Chapter 29: A Strange Analogy

Roger frowned slightly at the intelligence report.

He hadn't expected new intelligence to come this soon.

But given how simple the reward was, the difficulty must be low, with no real danger involved.

"I can only hope my SAN Value doesn't drop too much."

"What did you say?"

Hearing Qiangsen's voice, Roger snapped back to attention and shook his head: "Nothing. I was just thinking how to explain Juan's behavior to you… Here, let me tell you a story… Once, two men met in Colombia through illegal channels…"

By the time Roger finished telling Juan's story, Qiangsen had fallen silent.

"Oh, sorry—I didn't realize. So that's how it is. I won't make light of it again." Qiangsen's expression grew somber, as if some deep softness within him had been touched. This book is first published on Tiantian Read Novels, ttks. tw, available anytime, providing you with an error-free, properly ordered chapter reading experience.

Roger patted his shoulder: "It's not your fault. When I first heard him whispering to Jose in the middle of the night, I was startled too. That's why Jose is his bottom line—he'd rather suffer himself than let Jose be harmed."

"No wonder you went all out to find Gideon."

"I should go. Write down my phone number—if anything comes up, contact me anytime."

Qiangsen nodded.

Roger turned and left the shed, cycling straight toward Old John's Jie Ji Ting.

He still had one Bronze Coin left; he might as well use it before investigating the intelligence—just in case it proved useful.

The prize draw result disappointed him—perhaps his luck had been exhausted by the Silver Pocket Watch—he only won a ham sausage.

Yes, literally a ham-starch sausage.

Yet the description took itself seriously:

【Delicious Ham Sausage: No animal can resist its aroma】

Honestly, after reading that description, Roger almost wanted to tear open the packaging and taste it—after all, humans can't resist the lure of starch sausages either.

But in the end, he held back.

He packed the ham sausage away and got back on his bicycle, heading toward Xin Yidunweier Shequ.

Yet as he rode along the main road toward a quiet side alley, he spotted two Black men in West Coast attire leaning against a wall, smoking.

Upon hearing the bicycle, both Black men turned their heads simultaneously; seeing only Roger alone, they exchanged a glance and then moved in unison to block the road.

Roger instantly understood their intent—he stopped the bicycle, spun around, and pedaled furiously back toward the main street.

"Hey! Stop!"

"Fuck you, stop right now!"

The two Black men were caught off guard and had to chase after the bicycle out of the alley.

But their speed couldn't match the bicycle—Roger's figure grew smaller and smaller, and one of them shouted: "If you don't stop, I'm shooting!"

The next second, they saw the bicycle make a sharp turn and vanish from sight.

"Shit!" The curly-haired Black man kicked the wall in fury.

"I'll remember him. Don't let me run into him again—or it won't be twenty bucks this time."

Meanwhile, Roger cursed under his breath: "These useless niggers, always thinking about robbery. Now I have to ride extra loops."

Xin Yidunweier Shequ was already remote, and all its connecting streets were mostly inhabited by the underclass, so Black muggings like this were common.

Even Fiona's family, who owned a car, often kept their windows rolled up and ignored everything outside, never stopping unless absolutely necessary.

So someone like Roger, riding a bicycle, was definitely at greater risk.

"I need to save up and buy a used car."

His current savings were just over four hundred dollars—though that was a fortune compared to other homeless people with nothing, it was still far from enough to buy a used car.

Even if he wanted to buy an illegal used car, he'd need at least a few thousand dollars.

So he still had to work hard to earn money.

Twenty minutes passed quickly; when Roger finally returned to the community, he didn't rush into the garage. Instead, he circled the entire neighborhood first.

Unfortunately, every house had its doors locked and cars sealed tight—no sign of anything unusual.

"Guess I'll have to wait until nightfall."

One advantage of being a homeless person was that he didn't have to work—he could just lie around and relax.

Roger slept soundly in the garage until he woke naturally; when he checked his phone, it was only 6:30 p. m.

Fiona was still at work today; only Natasha was home.

The girl had sent Roger several messages, all complaining she was bored and felt like she was rotting away stuck in her tiny room.

It wasn't Natasha's fault—after their family was attacked last time, Fiona had replaced all the locks on windows and doors and strictly forbade Natasha from leaving the house while she was at work.

Before, Natasha could ride her skateboard outside for a bit; now she was stuck alone indoors.

Roger himself felt bored too, and more importantly, the pizza had gone cold and tasted terrible.

So he walked to the front door and rang the bell.

Cheerful footsteps approached from behind the door.

"Roger!" Natasha stood there wearing a white tank top with cartoon prints and shorts, her long, straight legs evenly toned, looking very healthy.

"I heard you're bored," Roger entered the living room as if it were his own home, casually placing the pizza into the oven to reheat.

"You actually bought pizza!" Natasha was surprised: "Aren't you out of money?"

Roger tilted his head: "Don't say things that hurt my feelings—I'm not so poor I can't afford pizza."

"But this pizza wasn't bought by me—it was given to me by Anjielina."

"Who's Anjielina?" Natasha's tone sounded like a squirrel facing its natural predator.

Roger watched the pizza sizzling and dripping oil in the oven as he said: "A rising blonde singer who does country music."

"So outdated," Natasha sneered: "I never listen to country music—only people like Fiona would like that."

"Hmm, so what do you listen to? Hip-hop?"

"Of course, I also collect many 2Pac albums—don't you like hip-hop music?"

"I like Eminem."

"He's pretty good, even though he's not Black." Natasha still seemed to harbor some sense of racial superiority.

"Alright." Roger had no interest in discussing race; after reheating the pizza, he took it out and shared it with Natasha, asking her some questions about the neighborhood.

Afterward, the two sat on the living room sofa playing Ludo for two hours.

When Mrs. Fiona returned and saw them, she warmly hugged Roger: "Thank you for spending the day with Natasha—this child is usually alone at home, and I'm always worried about her."

"It's my duty, Mrs. Fiona. There's still the pizza I brought in the oven—please have a few slices."

"Oh, does it have sausage?"

"Of course."

"Perfect." Mrs. Fiona rushed straight to the oven, pulled out a slice, and said: "You should know, a pizza without sausage is like a woman without a bra—she might be beautiful, but it's just missing something."

"What an odd comparison."

After Mrs. Fiona finished eating the pizza, Roger took his leave and returned to the garage.

He browsed his phone for a while, and it was already eleven at night.

"It's time to investigate."