The patrol car turned the corner and finally stopped in front of a three-story, cheap apartment building with peeling paint.
The potholed cement lot in front was already packed tight with bobbing heads. Most of the onlookers, sniffing and craning their necks, wore the excitement of watching a circus mixed with the redness from the cold wind.
Crude catcalls, whistles, and shouts of "Hit her!" and "Scratch his face!" rose and fell.
Only a few scattered, older or weary voices weakly pleaded "Stop fighting!" or "Let it go!" amidst the noise, but they were quickly drowned out by louder laughter.
Jay expressionlessly activated the siren.
The sharp wail cut through the noisy crowd like an invisible blade.
The onlookers, startled like jackals by a gunshot, scattered to both sides of the road with gasps and curses, revealing the two figures locked in a struggle.
A stout middle-aged African-American woman in a faded down jacket was pounding furiously on an even larger African-American man, like an enraged lioness.
The man, a moving mountain, seemed clumsy under the woman's storm of attacks, awkwardly blocking the scratches and punches with his thick arms while trying to pin her arms to control her.
"Wow, your people," Jay smirked. "Good cop, bad cop?"
"Can't these folks just keep quiet on a cold day like this! Want me to be the bad cop? They won't go easy on you." Wilson let out a long sigh. "FUCK, did this guy eat growth hormones? As long as he gives her a slap, that woman can go to Alaska to pick up her own brain."
He shoved the car door open, one foot landing in a puddle of dirty water, and made to rush out, but his partner grabbed his arm.
"Wait," Jay shook his head. "Haven't you noticed? The woman is the one constantly attacking. The big guy is just defending and trying to restrain her. He isn't fighting back."
Wilson paused, squinting to look.
A few seconds later, the impatience faded from his face, replaced by disbelief.
"Huh? Fuck… you're right! Is that woman crazy? Then… should we watch a bit longer?"
"Cut the crap. Separate them. You handle the woman." Jay pressed his hand on the grip of his holstered gun and decisively pushed his door open. "Don't worry, if he makes any wrong move, I'll blow his head off. We've both studied the use-of-force guidelines, right."
He was already burly, and the deep black police uniform made him look even more imposing and conspicuous in the grim, dilapidated surroundings.
As he advanced, the crowd, initially parted by the siren, stirred again, stepping back two paces in unison as if God were parting the Red Sea for Moses, opening a wider path.
Countless eyes instantly focused on him.
The gazes were a mix of deep-seated fear of the police, suppressed resentment and hatred, attempts at ingratiating smirks, and an indescribable envy of power…
These complex, sticky emotions surged from all directions like an invisible net.
But the moment they met his eyes, those looks flinched away as if burned, immediately dropping to the ground, the sky, or each other's faces, leaving only low murmurs.
"GCPD! You two, separate! Now!"
The man immediately raised his arms and stepped back several paces, but this gave the woman an opening.
She jumped up and slapped the unprepared opponent hard across the head!
The sharp crack was particularly piercing in the brief silence.
For a man of his size, it wasn't even a scratch, but the insult was immense.
So, she was promptly pinned to the ground by Wilson.
This fully ignited the woman's fury.
She turned her head like a out-of-control Gatling gun, spewing a stream of vicious, foul language that even the black officer, who'd practiced rap for two and a half years, found hard to handle, a vein throbbing at his temple.
"Eat shit and die!" Wilson, genuinely angered, kept his knee firmly on the woman's back to prevent her from rolling over, one hand reaching for the Taser on his belt. "Shut your fucking mouth or I'll give you fifty thousand volts, guaranteed to make you piss your pants on the spot!"
If they were in a wealthy neighborhood, such language would definitely draw complaints.
But folks in the slums probably wouldn't care about swearing; they'd just retaliate with even filthier language.
Jay left him to it, beckoned the man over, signaling him to come to the slightly quieter edge of the lot for questioning.
The man obediently lowered his arms, head down, following Jay.
After about a dozen steps, the hysterical curses from the woman and Wilson's shouts were somewhat muted behind them.
Still audible, but less piercing.
The air seemed a bit fresher.
Jay stopped, habitually pulling out the police notebook and pen from his chest pocket.
Only now did he truly have a chance to take a good look at the giant before him.
This man… more accurately, a boy, was astonishingly large.
Jay himself stood 189 cm tall, weighed over 200 pounds, and was well-built, but the other was nearly a head taller!
The boy's shoulders were absurdly broad, like a thick wall. The bulging muscles on his arms were clearly visible even when relaxed, his bones unusually thick. Yet, his face, bluish from the cold, held a youthful immaturity.
He had a broad nose, thick lips, messy, thick body hair, and some acne common at his age on his forehead and cheeks.
Jay looked at his outfit again.
He wore an ill-fitting, washed-out cheap jacket and tight jeans, with worn sneakers on his feet.
Jay looked at him thoughtfully for a few seconds, then opened the notebook. "Name."
"Waylon. Waylon Jones."
His voice was deep and resonant, like distant thunder rolling through a valley, but his tone held a surprising hint of timidity.
"Age?"
"Fourteen."
How many?
Jay nearly snapped his pen.
The guy looked over six foot nine, weighed at least three hundred pounds, with a face like a mountain giant…
Fourteen?
He's fucking fourteen?!
He looked up, his gaze sweeping over Waylon's disproportionately large frame and the lingering childishness on his face, searching for any trace of a lie.
But instead, he saw the fresh scratches snaking like centipedes across his cheeks, alongside several slightly raised, older red welts, their edges tinged with purple bruises.
"Who is she to you?" Jay pointed at the middle-aged woman still hysterically grappling with Wilson. "Do you live together?"
Her screams were sharp and piercing, echoing in the narrow alley.
"Yes, she's my aunt. I… live with her." Waylon awkwardly rubbed his carrot-thick fingers. "My parents are… gone."
"I'm sorry." Jay gently patted his shoulder, glanced towards Wilson, then looked back, staring into Waylon's eyes. "Does she hit you?"
The boy was silent for a long time, only his breath forming white puffs in the cold air.
Finally, he nodded slowly, then quickly shook his head.
"No… not often…"
"Is that so? Then what's this?"
Jay pulled the boy, turning him halfway around.
He had noticed earlier that below the hair on Waylon's nape, at the edge of his collar, there was a patch of shadow, dark in color, its texture seeming different from normal skin.
He reached out to pull down the collar for a better look, but Waylon flinched back with a terrified low roar as if touched by a hot iron, his immense strength instantly throwing off Jay's hand!
"Don't! Don't touch me!"
He clumsily jumped back a step, hands instinctively protecting the back of his neck, his eyes filled with animal-like fear and wariness.
His heavy body thudded on the ground, seeming to make the cement tremble slightly.
"Hey! No harm meant. Calm down. Let me take a look." Jay raised his hands, palms out, in a placating gesture, keeping his voice as steady as possible. "Just concerned about you. Let me look, okay?"
Waylon stared at him, chest heaving, massive fists clenched.
After a few seconds of suffocating stalemate, the fear in his eyes slowly gave way to a kind of resigned weariness.
He finally nodded slowly, dropping his hands, though his body remained tense as a rock.
Jay carefully approached and gently pulled down his collar.
Underneath was a large patch of bumpy, dark brown scar tissue, rough like leather.
They were tightly packed, extending down his back, glinting with an unsettling sheen in the dim sunlight.
"Damn," he hissed through his teeth, sucking in a cold breath. "Did she pour boiling water or hot oil on you?"
"No, she didn't." Waylon shook his head, his voice dry. "It's… my problem. The doctor said it's a genetic disease… some kind of keratosis or something…"
The words seemed heavy, laden with deep shame and helplessness, spoken with great difficulty.
Jay hesitated, then lightly touched the scarred area with his fingertips.
The texture was cold and hard, completely unlike human skin, more like the scales of some reptile.
A chill ran down his spine. He suddenly remembered something and looked back at Wilson.
The middle-aged woman was screaming hoarsely: "Take that freak away! That crawling monster! Lock him up! Put him in a cage!"
"Do you want to press charges?" Jay turned back to Waylon. "If you're willing, we'll detain her temporarily, unless she can find a bondsman or prove she hasn't harmed a minor."
"No, no, it's okay, Officer," Waylon shook his head慌乱ly. "I don't want to send her to jail. I have nowhere else to go."
"Alright. You're… not quite what I expected." Jay gave him a deep, complicated look.
He turned and walked towards Wilson.
In this temperature, the black officer was actually sweating profusely, steam rising from him.
Jay stood watching for a few seconds, then couldn't help but laugh. "I guess you're not cold now."
"Don't fucking joke around, alright? I didn't expect this bitch to be so strong." Wilson panted, catching his breath. "So? Taking her in?"
Jay shook his head, staring at the woman still cursing under Wilson's knee.
"Listen, you're suspected of intentionally harming a minor. We should send you to jail. But your nephew has chosen not to press charges. So you'd better behave and not cause any more trouble. Understood?"
He gestured to Wilson. "Let her go!"
The moment the restraint loosened, the woman sprang up, claws out.
But when she saw Jay's finger resting on the safety of his 1911, her eyes suddenly cleared remarkably.
She looked at Jay, then at Wilson, suddenly clutched her neck, let out a dramatic scream, and lay back on the ground.
"Oh God! I can't breathe!"
Jay tossed the paperwork to Wilson; his partner was a master with the baton anyway.
He ignored the African-American woman's comical attempt at extortion and returned to Waylon. He pulled out a hundred dollars from his wallet, along with a personal card, and stuffed them into the boy's huge palm.
"Buy some warmer clothes. Don't wear these rags. If you need anything, call me directly."
Waylon's body stiffened. His low voice held a barely perceptible tremor. "No… no… Thank you, Officer, but I can't take…"
"It's fine. Consider it an interest-free loan from me." Jay patted the other's upper arm. The feel was hard, almost like scaly armor, grating against his hand.
He didn't linger, turned, and walked back to the patrol car, dispersing the onlookers who were still pointing and gossiping, reluctant to leave.
He pulled open the door and sat in the passenger seat, rolling down the window to shout at Wilson, who had just finished the paperwork.
"You drive back!"
"Damn right, you should've done that earlier." Wilson scrambled into the driver's seat, rubbed his hands contentedly, and started the engine.
As the car slowly pulled away from the messy lot, Wilson asked, "Speaking of which, why were you so concerned about that kid?"
"Why else?" Jay leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and couldn't help but laugh. "Because he's so pitiful, couldn't find his father since he was a child."
Wilson was taken aback, then got the joke and slapped the steering wheel, making the horn give a short beep.
"FUCK! FUCK YOU, man! You're so nasty, you'll lose me one day! I need to go back and think hard about how to discriminate against you!" He sighed, caught between laughter and tears, his tone turning a bit more serious. "For real, though, he's not Asian."
"Because I'm worried he might eat me in the future."
"Eat you?" Wilson raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean? Is he mob? Not one of the Roman's guys, is he? He looks like good enforcer material, but… way too green, right? Fourteen? Damn!"
"No. I mean literally 'eat me'."
Jay slightly turned his head, looking into the rearview mirror.
That mountain-like, lonely figure still stood amidst the dispersing crowd, motionlessly watching them drive away, like an ancient colossus abandoned in the ruins.