Li Jie sat in the van, watching Wilson make trip after trip out of the Chinese restaurant with noodles, eggs, meat patties, sauces, pots, bowls, knives, chopsticks, and forks, loading them into the back. When Wilson finally clapped his hands in satisfaction and climbed into the cab, Li Jie couldn't help asking:
"Hey... you don't need all that stuff for jianbing, do you?"
"Oh, here's the thing." Wilson looked at him seriously. "I don't want pancakes. I've been craving tossed noodles lately."
"Holy shit! You're fucking ordering off a menu now?!"
Li Jie smacked him on the forehead and started the engine with an annoyed huff. "When exactly did you get this idea?"
"Well, it all started not long ago..."
Wilson's voice suddenly grew solemn. "You remember that night we got caught in the fighting under Wayne Tower?"
"Yeah... ah, fuck..."
Li Jie jerked the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding a pickup driving against traffic. In the rearview mirror, he watched it slam headfirst into a utility pole. Several overexcited Black kids tumbled out, and most of them stopped moving.
"Fucking getting high in broad daylight!"
He collected himself and ignored the chaos behind them. "What about that night at Wayne Tower?"
"That night, I noticed that even though this van had taken countless bullets, nothing inside was damaged. That's when I knew it was time to restart the lunch plan!"
"And by plan, you mean making me cook!"
"Does it really matter who cooks? What do you think about taking the van to the market and selling food?"
"..."
Li Jie parked the Patrol Van crookedly beneath a half-dead oak on a rise at the edge of Grant Park. They could overlook most of the park from there without attracting too much attention.
Wilson eagerly hooked everything up to