If You Want to Eat, You Have to Snatch It from Someone Else's Mouth

The ashtray in front of Don Quixote was already overflowing with cigarette butts. Anyone who came within ten feet of him could smell the sharp, pungent smoke.

Hearing Li Wei's teasing, he said nothing. He merely took another silent drag before speaking slowly.

"Oh—you mean the date." He thought for a moment, as though recalling something from ten years ago. "It was alright. We mostly talked about work."

"Uh... setting aside why you'd talk about work on a Friday night date," Li Wei said as he sat beside Don Quixote with concern, "you seem to be in a pretty bad mood?"

"Do I look like I'm in a bad mood?" Don Quixote paused, then laughed helplessly. "I'm thinking about something big. Something that could completely turn my life around."

"What is it?" Li Wei took a case of beer from the refrigerator. "Can I enjoy the good life with you?"

"Of course." Don Quixote accepted a beer. "If it works out, by next year—no, by this Christmas—I'll be able to send you to all kinds of classes and extracurricular activities. Maybe I can even hire you a coach. You know, the more AP classes you take, the better your chances of getting into an Ivy League school. And Franklin Shit Garbage High School doesn't have that many educational resources. Private AP tutoring costs a fortune, too."

"Then..." Li Wei ran his fingers over the beer can, feeling the icy chill prick his fingertips. "Tell me about your plan to get rich?"

"You know I graduated from the University of Chicago's economics department, then worked at JPMorgan Chase for several years, right?" Don Quixote said, swaying his head as he spoke. "I have an occupational habit: I'm extremely sensitive to numbers, especially money."

As he spoke, he stood up with a cigarette in his mouth and beer in hand, went into his room, and brought out a notebook. He spread it open in front of Li Wei.

"The previous accountant lumped all of Susan's expenses together. It took me quite some effort to separate out the expenses for each household," he said proudly. "At first, I thought he was just a complete idiot. But later, I dug up something different. Stupid as he was, he was actually trying to hide something."

He opened the notebook filled with densely packed notes and pointed to one page for Li Wei.

"Look, kid, these five apartments here," Don Quixote said. "They're all in the same building. Their annual rent adds up to a hundred thousand dollars. But look—look here. Repairs and water bills alone add up to fifty thousand dollars."

Li Wei examined Don Quixote's notes closely. Every bill and expense for every apartment was meticulously listed month by month, going back five years. Every unreasonable charge had been circled in red, with notes written beside it.

With accounts calculated this carefully, it was no wonder that after going bankrupt, he had still managed to survive while sending his ex-wife two thousand dollars every month. Although he had previously needed to sell blood twice a month and had even sold one of his balls, at least he had made it this far without losing any limbs.

"How could pipes need repairs every month? How could they burst every month?" Don Quixote said. "Later, I went to investigate in person and found that the entire building was like this. With rents kept low and vacancies high, after property taxes and other levies, Susan's five apartments were actually operating at a loss every year."

"That doesn't sound like a plan to get rich."

Li Wei voiced his opinion cautiously.

"No, no, no. That's just the background of the project." Don Quixote stuffed his cigarette butt into the overflowing ashtray. "At first, I thought the pipes on the entire street had deteriorated, so I checked the New York City Government's historical records. It turned out everything was normal. Only this one building had problems."

As he spoke, he lit cigarette after cigarette. "Later, I took Juan—the Mexican maintenance guy from my company—to look around. I treated him to two meals and taught him how to negotiate medical bills. After I helped him cut a hundred-and-twenty-thousand-dollar bill down to seventeen thousand, he secretly told me out of gratitude that this was actually territory controlled by the Italian Gambino Family. They often pull this kind of stunt—make a building notorious so the landlord sells at a loss, then another one of their companies comes in and buys the whole building. After renovations, the rent rises several times over, and the entire building's value goes up with it."

"Italian territory," Li Wei said with a smile. "Why are you always dealing with Italians?"

"Can't help it." Don Quixote shrugged. "Several neighborhoods in Brooklyn used to be Italian territory. Haven't you noticed that even Bay Ridge, where we live now, is full of Italians?"

Li Wei thought of the statue he had picked up, with its Italian immigrant aesthetic, and nodded.

"So I'm planning to—" Don Quixote rubbed his hands together. "Drive those Italians out. At the very least, I want a share of the pie with them. I've already reached an agreement with Susan. If we can really drive them away, she'll establish an asset management company with me to buy that building. I'll get five percent of the shares and a new job. Then I'll finally climb out of hell."

The moment he said that, Li Wei frowned deeply.

The Gambino Family was one of Italy's five major mafia families. It had countless members and assets spread throughout Brooklyn and Queens. Although one or two million dollars was not a particularly significant asset to them, dealing with them was still extremely dangerous.

"You want to become the Godfather of Brooklyn too?" he asked. "Last month, we were still scraping by in a basement in Sunset Park. How are we supposed to fight the Italian mafia? Just the two of us?"

"We don't necessarily need a direct conflict with the Gambino Family," Don Quixote explained. "And we won't be fighting alone. Susan says she knows some very capable lawyers who can handle the trouble on our behalf. Besides, I already have a detailed plan."

"It's still too dangerous no matter what," Li Wei said, shaking his head. "That's the mafia. A criminal organization with guns."

"Not necessarily—"

Don Quixote wanted to say more, but Li Wei interrupted him again.

"Uncle Don Quixote, it's already good enough that we went from a basement to this big house in just one month," he said. "And I believe things will only keep getting better. There's no need to clash with them and take this risk now!"

Don Quixote suddenly fell silent.

"Think about yourself, then think about me," Li Wei continued while the iron was hot. "And if nothing else, if something happens to you, think about your daughter."

"You..." Don Quixote raised his head and pointed at himself. "Li Wei, do you know how old I am this year?"

"I don't," Li Wei said, shaking his head. "But if I remember correctly, you should be forty-two—"

"I turned forty-five today, Li Wei," Don Quixote said softly. "Today, I turned forty-five."

Li Wei pursed his lips and said stiffly, "...Happy birthday, Uncle."

"I don't have as much time as you do, Li Wei." Don Quixote touched his thinning hair and the wrinkles on his face. "I'm not young anymore. How many forty-five-year stretches does a person get in one lifetime?"

"I lived in basements for years," he said. "I used to work two jobs every day, and I had to sell blood every month. Li Wei, tell me—tell me how many more years I can live? I've already reached the average age at death for America's lower class."

Li Wei opened his mouth but said nothing.

The average age at death for America's lower class was forty-five for men and forty-two for women.

In contrast, the productive class and the wealthy routinely lived to ninety or a hundred. Averaged together, it created the pleasant-looking number of seventy-five.

"Malnutrition, irregular heartbeat, anemia, rheumatism, gout..." Don Quixote counted them off on his fingers. "More than once, I've wondered whether I'd wake up the next day. I can't afford hospitals. I don't have insurance. I don't even know whether there's anything else wrong with my body. I don't dare get examined. I'm scared they'll print out a long list of conditions, and then I'll completely collapse. I'll lose all my drive."

"That won't happen, Uncle," Li Wei comforted him. "It won't. You're built like an ox."

"I really envy you, nephew. Sometimes I'm even jealous of you." Don Quixote sighed. "How are you so young? You're only seventeen. Your dick must be hard as steel every morning. One look at the pale thighs of your female classmates at school could probably tear through your pants. Seventeen... that's truly the best age. There's still time for everything. Nothing is too late."

As he spoke, he opened another beer. He had already drunk three cans in no time.

"But—I—hic—I'm already old. I don't have that much time left," he said, his speech slurring. "I want to climb back up quickly, buy myself health insurance, get a physical, fight for custody of my daughter, then live until I see her get married. I want to personally hand her over to someone I can trust. Only then can I die in peace."

"That'll happen soon," Li Wei assured him. "I'll get a scholarship to Yale, enter the NFL, and get a ten-million-dollar contract. Even after I retire, I can become a lawyer or go into business—I'll become a huge star. Then I'll help you pay off your debts, get you treated, and win back custody of your daughter. I promise!"

Yet after hearing Li Wei, Don Quixote shook his head. Half mocking, half self-deprecating, he said, "You don't understand, kid. You really don't."

"When I was your age, I was a genius at my high school too." He pointed at Li Wei, then at himself. "When I was seventeen, I got As in all thirteen AP classes. I scored 1570 out of 1600 on the SAT, beating 99.5 percent of test takers. I went to the University of Chicago on a full scholarship. Even at JPMorgan Chase, I was the youngest VP in the entire company."

"But look at me. Look at me now. I used to manage projects worth billions of dollars, and now I'm running around over bills worth a few dozen dollars." He forced out a smile uglier than crying. "When fate decides to toy with you, it won't go easy on you just because you're young."

"We've only barely managed to live like human beings for one month, but I really can't help it. I really can't hold it in," Don Quixote said. "Forget water, electricity, and internet. Gas for the car costs a hundred and fifty dollars every month. Mandatory car insurance is two hundred a month. Street-cleaning tickets start at eighty dollars a month at minimum... And I have two thousand dollars in court-ordered monthly alimony payments. The damned court just reaches into my bank account and takes money. I worked an entire month and couldn't save even fifty dollars."

"Not everyone will give you an opportunity like Susan did." He calmed himself and spoke evenly. "There are only so many opportunities a person can seize in a lifetime. At least when it comes to luck, the latter half of my life hasn't seemed very fortunate. I have to consider whether this is the last opportunity I'll ever get."

Li Wei said nothing.

"No matter what, middle-aged people always worry about everything," he said, patting Li Wei's shoulder. "After you succeed, you'll help your uncle deal with his debts. I firmly believe that. But I can't put every burden on your shoulders. After all, I'm your elder. I said I'd look out for you."

"Don't worry, I've checked everything," he added immediately. "As long as we have enough evidence, we can negotiate with them. And as long as I succeed, my salary will immediately increase fivefold, and I'll own shares worth more than two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"That sounds pretty good. But have you really thought this through?" Li Wei said. "This isn't a game."

"How could it be easy to turn your life around in America?" Don Quixote snorted, looking as though he had already made up his mind. "That's just how America is. If you want to eat, you have to snatch it from someone else's hands. Only after you snatch it can you move up. If you don't exploit others, you'll be exploited."

After saying that, both he and Li Wei fell silent.

A long while passed.

Li Wei sighed. "Alright, then. Tell me what you're thinking so far. We'll figure out a way together."

"No need. You're still a kid." Don Quixote shook his head. "I don't want to drag you into this. Italians don't involve family when they handle things. Even if I fail, they won't come after you. Otherwise, they'd have a hard time explaining themselves to the jury, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation—"

"Don't be stupid. Do you think I'm going to watch you go off and get yourself killed?" Li Wei raised one finger. "Besides, let's be clear: I'm not saying I'll definitely get involved. I just want to see first whether there's anything I can help you with."

"Alright..." Don Quixote pulled himself together and took a deep breath. "This is what I'm thinking..."

Don Quixote's plan was simple. First, the Italian mafia's businesses were all illegal, so they definitely would not pay taxes on time—

"Wait," Li Wei asked. "How do you know they won't pay taxes on time?"

"Because you wouldn't believe who I saw while staking the place out," Don Quixote said. "I saw Leto! Miserly Leto! Then I traced things upward from the construction site where I used to haul bricks and found that they were actually one company. And Leto had set up a private casino at the site. Jose told me about it before—said they ran it big! The casino could hold at least a hundred gamblers!"

Li Wei nodded. "So as long as you get their account books, you'll basically have proof of operating an illegal casino and evading taxes?"

Don Quixote nodded and continued laying out his plan. As long as he could find a way to get the books or extract some solid evidence, he could pull off a bluff.

"Once I get the evidence, I'll send them an anonymous email and disguise myself as a major capital group," Don Quixote said. "Remember how the news said the Russian mafia attacked that previous construction site? They're fighting a war. I'll say we have our eyes on that building too, and that they've disrupted our plans. If they don't pull out, we'll send the evidence to the Internal Revenue Service and the Russian mafia."

"How do you know anyone in the Russian mafia?" Li Wei continued asking. "Your connections are that extensive?"

"I don't," Don Quixote said. "But Leto and the others definitely don't know that I don't."

"Alright. Say they withdraw afterward, leaving that opening for you to pick up the scraps," Li Wei went on. "What happens next?"

"Next, Susan and I will register an asset management company in Delaware." Don Quixote sounded entirely confident. "Delaware offers the strongest privacy protections for company registration in all of America. The Italians can't reach that far. They won't be able to trace me."

"But you'll have to show your face eventually, right?"

"I won't. Susan's friends will find trustworthy proxy lawyers to handle it," Don Quixote said. "And we'll cooperate with them as well—we'll hire them long-term to remove construction waste and handle exterior renovations, so they can make money too. That way, they'll compromise in the short term. But after they move the casino's books and location, and after their war with the Russians ends, only then will they have the time to come after us."

"But that'll probably be at least a year from now." Don Quixote spoke animatedly. "By then, we'll have already driven up the property's valuation, mortgaged it for a huge amount of cash, and cashed out."

Li Wei thought it over carefully. Don Quixote seemed to have developed a complete plan, from exploiting the friction between the Russians and Italians to cutting in and snatching prey from the Italians' mouths. There seemed to be no problem at all.

But—

"Wait," Li Wei said. "The core of all this is the account books, right? How are you planning to get them?"

"Don't rush." Don Quixote thought for a moment. "I'm planning to contact Jose and see if he has a way to get inside and gather some information. If it's too dangerous, then I suppose I can only give up and look for new opportunities."

"So for now, all we can do is wait?"

"Wait. I need to contact Jose first. I haven't been able to reach him lately."

"I have one last question," Li Wei said. "I promise it's the last one."

"Go ahead." Don Quixote sat up straight and looked at Li Wei seriously. "I'm listening."

"You said I'm hard as steel. Are you saying you aren't?" Li Wei stared solemnly at Don Quixote. "Can you still get it up now?"

The moment those words came out, Don Quixote flew into an embarrassed rage.

"Get out, get out, get out! When you're older, you'll be just like me!" he shouted. "Remember, it's not you that's hard—it's your seventeen years old—fuck! When you're my age and down one ball, you'll understand how rare it is to piss without getting your shoes wet!"

"And!" As though recalling something, he hastily added, "It's not like I can't get hard!"

"Yes, yes, yes." Li Wei stretched lazily. "I understand. Get some rest early. I still have to train at the stadium tomorrow morning."

The living room fell quiet again.

"Brat..." Don Quixote looked down and muttered, "Did he really figure it out?"