeless employees were inexperienced and too timid to come across as confident. Whatever the reason, none of the three ventures had brought in any results yet.
They'd only sold five pieces of clothing. Their survey of the homeless had turned up a few veterans from special forces, but no one with any high-tech expertise.
As for the cleaning service flyers, they hadn't landed a single job.
Lin An took it all in stride. If success came that easily, there wouldn't be so few rich people in the world.
Making money had never been easy, anywhere or at any time.
In the evening, Lin An and Darnell returned to his cramped but cozy little home.
Lin An leaned back on the old sofa with his eyes closed, watching the Bullet Screen chat. Sometimes, the viewers were strange. When there wasn't much happening around Lin An, they either sent a Crow flying around or chatted among themselves in front of him, discussing all sorts of bizarre things.
For example...
[Brothers from before 2016, take note: in my timeline, the US stirred up trouble in the South China Sea in 2016, and it nearly sparked a war...]
[Can you explain what started it and what happened?...]
[It's February 2020 where I am. The US is stirring things up in Taiwan and planning to deploy strategic missiles. Anyone whose timeline hasn't caught up yet, take note...]
[I have a question I can't solve. Here it is... Anyone who knows the subject, hurry and send me the answer through the Bullet Screen. It's urgent—I'm taking an exam...]
Lin An watched the messages with great interest.
On the floor opposite the sofa, Darnell sat cross-legged, bored as he played Snake on the Nokia phone. Before long, he got tired of it.
"Bro, didn't you say you were going to find that Sergei guy? We've been in Jamaica all these days and haven't gone far."
Lin An glanced up at the Chinese calendar hanging on the wall. March 20.
"Not yet. It's still too early."
"Why is it too early?"
"Sergei's still at the police station. The 60th Precinct picked him up and hasn't let him go yet."
"Huh?"
Darnell scratched his head.
"Don't the police let people go after twenty-four hours?"
"Darnell, you really know your way around this stuff... Sheldon's situation is different. He bribed the police, so the 60th Precinct is deliberately holding him longer."
Lin An shook his head at Darnell's surprisingly obscure knowledge.
"Besides, we still have another problem to solve. We can't go after Sergei yet."
"What problem?"
"The guns."
Lin An spread his hands.
"I've only got two handguns and one shotgun I can use right now. That's nowhere near enough to get anything done. I'm trying to figure out how to solve it."
"Huh? One long gun and two handguns. Isn't that enough?"
Darnell looked genuinely surprised.
"Sergei's a mercenary broker, remember? His gunmen sprayed us with assault rifles at that abandoned factory."
Darnell fell silent, while the Bullet Screen grew much busier.
[The streamer definitely needs more firepower right now]
[Two handguns and a shotgun are enough against ordinary people, but they're no match for mercenaries]
[The problem is that rifles are hard to get. In New York in 2009, an AR-15 would cost at least two thousand dollars on the black market]
[Buying an illegal gun is too risky. You could get caught in a sting]
[The streamer is undocumented. He definitely can't take that risk]
[Wait, I've got an idea]
[Go on]
[The streamer could have Darnell buy parts at a gun store. As long as he doesn't buy the receiver, core components like barrels and triggers are freely available in the US in 2009. All you need is money]
[Right. Handguards, stocks, grips, sights, magazines, and even the most important part, the barrel, are all legal. No background check needed]
[Then we can donate the receiver, and the streamer can assemble it himself]
[He might need us to donate the magazines too, since civilian rifle magazines in the US only hold ten rounds]
[Not a problem. I run a small workshop and have the equipment. Making a receiver is tricky, but I can handle it. I can rough it out on a three-axis vertical machining center, then finish it by hand. Magazines are even simpler: bend sheet metal into shape, then order springs online and put it together. The barrel is the real headache]
[Good idea, but there's one problem]
[What problem?]
[The assembled weapons won't fit in the Live Stream Store, since some of their parts were donated]
[So if the streamer wants to use them, he'll have to carry them around instead of summoning them whenever he needs them?]
[Exactly. I think that's a big problem. Handguns are manageable, but long guns are hard to carry]
[Most weapons used in New York gang shootouts in 2009 were handguns for exactly that reason: long guns are hard to hide, and if the police find one, you're in serious trouble]
[Still better than nothing. Besides, the streamer doesn't have to carry them around. He can stash them somewhere in advance and pick them up when he needs them]
[Right. He can hide them over in Brighton Beach ahead of time]
[Darnell knows Queens well. He should know where to stash things]
It was worth trying. The only problem was that if Lin An wanted to get rid of the assembled guns after using them, he'd have to take them apart first or just dump them in a river.
Either way, destroying the evidence would be a hassle.
He could start by getting a few long guns for the guards at the furniture factory. Then, if the need arose, he could requisition them directly instead of scrambling to buy guns at the last minute.
Lin An looked away from the Bullet Screen and at Darnell, who had noticed his gaze.
"Bro, what's up?"
"Never mind. I won't bother you with this."
Lin An shook his head, picked up his phone, and began writing a text to Old Joe. He'd leave the gun parts to him. Old Joe could send someone to a gun store.
[Streamer, what kind of gun do you want?]
"An AR-15, probably."
Lin An said,
"There's a big civilian market for them, so parts are easy to find, and they're easy to convert to full auto."
As he spoke, Lin An remembered the gunfight at the abandoned factory in Brooklyn. Several of the gunmen had been using fully automatic AR-15s.
[Actually, AR barrels aren't suited to full-auto fire. They're designed for semi-automatic shooting. If you want to convert one to full auto, you'll need to modify the barrel too. It's a pain, and the barrel won't last long—you'll have to replace it after a hundred or so rounds]
"Then what do you suggest?"
[I looked into the civilian barrels and parts legally available in the US in 2009. I recommend the FN M16A2, Arsenal SLR (Bulgarian), IMBEL (Brazilian), surplus TRW military barrels, FMP (Portuguese), or cold-hammer-forged BCM barrels.
They're high quality and can be assembled into fully automatic weapons without any extra modifications]
"Really?"
[Forget it. Legal gun stores in New York City can't sell those barrels. The guy above only thought about how easy they'd be to modify, not how the streamer could get them]
[Brick-and-mortar stores definitely won't have them, but you can order online and have them shipped. I bought plenty in New York in 2009. AKs, ARs, NATO stuff, Brazilian parts—you could get it all]
[Come on, don't mislead the streamer. Buying one or two military barrels might be fine, but buy more and you're bound to get in trouble. Even if you use someone else's ID and a fake address, the police could still show up at your door]
[Pay with a cashier's check, not a credit card. Ask the seller to use plain packaging and ship to a private mailbox, not your home. Then split up the purchases and deliveries. Even if you buy twenty or thirty military barrels, nobody will come knocking]
Lin An watched the viewers argue. After a while, he picked up a pen and paper to take notes... Some of their ideas really could work.
"Ding..."
It was a text. Lin An set down the pen and paper and picked up his phone. As soon as he read it, all interest in the Bullet Screen's argument vanished.
"Guys, stop arguing. Old Joe just asked Allen—the veteran with the broken leg—and he knows people. He can contact active-duty US soldiers who sell weapons. Handguns, assault rifles, machine guns, even grenades. They've got all of it."
[??????]
[I just spent ages typing and looking up information. I even dug out a list of 2009 barrel models, and now you're telling me Allen has connections?]
[A disabled veteran with connections to active-duty soldiers who can get grenades too? What kind of setup is this?]
[Hold on. We just spent ages arguing about the difference between military and civilian barrels, and he can just buy complete weapons?]
[I was halfway through typing instructions on how the streamer could find online gun-parts retailers when I saw this text]
[Same here. I just looked up New York State's 2009 laws on shipping guns. What a waste]
[I even dug up the cutting parameters for a three-axis vertical machining center. I was about to teach the streamer how to mill a receiver himself]
[You gun nerds are hilarious]
[So the entire military-advisor squad in the Bullet Screen is out of a job now?]
[Out of a job +1. The streamer should pay us unemployment benefits]
Just then, gunshots suddenly rang out from beyond the window.
One, two, then a rapid burst, crackling like rain.
Before you continue