The Mexican

When Molly woke from her dreams the next day, she felt an unusual peace in her mind. All sorts of strange, fanciful thoughts drifted through it like clouds, sweet and warm.

She was in no hurry to get up. She wriggled under the covers, stretched luxuriously, and let out a satisfied hum.

Last night's dream was like a warm puff of cotton candy, sweet and hazy, yet it had left an indelible mark deep in her mind.

Those rebellious impulses, the lure of street gangs, the thrill of skipping class, her mother's nagging-suddenly, it was as though an invisible hand had combed through them, putting everything in order.

Amid the chaos, a smooth, broad road seemed to have appeared.

She could no longer remember what the dream had been about. All that remained was the reassuring feeling of being "guided," as though someone had drawn a few gentle but firm red lines in her heart.

Molly lazily got up and went into the bathroom. She brushed her hair in front of the mirror, hummed a tuneless little song while brushing her teeth, changed into a loose sweatshirt and jeans, and left her bedroom.

In the kitchen, the old pastor was clumsily arranging breakfast on plates: a stack of golden fried eggs, a few slices of toast, and a small dish of strawberry jam on the side.

The faint aromas of coffee and eggs drifted through the air.

Molly sat at the table, sniffed, and pouted. "Didn't Leon make breakfast today?"

The old pastor froze, suddenly finding the bread in his hand far less appetizing-Lin Rui had slacked off today, so the old pastor had indeed made breakfast.

At seven thirty, Mrs. Anderson's car stopped outside the church right on time. Molly shouldered her schoolbag, climbed into the passenger seat, and fastened her seat belt.

The car started and drove out of the block.

As Mrs. Anderson drove, she stole glances at her daughter.

Molly was especially quiet today, but it was not her usual sulky awkwardness. Instead, it was... a reassuring tranquility.

She turned to look from time to time. Her daughter gazed out the window, a faint curve at the corners of her mouth, as though savoring something lovely.

The light at the intersection turned red. Mrs. Anderson stopped the car, reached over to feel Molly's forehead, then carefully examined her eyes-her pupils were clear, with no bloodshot eyes or unfocused gaze. She was not on drugs.

"Molly, is there anything you'd like to share with me?" Her voice was gentle, as though she feared disturbing something.

Molly tilted her head and thought seriously for quite a while before slowly speaking. "I don't know what happened either... but all of a sudden, I just feel really peaceful inside."

"What kind of peaceful?" Mrs. Anderson asked.

Molly turned to look at her schoolbag on the back seat, her gaze softening. "It's just... suddenly, going to school doesn't annoy me anymore. I'm even looking forward to it a little.

"I used to think school was a cage, but today I feel like... learning something useful is a necessary part of growing up."

Wow.

Mrs. Anderson knew her daughter all too well-smart, rebellious, stubborn, like a bundle of gunpowder that could explode at any moment.

European and American education prized cultivating individuality. But for teenagers, individuality meant "running wild while every demon danced."

Over the past few years, her greatest fear had been that Molly would slide into street gangs, get hooked on drugs, start dating too young, and drop out.

Yet now, this child sat beside her, her voice calm and her eyes clear, as though someone had gently straightened her steering wheel.

"Did Leon say something to you?" she asked tentatively.

Molly blinked and struggled to remember, but caught only a hazy shadow. "I think so... I can't remember. But it feels... pretty good."

The light turned green.

The car started moving again, heading in the right direction toward school.

At that moment, Lin Rui was in Central Park, taking over from Adrian and his wife.

Adrian still looked the part of a typical Mexican immigrant: short, with skin so dark it looked as though he had spent half his life baking in the sun, his T-shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal lean but sturdy forearms.

His wife followed behind him, her apron stained with grease and her usual weary smile on her face.

Last month, working with Lin Rui, the couple had managed to earn over ten thousand dollars from the food truck-a very satisfying figure for illegal immigrants.

But in another month, the food truck's "trial period" would end, and all proceeds would have to go to the church. Lin Rui definitely would not keep doing it-he was not going to work for the church for free.

Adrian and his wife probably would not be able to stay either.

"Mr. Adrian," Lin Rui said, in no hurry to send them away, "do you have any friends you know well in Forty Block in The Bronx?"

Adrian had been counting change with his head down. He looked up. "Close friends? What kind?"

Lin Rui leaned against the side of the food truck and lowered his voice. "I recently took on a new charity project, and I need some help. Reliable people, the kind who can fight if necessary."

The couple exchanged a glance, a flicker of wariness passing through their eyes. Adrian asked, "Leon, are you in trouble?"

"More precisely, the new project is a little challenging." Lin Rui gave them a rough account of what the old pastor needed-attracting elementary and secondary school students to the church gym to reduce their opportunities to associate with street gangs.

"Pastor Essen Borg wants to put those kids on the right path.

"If I can get at least ten students to work out at that gym within half a month, the project can officially launch.

"The old pastor will apply for a special grant, paid out per head."

Adrian remained expressionless, clearly failing to catch the scent of "money." His wife, however, could not help asking from behind him, "How much?"

"Two hundred dollars per person every month." Lin Rui kept it brief, immediately adding the difficulty in his next sentence. "They have to be students from Forty Block and Forty-One Block.

"Those two blocks have poor public safety. Most of the kids in their schools are wild and defiant, extremely hard to manage.

"Of course, no matter how difficult the students are, I have ways to handle them.

"The trouble is the gangs-they love recruiting underlings from those schools. If I poach their recruits, they definitely won't be happy. They already came looking for trouble a few days ago."

Adrian understood instantly.

This was no simple charity. It was the church "snatching people" in another guise-snatching "lost lambs" from the gangs.

Lin Rui had effectively contracted the project, but he needed someone to help him keep those street punks in line.

Otherwise, those guys, who stuck like stubborn medicinal plasters, would only have to harass the kids willing to come to the gym, and the whole project would fall through.

"Two hundred dollars a person?" Adrian finally spoke, his voice low.

"Yes." Lin Rui confirmed it again.

Adrian fell silent for two seconds, then suddenly gritted his teeth and looked Lin Rui straight in the eye. "I'm willing to help you."

Lin Rui paused, instinctively sizing up his thin frame. "No, no, no, Mr. Adrian. I'm not looking for you.

"I want a few people who can fight, who have an intimidating presence. Those gangs are no pushovers. Whoever holds the fort needs to be strong enough."

Adrian's dark face suddenly tightened. A crack instantly opened in his usual honest, guileless demeanor, revealing a trace of viciousness.

"Leon, you don't think I'm strong enough, is that it?" He stepped forward, his voice extremely low but cold and hard as metal. "Please believe me. I'm a Mexican."

Lin Rui was baffled. "What does being Mexican have to do with it?"

Adrian's mouth twisted into a savage smile. "There are two kinds of gangs in this world. One is ordinary gangs. The other is Mexican gangs."

He paused, his voice dropping still lower, as though squeezed out through his teeth. "These little punks in New York? They're just playing house.

"Do you know what I did before I was smuggled into the United States? Just give me a chance, and I'll show you that when it comes to running gangs, Mexicans are the genuine article."

Huh...?

Lin Rui had to remind him, "I'm not asking you to establish a gang. I just want to stop the gangs from harassing people so the project can run steadily.

"Besides, when that drug dealer demanded protection money before, you didn't act nearly this aggressive."

"Sorting out that protection money business wouldn't have done me any good," Adrian replied disdainfully. "It's different now. There's money to be made."

The air seemed to freeze for an instant.

Lin Rui's head buzzed. I seem to have made things complicated. Of all the people I could've asked, why did I have to pick a Mexican?