Not Considered Human

The door closed.

The steel security door let out a dull thud as it shut, temporarily locking the chaotic world outside.

Darnell turned around to face Lin An, his expression filled with immense worry.

"Bro, let me ask you a question."

"Hmm."

"That Crips gunman you killed at the furniture factory..."

Darnell leaned in, lowering his voice as if there were a third person in the room.

"And that bag of money we found in the Abandoned Industrial Zone, the money the Rainstorm Gang lost..."

He swallowed hard.

"Is that why the Rainstorm Gang and the Crips started fighting?"

Before Lin An could speak, Darnell continued, his speech accelerating.

"Because the Crips lost a man, they sent people to the Abandoned Industrial Zone, and because the Rainstorm Gang lost their money, they thought the Crips stole it, so they crossed the repair shop to retaliate, killed a Crips member, then the Crips retaliated back, and then they fought every night, and then they broke legs at the gas station, and then..."

He stopped to catch his breath.

"Bro, are all the shootouts on the streets of the Jamaica Community these past few days caused by us?"

When he asked this, his thirty-eight-year-old face was filled with panic.

A kind of panic that said, "Did I do something bad?"

Lin An tilted his head, pondered the logic for a moment, and then laughed.

"Darnell."

He said.

"Do you think the Rainstorm Gang are good people?"

Darnell was stunned for a moment.

"The Rainstorm Gang?"

He thought about it.

"Of course not. They collect protection money, sell crack, and last month they broke Old Jensen's son's leg because Old Jensen couldn't pay up."

"And the Crips?"

"The Crips are even worse. They don't just sell crack; they sell that fake stuff laced with rat poison. Three people died in South Jamaica last year from smoking what they sold."

"There you go, then."

Lin An's tone was steady, stating a fact that had been proven countless times yet was still ignored by many.

"Gangs are never good things. They commit every evil, they bully ordinary people, they sell drugs, they break the legs of those who can't pay protection money, and they lace their crack with rat poison."

He paused.

"Even if we hadn't taken that money, the Crips would still have invaded the Jamaica Community."

He walked to the window, lifted a corner of the curtain, and looked down at the street where a shootout had just occurred.

The police cars were already gone, the streetlights were all out, and only the hood of Old Jensen's gray Ford reflected the neon light from a distant convenience store.

"Fighting for territory is their instinct, just like dogs marking their territory with urine. If they don't fight today, they'll fight tomorrow."

"The reason could be money, face, someone giving someone else a dirty look, or anything at all."

He let go of the curtain and turned back to look at Darnell.

"We just happened to toss a coin into their script. They chose to pick it up, they chose to start fighting, and they chose to keep fighting."

"So, there's no need to feel guilty... Besides, they aren't even human; the ones who died are just black stray dogs on the side of the road."

"That's true."

Darnell thought about it.

"Then what about Old John..."

"None of your damn business!"

Lin An cut him off cleanly and decisively.

Darnell choked, his mouth hanging open like a fish flopped onto the shore.

"No, bro, Old John is a good guy!"

He said this with an expression so earnest it didn't look like he was joking.

"He helped me out before."

Lin An raised an eyebrow, and Darnell held up one finger.

"Two years ago, when my mom got sick in the winter, he drove his beat-up Ford and took her to the clinic."

Darnell held up a second finger.

"And my little sister last year..."

"Alright, alright..."

Lin An sighed, cutting Darnell off once again.

"Wake me up early tomorrow, before Old John heads to work."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to help your precious Old John fix his car, you idiot!"

Darnell froze.

He stood in the middle of the living room, mouth agape, eyes wide as two overboiled eggs, his thirty-eight-year-old face wearing the kind of foolish expression usually reserved for an eighteen-year-old.

"You... you're going to help Old John fix his car?"

"Was I not speaking English just now?"

Lin An tilted his head to look at him, wearing a smile that said, "What kind of stupid question is that?"

[Last second: None of your business; next second: What time should I wake him up tomorrow]

[Saying it's none of your business, but your body is being very honest]

[Is this the legendary sharp tongue with a soft heart? No, Lin An has a sharp tongue and a sharp heart, but he makes an exception for his brother]

[Darnell: You just said Old John was putting on a pity act]

[Lin An: I take it back, because he helped you]

Darnell's eyes widened.

"Bro, I knew it!"

He rushed over and grabbed Lin An in a hug, his immense strength lifting Lin An entirely off the ground.

"I knew you were a good guy, I knew it!"

"Put me down, you stink..."

"No, I don't stink, I sprayed deodorant tonight, I don't stink!"

Lin An hung in mid-air, expressionless, like a cat being hoisted by a black bear.

[LMAO, Lin An's expression]

[Lin An: I regret it, I'm not fixing it]

[Darnell's strength is truly absurd, lifting a grown man with one hand like he's a chick]

"Put me down."

Lin An's tone was as calm as if he were commenting on the nice weather.

"Otherwise, I'm really not fixing it, and I'll tell your mom you snuck into the fridge to eat the beef stew in the middle of the night."

Darnell let go instantly.

Lin An landed steadily, straightened his crooked collar, and then raised his arm to sniff his own sleeve.

His brow furrowed.

"You really don't stink."

He admitted.

"It's just that you rubbed your stench onto me."

Darnell opened his mouth to retort, but Lin An had already turned around, laid down on the sofa, and covered himself with a blanket.

"Five-fifty. Don't be late."

Darnell watched Lin An close his eyes to sleep, scratched his head, and then lowered his head to sniff his own armpit.

"It really doesn't stink..."

He muttered, preparing to head back to his room, but just as Darnell's hand touched the doorknob, he suddenly stopped.

"Bro."

"What now."

"You said earlier... 'They aren't human anyway, it was just a black stray dog on the side of the road'."

His voice lowered.

"I know the Rainstorm Gang and the Crips aren't good people, but they are still human, people with mothers."

The living room grew a little quieter.

Lin An's voice came from behind Darnell, steady and devoid of much emotion.

"Darnell."

"Yeah."

"Your kindness is a good thing, but don't waste it on people who don't deserve it."

Darnell didn't speak.

"When the Rainstorm Gang broke Old John's son's leg, did they ever think about the fact that he had a mother? When the Crips cut their heroin with rat poison, did they ever think about the fact that the people buying their product had mothers?"

Lin An's tone didn't grow heavier or colder; he was simply stating facts.

"I don't consider them human, because the moment they chose to do certain things, they forfeited their right to be called human."

"So..."

Lin An stood up once more and spread his hands.

"I find killing dogs to be a very joyful experience."

Darnell's hand slid down from the doorknob.

He turned around to look at Lin An.

Lin An stood in the center of the living room, the neon light from outside filtering through the gap in the curtains, cutting a line of light and shadow across his face.

[Lin An's moral compass: Humans are born good; those who are not kind are not human]

[Therefore, in his logic, the Rainstorm Gang and the Crips are no longer human]

[Because what he sees are the things they have done, not what they are]

[In a sense, this is a very pure view of good and evil]

[It is not judged by identity, but by behavior]

[That is why he can kill gang members without any psychological burden, yet will wake up early to fix a car because Old John helped Darnell]

[This is Lin An: crazy, but principled]

Darnell was silent for a few seconds.

Then he nodded.

"I get it."

He said.

"But I still feel like, regarding Old John, thank you."

"You've already thanked me."

"Can't I thank you again?"

Six forty-five.

Old Jensen pushed open the apartment building door and stepped out, his face heavy with concern.

He was a sixty-year-old Black man with a slightly hunched back, wearing a faded work jacket and carrying an old toolbox that contained his lunch for the day.

As he walked with heavy steps toward his Ford, he had already prepared himself for the worst-case scenario...

However, he saw the new side-view mirror on the right side of his old companion.

A brand-new gray casing and a clean lens reflected the sign of the convenience store across the street in the morning light.

He frowned, leaned in to take a closer look, and reached out to touch it.

It was definitely new.

Even the seams at the connection point were clean, as if it had just been installed.

He walked around to the front of the car to check the engine, and after popping the hood, he saw a sticker inside.

A cartoon bullet hole.

Black cracks, a round hole, and a line of small text beside it.

"OUCH!"

Old Jensen stared at the sticker and instinctively broke into a smile.

He reached out to touch the sticker, then straightened his back and looked around.

The street was quiet, the morning mist had yet to dissipate, and the sound of an early bus driving down Jamaica Avenue could be heard in the distance.

He didn't see the person he was looking for.

Old Jensen withdrew his gaze, looked down at the sticker once more, and shook his head.

"Darnell."

He said softly.

"It has to be you, you little rascal."

He opened the car door and sat in the driver's seat.

The car was filled with the faint scent of lemongrass.

Old Jensen paused for a moment, then took a deep breath.

"Good lad, even sprayed some perfume for me."

He started the car, the engine roared once, then settled into a steady hum.

He shifted into reverse and glanced at the new rearview mirror on the right.

"Little rascal."

He said it again, but there wasn't a hint of blame in his tone.

The Ford slowly backed out of the parking space, turned, and headed in the direction of Jamaica Avenue.