Making arrests

Doyle had spent years knocking around New York and knew the business of collecting protection money inside out.

First, he had to pick his targets carefully. He couldn't mess with anyone who had backing-that could mean trouble. Second, he couldn't target people who banded together-that would invite retaliation. Above all, he couldn't target someone with nothing to lose, or he might end up going down with them.

When he saw a food truck doing business on Broadway late at night, Doyle immediately judged it to be a fresh, fat sheep.

The face was unfamiliar, so he was probably new. Nobody was keeping watch nearby, so he definitely had no backing. He hadn't resisted when they forced a free meal out of him and had even tried to haggle, so he was bound to cave.

A perfect target.

The first day's extortion had been meant to apply pressure. When the truck hadn't appeared the second day, that meant it was hiding. So on the third day, Doyle brought a few underlings to search the streets.

Manhattan wasn't exactly small, but it wasn't all that big either. There were only so many tourist attractions with enough visitors to make good spots for a food truck, and Central Park was a must.

He drove a circuit around the park and, sure enough, spotted the converted light truck.

Doyle didn't immediately approach to demand money. He deliberately observed the food truck's business first, estimating how much he should ask for. It had to hit just the right threshold.

It couldn't be so much that the owner grew angry and fought back, but he couldn't let the man off too cheaply and collect less than he could.

As for how to force the owner to pay, there were all sorts of methods. Just lining up during the lunch rush, ordering food, and finding fault with everything would be enough to drive the owner to a breakdown.

And the police couldn't do anything about it. Surely they couldn't arrest a "customer" simply for making too many demands.

But when Doyle approached brimming with confidence, he was met with a blow to the head.

Lin Rui's simple "Officer" suppressed the swagger of the lackeys behind Doyle. Their arrogant, lawless manner immediately subsided, and they widened their eyes to assess the situation instead.

Doyle himself stared at the white man seated in front of the food truck, trying to judge whether he was a fake brought in to scare them or whether Doyle had unwittingly kicked an iron plate.

Agent Robin immediately recognized the police informant he was supposed to deal with. These street dealers were like chives: a batch had to be harvested every so often to keep them from getting out of control.

And when a batch of old dealers was arrested, new ones would naturally spring up. There was never any worry about running out of people willing to enter the trade.

He glanced at Lin Rui, who was using him as a shield, and had no choice but to stand and pull out his badge. "DEA. I'm Agent Robin."

The moment he saw the badge, Doyle hurriedly adopted a submissive posture, raising both hands and backing up two steps. American police had little concept of civilized law enforcement. Drawing a gun at the slightest provocation was normal.

For an instant, Doyle thought he'd had the bad luck to encounter a neighborhood cop patrolling the area. As long as he didn't provoke him and quickly backed down, he could simply return later.

But when he heard the three letters "DEA," Doyle froze. The fat on his face quivered uncontrollably. This wasn't ordinary bad luck. They had come specifically for him.

This was a trap!

Doyle wanted to run, but the agent opposite him had already lifted the hem of his jacket, exposing his holster. That meant the man could legally shoot him dead as soon as he turned around.

"Damn it, how did this happen?" Doyle heard a jumble of retreating footsteps behind him. The punks who had come with him were making themselves scarce.

His terrified gaze shifted to Lin Rui, who was still leisurely eating his lunch, and he asked in bewilderment, "How did you do it? You actually managed to get someone from the Drug Enforcement Administration?"

He must have secretly investigated my background to bring in my natural enemy.

Lin Rui ignored him and simply watched the show from the sidelines.

Agent Robin barked sternly, "Doyle Blake, I suspect you're connected to multiple drug trafficking cases. I expect you to cooperate with the investigation. Now turn around and put your hands up."

When he brought out his gun and handcuffs, Robin's partner hurried over from nearby as well. Together with the neighborhood cops patrolling the area, he caught two of the punks who had come with Doyle to collect protection money.

The punks looked terrified, arguing incessantly with the burly cops that they had only come to buy lunch and hadn't broken any laws.

Doyle held his arms high, then felt the hard handcuffs lock around his wrists. Turning his head, he gave Lin Rui a venomous look and said bitterly:

"Kid, you were bait planted specifically to catch me, weren't you? But I won't be in prison for long. I'll be back, and when that happens, you're dead."

"Don't dream up so much. You just walked into the net yourself." After mocking him, Lin Rui asked Agent Robin expressionlessly, "How long will this guy get?"

"Based on the leads we've already gathered, and..." After cuffing Doyle, Robin forced him down, then put on gloves and searched him.

More than a dozen small plastic bags of contraband were found in Doyle's pockets. Each contained roughly half a gram.

"What he has in his pockets alone is enough for a judge to give him several years."

His DEA partner came over to help secure the evidence, then escorted Doyle into the car.

Robin turned back, pointed at his own eyes, then at Lin Rui. "Kid, I'll be watching you. Your explanation makes some sense, but I'm still deeply skeptical."

Linda had been watching the show from the side for quite a while and couldn't resist complaining, "Agent Robin, you're neither the FBI nor immigration. You just catch drug dealers. Why do you insist on keeping an eye on Leon?"

American police adhered to the principle that each profession had its specialty. Different cops did different jobs, without crossing the boundaries of one another's duties and authority.

"Only an idiot would think this kid is normal. In my eyes, he's full of holes. His explanation does make sense, but that only makes me more interested."

Agent Robin offered his explanation casually, then left with Doyle and his accomplices in custody.

As Lin Rui watched the DEA vehicle leave, a notification sounded in his mind. "Mission 'Punish the Henchmen' complete. You may visit Sophia the witch to claim your skill reward."

Thinking he was worried and afraid, Linda reassured him, "Leon, it's fine. Those cops are under too much pressure at work. They go nuts all the time. You just want to make some money in New York. They can't do anything to you."

Lin Rui asked instead, "Linda, do you think there are any purely good people among the police? The kind who, like Pastor Borg, uphold justice and morality all their lives and never bow to the darkness?"

"Maybe, but I've never met one. And that guy just now definitely isn't," Linda remarked listlessly.

After that small disturbance, business at the food truck still had to go on...

Lin Rui had to work practically the entire day. That night, he once again hauled the trailer to the Gershwin Theatre to deliver late-night food to the cast and crew of Wicked.

The shooting in the early hours had had no effect whatsoever on the performance. The dead security guards were quickly forgotten, as though they had never existed.

The assistant manager who had insisted on keeping a kickback the previous night wasn't there either. The people backstage said he seemed to have developed some mental problems and was facing a hefty helicopter medical evacuation bill.

Ordinary health insurance wouldn't reimburse that expense. He had to pay it himself. For the "middle class," accustomed to borrowing and spending money they hadn't yet earned, this was nothing short of a natural disaster.

When midnight arrived, cold moonlight shone into the magical tower in the Nightmare Space, and Lin Rui appeared in Sophia's dream.

"Madam, that man named Doyle has been dealt with. The people in your territory will be free from the threat of drugs for a short while.

"I am keenly aware of my limited strength, and I hope to learn some practical skills from you that can prove useful in combat."

For once, Sophia didn't denounce Lin Rui's intrusion again. Draped in sheer gauze, she slowly emerged from the silent tower and asked in puzzlement:

"Leon, you and I have actually only met once, haven't we? But what exactly is so special about you? Why can you enter my heart so easily?"

Lin Rui broke into a sweat and said quietly, "Uh... although the moonlight in this dream is beautiful, I'm a demon hunter facing trouble right now. Can we talk business?"

Sophia immediately grew vexed and gave a displeased "Hmph." With a flick of her hand, she said, "You're such an annoying fellow. Just learn 'Steel Lungs and Viscera,' then. You might as well train your brain into muscle too."