Mexican food wasn't Jack's favorite. While he occasionally enjoyed spicy food, he preferred the numbing, spicy flavor of Sichuan peppercorns. Chili cooked without oil always felt lacking in flavor.
Atlantic halibut, which is the largest of the flatfish, is available in New York
. While not as large as the flounder used in China for fish heads, it's quite delicious steamed with chopped chili peppers. Even then, it still needed to be doused in hot oil to enhance the aroma.
Of course, it was primarily a matter of dietary habits. Jack's previous life was from Jiangnan, a distant land from Shandong Province. Burritos were fine for breakfast and a quick lunch on a busy day.
But having to eat tacos or cornmeal for dinner was a bit unacceptable.
Luckily, Lopez had taken everyone to a steakhouse, and aside from the somewhat odd chili-sprinkled dessert, everything else was quite acceptable.
"You really don't need me to come with you?" Although Lopez knew the fighting prowess of Jack and Clay, he couldn't help but feel a little worried when he saw beautiful women like Hannah and Jiejie among their group.
"Don't worry, we're prepared."
Clay opened the trunk door and showed off their equipment, startling the former Mexican Marine lieutenant before changing his tune.
"The Hanged Gang is just a motorcycle gang. They don't even have many guns. Don't go overboard."
—
On the beach, a few gasoline barrels burning bonfires, a few beer barrels just a size smaller than the gasoline barrels, an ice machine, and a loudspeaker blasting rap music—it was a lively party.
A burly bald man with a beard and hair blending seamlessly, a biker in a leather vest, a skinny drug addict, and scantily clad young women gathered around the bonfire, enjoying cold beers.
The sudden arrival of three black GMC Yukons with California license plates clearly disrupted the party's spirits. Before the cars could even pull over, several riders on Harley-Davidson motorcycles surrounded the small convoy.
Jack and Clay, wearing bulletproof vests emblazoned with the FBI logo, were the first to exit. Each wore only a sleeveless T-shirt underneath. Despite the sea breeze and the nighttime temperature, the temperature was still in the low twenties.
The air was thick with the unpleasant, unpleasant odor of the ocean. Jack sniffed in disgust, ignoring the group of tattooed men surrounding him, and walked straight to a bald, burly man.
"Hector, right? FBI, we need to ask you something."
The bald man, with a large gold chain around his neck and a tight black T-shirt that accentuated his pecs, looked like a young Vin Diesel at first glance, but closer inspection revealed him to be much uglier than the family hero.
Hearing Jack's introduction, the surrounding gang members erupted in cheers. Some placed their hands threateningly on the bulges of their waists, while others simply lifted their shirts to reveal the pistols tucked into their belts.
Meanwhile, the most wanted criminal squad in the GMC behind them also alighted, each armed with a Noveske N4 assault rifle. Alice, on a rare field mission to gain experience, nervously placed her finger on the safety button.
"Calm down! Relax, don't get too excited." The bald man, Hector, raised his hand to stop the approaching men, offering Jack a slightly mocking smile.
"Sorry, Agent, please forgive them. They're just a little too worried about my safety."
Jack glanced at his shaggy-looking men, not even spotting a shotgun. He knew for sure that Lopez's intelligence on the Hanged Gang was quite accurate: it was just a small street gang.
While such gangs often had large connections, and tracing their connections up might lead to a cartel (a major drug trafficking organization), they were the FBI, not the Mexican police.
So Jack made his stance clear. "Perhaps. As much as I'd like to say we're not looking for trouble, it depends on your cooperation."
"Haha." Hector forced a smile onto his ugly face. "You're very bold, my friend."
"I have no interest in being friends with someone like you." Jack completely ignored the man's instantly distorted expression and opened his phone to display a photo of the deceased Lee Kern.
"Have you seen him? You or your people?"
Hector glanced casually, his expression becoming even more sarcastic.
"This isn't a kindergarten, and our girls wouldn't be interested in a kid who hasn't even grown all his hair yet. You've got the wrong guy, Agent."
"No, I'm not looking for him. He's dead. Tell me about your whereabouts over the past 24 hours."
As Jack and Hector spoke, Clay and Jiejie opened their phones and displayed Lee Kern's photo to a group of Hanged Gang members, observing their expressions.
"Oh, that's a shame." Hector spread his hands, gesturing to his men. "We've been partying here, and there are plenty of witnesses here who could provide my alibi."
"Do you mind if we check here?"
Jack looked at the several tin shacks behind the group. There were tools like shovels placed at the doorways. If they were looking for the sickle, the murder weapon, or evidence like biodiesel, they should be there.
Hector narrowed his eyes slightly when he heard that the FBI was going to conduct a search.
"Perhaps, Agent. I'm always hospitable." He cast his gaze upon the three beautiful women in the group, a fleeting glint of greed and ruthlessness in his eyes.
"In exchange, how about you have these bitches you brought with you have a couple of drinks with us? While we're at it, you can explore these places."
He had barely finished his words when Jack grabbed Hector's neck, which was about the same thickness as his bald head. The excruciating pain caused him to arch his back, nearly dropping to one knee on the beach.
A stream of Spanish curse words rang out, and the already eagerly surrounding Hanged Gang members were about to charge forward. But Jack released Hector before anyone could draw their guns, shoving him back several steps until he was supported by two of his men.
The rest of the process was routine. Jack and his team might be the FBI, but this was Mexico, and they didn't even have a search warrant.
The Hanged Gang might be a small street gang, but they were still the local tyrants. If he let the FBI run their course, Hector would be deeply embarrassed and his leadership would be difficult.
But seeing that the FBI is clearly unable to resolve the issue with their guns and cannons today, the best way is for everyone to speak with their fists.
As Hector shouted, his men sheathed their drawn pistols. Seeing this, the group behind Jack and Clay also re-activated the safety on their assault rifles, pointing their muzzles slightly downward. Both sides were very disciplined.
At Hector's call, a muscular, nearly two-meter-tall Latino man emerged from the crowd with a roar and ripped off his T-shirt with ease—or, more accurately, his T-shirt as if it were paper.
The man pounded his massive chest provocatively at them. Without a word, Jack began to remove his bulletproof vest, then his sidearm, and finally his badge.
Seeing this seemingly "skinny" FBI agent take the challenge, the Hanged Gang members, including the scantily clad women, erupted in excitement.
They formed a large circle, some even whistling to liven up the atmosphere.
Jubal and his most wanted criminal squad also occupied the section of the circle behind Jack, covering his defense. Amidst cheers of encouragement, the muscular man wore a sinister grin, flexing his pecs provocatively.
The eye-popping sight was too much for Jack to bear. He casually walked to the center of the circle, waving at the other man.
Like an angry bull, the muscular man exhaled two sharp breaths from his upturned nostrils, bent slightly, and charged at Jack like a bull.
Despite his bulky build and seemingly unyielding demeanor, he was incredibly agile. His short, powerful steps combined force and illusion, resembling a master of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.
Jack had never expected to encounter such a masterful fighter. He had initially envisioned a physical confrontation, but that thought was instantly extinguished, and he dodged to the side rather awkwardly.
The Hanged Gang members gathered around and erupted in laughter, many even giving Jack the finger. The Wanted Squad, however, remained expressionless, with Hannah even sporting a quizzical smile.
As Jack's most frequent wrestling and jiu-jitsu training partner, the girl naturally knew how much he loathed ground-to-ground combat with his peers, especially since most Brazilian jiu-jitsu moves were performed on the ground.
After gaining some distance, Jack assumed a defensive stance, taking small, butterfly-like steps, occasionally kicking up handfuls of sand.
The muscular man's eyes suddenly grew wary. He snorted, straightening his back, and with a disapproving hand gesture, signaling silence to the hecklers on both sides.
Jack's gesture was essentially a rebuff and a warning. If the other party continued to bend over, their heads bowed, and their attempts to take him down and engage in ground-to-ground combat were unacceptable, then he wouldn't blame him for resorting to underhanded tactics.
The muscular man, seemingly well-versed in a variety of techniques, snorted and took a side horse stance, his left hand in front, his right hand protecting his waist and abdomen, then he executed a karate standing palm strike.
Isn't that the way to go? Jack chuckled, paused his butterfly steps, and waited for the opponent to initiate the attack.
"Ha!" the muscular man exhaled, then stepped on his heel and delivered a straight punch.
The man's arms looked thicker than Jack's calves, but his muscles were perfectly defined, and his ears were the "dumpling ears" common among boxers.
This proved that his physique wasn't the product of injections or medication, but rather the result of real training. His tentative punches seemed to confirm this point, with their incredible speed.
Unfortunately, the Jack he faced was a monster just a hair's breadth away from being inhuman, though this "monster" had no intention of revealing its true nature and was usually keen on using firearms. Facing
a martial arts expert half a head taller than him, nearly twice his weight, and still incredibly agile, Jack had no intention of ending the fight quickly.
A little stuffed from the steak he ate today, and it was a rare opportunity to fight in public, he simply sidestepped slightly to avoid the opponent's fist and reached out with his right hand to strike the muscular man's wrist.
The muscular man was momentarily startled by the effortless deflection of his fist, but years of muscle memory prevented him from showing any hesitation. He quickly retracted his fist and lifted his right foot.
After a feint of a mid-leg kick, the muscular man's right leg suddenly shifted, internally rotating his hip joint and bringing his calf almost upright, slashing down from above.
This was the Brazilian kick known as the "Crescent Moon Kick" in karate, similar to the deflection kick in Bruce Lee's Jeet Kune Do, both insidious and brutal, making it difficult to defend against. With
a narrow backward movement, Jack managed to avoid the kick, creating distance between him and the muscular man for the second time, sizing him up with a certain surprise.
He was clearly a muscleman, but why was he so fond of playing tricks?
The muscular man was even more surprised than Jack. Having had his plans thwarted twice in a row, he had a foreboding feeling. This man, who looked more like a gigolo specializing in bar pickups, seemed more likely to be a tough opponent.
The crowd roared again. Finally, some experienced individuals had grasped the situation, but the majority remained booing and jeering, booing and jeering Jack.
"Kill him, Blood Axe, what are you waiting for!" Hector's face darkened, one hand rubbing his neck.
A woman, already dressed scantily, even dragged her little girl across the arena, "Kill this pretty boy, and I'll be yours tonight!"
The muscular man Hector had nicknamed "Blood Axe" exhaled again through his wide, pointed nostrils, drew up his boxing stance, and performed a butterfly step like Jack had just done.
"You know quite a bit," Jack sighed, shaking his head. He also drew up his boxing stance, and this time, he took the initiative, launching a right kick to the opponent's abdomen.
Blood Axe dropped his left hand to block, only to feel a sharp pain in his arm. Before he could react, he felt a strange gust of wind.
He instinctively ducked, only to be met with a spinning kick from Jack's right shoulder.
Feeling a burning sensation in his shoulder, Blood Axe lost his balance and took three steps back. However, Jack was relentless this time, charging forward and following up at almost the same speed, striking him hard with his elbow right in the middle of his abdomen.
This is exactly the lower edge of the human stomach, and Blood Axe, struck hard, took another few steps back, spewing a mouthful of acidic water far away. The beer he had previously drunk mixed with other stomach contents formed a fragrant artificial fountain in front of him and Jack.
Dodging this "special attack" sideways, Jack pointed at Hector, who had a grim expression on his face, and hooked his finger slightly, "Why don't you all come together? I've changed my mind and don't want to waste any more time."
(End of this chapter)