The verbal sparring between Danny and Erin ended in Danny's inevitable defeat. Not only was he forced to release Nelson Zhou, but he also discovered, to his horror, that Erin had stolen his dinner while they were arguing.
"Don't worry, once the case is over, I'll treat you to something good. I've been stocking up on some excellent ingredients," Jack, the accomplice to the theft, offered with a grin. As Danny grumbled, Jack casually picked up a stack of papers Danny had thrown onto the desk and began reading one aloud.
"What's this? 'Asian Beauties, Warm and Attentive Service, $250 per hour, minimum two hours, all terms negotiable in person.' So, Nelson Zhou is a pimp?"
"Looks like it. He runs an escort website, which is the only thing Organized Crime has on his gang," Danny said as he opened a drawer and tossed the flyer inside. It was clear that his interrogation of Nelson had yielded little.
"I suspect Mintai might have been one of his escorts. Maybe she wasn't paying him enough, or perhaps she wanted to escape his control, which is why he tried to intimidate her with a gun."
"Maybe," Jack replied noncommittally, standing up to leave. "Get some rest. Tomorrow morning, I'll head to the CSI lab to get the autopsy report on Grant Lee—the guy who was hit by the cab. Then we can visit Yi-Jun Liu. She might also be working for these guys."
The next morning, Jack prepared some beef shumai for Hannah, who had worked through the night, before heading to the CSI lab. He had barely exchanged a few words with Mac Taylor when Danny called.
To everyone's surprise, and contrary to expectations, Nelson Zhou was found dead early that morning in the East Village.
When Jack arrived, Danny was on the phone near Nelson's blue Subaru WRX. "I told you—you should listen to your older brother more. For example, last night, you should have kept Nelson Zhou locked up."
"Why?" Erin Reagan's voice came through the phone, confused.
"Because he's dead," Danny said dryly, gesturing toward the driver's seat of the car, where Nelson's body sat slumped.
Jack put on gloves and began examining the body while Danny continued speaking to his sister. "I'm standing next to his corpse right now. He's got a hole in his forehead—a clean headshot. Looks like classic gangland execution."
"Was it one of his own people?" Erin asked. "If that's the case, then with the victim missing and both suspects dead, this case is going nowhere."
While Erin's remark was practical from a prosecutorial perspective, it sounded strange to Jack, almost like regret.
"I'm just as confused as you are," Danny admitted. "Either Organized Crime's intel on Nelson's gang is completely off, or there's more to this than we realize.
"One thing's for sure—Jamie's in serious trouble now. If these guys are ruthless enough to kill one of their own, Jamie—being the only other witness—could be next."
"Then Jamie's safety depends on solving this case quickly," Erin pointed out. "And there's still a missing victim. You and Jack need to figure something out, Danny."
"Thanks for the reminder, dear sister. Goodbye." Danny hung up and muttered, "Now she remembers she has a brother. Funny how that didn't stop her from eating my lobster last night."
"Find anything?" he asked Jack, who was crouched by the car.
"Although it's a close-range gunshot, I'm not convinced this was an internal job," Jack said, pulling a bloodstained flyer from Nelson's pocket.
"Whoever killed him is sending a message to the police," Jack noted, pointing to the corner of the flyer, where dried blood and brain matter had left a mark. "This was stuffed into his pocket—probably postmortem."
Danny, not wearing gloves, waited for Jack to seal the flyer in an evidence bag before taking a closer look. He read the bold text aloud: 'Mott Street Charity.'
"You ever heard of this place?"
"Nope," Jack replied, removing his gloves and pulling out his phone. After a quick search, he said, "Looks like a community service center. They offer free English lessons, legal consultations, and even some medical services."
"So, you're saying we might be dealing with a vigilante?" Danny's face twisted into a skeptical expression.
"More like a clean-up operation," Jack replied. "You might want to call your dad or grandpa. I bet they'd know more."
Jack had a theory: Nelson Zhou's death might be part of a broader effort by the old Chinatown gangs to distance themselves from the newer, smaller gangs. After reading up on the decline and transformation of groups like the Hip Sing Tong and On Leong, Jack suspected the older factions might be "cleaning house."
An hour later, in a historic Irish café, Frank Reagan listened to their account with a furrowed brow, his expression mirroring Danny's earlier skepticism.
Jack handed over a forensic report he had picked up from the CSI lab earlier. "Grant Lee—the guy who was with Nelson during the attempted kidnapping—had fresh blood on his clothes that didn't belong to him.
"DNA analysis confirms it came from a woman, most likely the victim, Mintai. The report also indicates she's pregnant—close to full term."
"If Mintai was one of Nelson's escorts, she'd be unable to work while pregnant. So why go to the trouble of kidnapping her?" Danny wondered aloud. It didn't make sense—unless...
Frank's expression grew thoughtful, then calm, his usual demeanor when he'd reached a conclusion.
"Someone's already given you a lead. Why not follow it?" Frank suggested. "Danny, you're always saying to follow the trail of breadcrumbs. Go check out this Mott Street Charity.
"I'll make a few calls to some 'old friends.' It's been years since I've been in touch with them. Honestly, I don't enjoy dealing with those roundabout-speaking Chinese elders—especially the really old ones."
Mott Street, the main artery of New York's Chinatown, had been its heart since the 1890s. At its peak, Chinatown expanded to include streets like Canal, Bayard, Pell, Lafayette, Bowery, and East Broadway.
But as times changed and new immigrants flocked to Queens' Flushing neighborhood, the old Chinatown fell into decline, much like the once-dominant Chinese gangs that had ruled its streets.
The Mott Street Charity operated out of an aging office building. Its director, Nicholas Cheng, greeted Jack and Danny warmly.
Cheng, a man in his forties with impeccably groomed black hair and modest clothing, spoke fluent English. He seemed genuinely enthusiastic about helping when the detectives mentioned they were looking into Nelson Zhou.
"Nelson Zhou? Doesn't ring a bell," Cheng said with a friendly smile. "But we've helped a lot of people here. Maybe he was one of them?"
His polite demeanor seemed genuine, but Jack couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this man and this charity than met the eye.
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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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