It didn't take long for Jack to realize that Chinatown wasn't entirely populated by Chinese people. Among the gathered onlookers, he could distinguish at least half a dozen languages: Vietnamese, Korean, Japanese, Lao, Tagalog, and other dialects from across Asia.
Jack attempted to strike up conversations in three different languages, even resorting to his painfully broken Cantonese, but none of his efforts bore fruit.
"Maybe you need a few more translators," Jack said, rubbing his temples in frustration.
"The deceased's name is Grant Lee," Danny reported, glancing at his notebook. "Second-generation immigrant, low-level errand boy for a small gang in this area. The other guy, the one who drove off, hasn't been found yet. But we've already put out a citywide alert.
"The car's a New York-plated Subaru WRX."
Jack couldn't help but laugh when he heard the model. A Subaru WRX? Wasn't that the rally car Bunta Fujiwara drove in Initial D after handing his iconic AE86 to his son?
Jack instinctively scanned the crowd again but didn't spot any disheveled middle-aged men who looked like Anthony Wong (Bunta's live-action actor) or sharp-eyed, manga-esque characters. Instead, he noticed something else.
"Danny, did your brother get a good look at the two girls who were attacked? Any distinguishing features?"
"Uh..." Danny flipped through his notes. "Two Asian girls, early 20s, shoulder-length black hair..."
He trailed off, glancing at the crowd. "You realize that description fits at least 30 people here, right?"
Jack smirked and subtly gestured behind him. "Your brother mentioned that one of the girls might have a head injury. What do you think about the sweaty, nervous-looking girl over there?"
Danny raised an eyebrow and immediately moved toward the thin, visibly uneasy girl in the crowd. "Excuse me, miss, can I ask you a few questions?"
The girl recoiled, clearly frightened by the towering white detective who was forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Don't be scared, don't be scared. I just need to ask you some questions. Please come with us?"
Seeing the girl on the verge of tears, Danny turned to Jack for help.
"Relax. Where are you from?" Jack asked in standard Mandarin. He was about to run through the rest of his linguistic arsenal when the girl timidly replied in accented Mandarin, "Hualien."
Well, well... a fellow 'compatriot,' huh? Jack thought, flashing a bright, reassuring smile that revealed his perfectly aligned white teeth, gleaming under the streetlights. "Don't worry. We just need to ask you a few questions. Please come with us."
Danny sent his brother home to rest and arranged for an officer to escort the injured girl to the precinct. Meanwhile, Danny hitched a ride back with Jack in his Dodge Hellcat.
"Aren't you curious why your dear brother was wandering around a high-crime area like Chinatown at this hour?" Jack asked as he glanced at Danny in the passenger seat.
"If I'm not mistaken, as a rookie officer, he wasn't wearing his uniform, meaning he was off duty. And that's not even his jurisdiction. Was he just out for a late-night snack?"
Danny rubbed his temples, looking as if he had a headache. "He said he was just going for a walk, trying to unwind after his shift. He's an adult—I can't ground him just because he lied.
"As long as it's unrelated to the case, he just needs to give a plausible explanation when Internal Affairs questions him. But honestly, I've got a bad feeling about this. This case could get really messy."
Jack rolled his eyes. Your dad runs Internal Affairs. Are you seriously worried they'll give your brother trouble? Come on, show some ambition.
When they returned to the NYPD headquarters, Danny handed off the interrogation to Jack, claiming Jack's "multilingual genius" made him the perfect candidate. Meanwhile, Danny busied himself checking the deceased gang member's records and searching for leads on the Subaru WRX.
Sitting across from the girl at the interrogation table, Jack offered her a cup of hot water and a warm smile. "Yi-Jun Liu, right? Don't worry, I'm not from Immigration. NYPD doesn't care about your status or profession. We just want to know if you recognize the gang members involved and why they were after your friend."
The girl, whose English was much better than her Mandarin, seemed to relax slightly. She was wearing a faded, old jacket over a short qipao-style dress, her makeup done in the exaggerated "ABC style" popular among Asian girls trying to fit into Western beauty standards.
Her thin, angular eyebrows were arched unnaturally high, and her double eyelids had been masked with clashing eyeshadow, making her eyes appear smaller and slanted. Heavy eyeliner extended her eyes into dramatic cat-like curves. Paired with her inappropriate-for-the-season outfit, her profession was immediately obvious.
"Mintai isn't really my friend. We haven't known each other for long," Yi-Jun stammered in English.
"What's her last name?" Jack pressed, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. The girl squirmed uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes.
"And these guys?" Jack slid a stack of photos across the table—mugshots of known associates from the gang the deceased Grant Lee had belonged to.
Yi-Jun glanced at the photos briefly before turning her head away, visibly frightened.
Jack sighed. She was clearly terrified of retaliation. A streetwalker and likely undocumented immigrant, she couldn't afford to cross either the police or the gangs. Especially the latter.
"At the very least, can you tell me where this 'Mintai' lives?"
"Gong xi fong," the girl said hesitantly.
"Huh?" Jack blinked, confused.
"We lived in the same gong xi fong," Yi-Jun repeated, her accent making the words unclear. "I can take you there, but she moved out recently. She only met me today to have me deliver something for her."
Jack thought for a moment before realizing she meant "shared housing." "Why did she move out?"
"She said she got into some trouble," Yi-Jun answered after a long pause. Her eyes darted nervously toward the photos on the table, making her meaning clear.
"This is like my Aunt Sally's Thanksgiving dinner—wait, no. It's ten times worse," Danny muttered, stepping aside to avoid a woman in a thin nightgown clutching a toothbrush and towel. The cramped, noisy room left little space to maneuver.
Yi-Jun had led them to a subdivided apartment in Chinatown, where an attic had been converted into a makeshift rental space. The room, no more than 20 square meters, had no beds. Instead, seven or eight worn-out mattresses were scattered across the creaking wooden floor, somehow accommodating nearly 20 women.
"They share mattresses, taking turns to sleep. My God, this is worse than Staten Island's landfill," Danny muttered, looking genuinely distressed.
Jack silently observed the scene, saying nothing. At his feet, an older woman, seemingly oblivious to their presence, was loudly describing her "heavenly life" in New York over a video call to a relative across the Pacific.
In Mandarin, the woman animatedly detailed her life, weaving tales of prosperity and luxury. Jack didn't need to understand every word to grasp the irony of her words against the bleak reality surrounding them.
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Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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