Chapter 36: The Business of Dismantling Gundam

Since the last incident, Natasha's window had been completely welded shut, leaving only a fist-sized opening for fresh air.

The lock on the door had also been replaced to ensure no one could burst in unexpectedly at night.

At the same time, a stun gun was hidden beneath Natasha's pillow for self-defense.

But none of these changes were visible from outside; when Roger entered the girl's room, he saw only cement-gray walls and vintage red lampshades emitting a warm yellow glow embedded in them.

The walls were covered in hand-drawn graffiti, along with concert tickets and album covers stuck everywhere. Reading novels every day to pass the time, available anytime.

2Pac, Natasha's favorite, was among them.

In addition, numerous posters by underground artists lined the walls, with words like "rebellion" and "freedom" visible everywhere.

Her bed looked messy, with a vinyl record player, headphones, and bizarre-looking dolls piled in the corner. Clearly, when she had nothing to do at night, she'd lie in bed listening to music while fiddling with the dolls.

Her closet was open, containing oversized denim jackets, vintage sweatshirts, and jeans mixed with underwear printed with cute patterns.

"What are you looking at?"

As Roger scanned the room, the girl's voice suddenly sounded beside his ear.

He quickly averted his gaze: "Hmm, so what did you want to show me?"

At this, Natasha climbed onto the bed, bent over, and pulled out an album with a cover resembling an old photograph.

"Check this out, '2Pacalypse Now'—I worked hard to get this!"

Roger was stunned: "This is 2Pac's first album? Wow, a vinyl version—must've cost a fortune."

"Of course," Natasha proudly showed it off. "I saved up for a whole year to afford it!"

Roger took the album from her hands: "Then what are we waiting for? Let me hear it."

The girl immediately brought over the record player and placed the vinyl on it.

Soon, hip-hop music began to play.

"The sound quality is really good." Although 2Pac's debut album was far from mature compared to his later works, Roger loved this raw, authentic sound.

Like Song Yueting's "Life's a struggle," recorded on a tape recorder—technically crude, but emotionally devastating.

"America, America, America."

"I charge you with rape, murder, and assault."

"You suppressed and punished my people."

"I charge you with robbery, because you stole my history."

"I charge you with unlawful imprisonment, because you locked me in cheap housing projects."

Listening to 2Pac's lyrics satirizing Meilijian, Roger suddenly felt his composure slip.

Because these lyrics still felt completely relevant today.

Could you say 2Pac foresaw the future?

No—he simply described what he experienced at the time.

And now, compared to then, things had only gotten worse.

Roger glanced at Natasha and saw the girl staring back at him.

Both smiled simultaneously, then began tapping their feet as they listened.

When Mrs. Fiona's voice rang out, Roger rose from the girl's chair.

"Thanks for letting me hear the music."

Thanks to the music, his spirit, previously tainted by Mrs. Jie Kui Lin, had improved considerably.

"Don't mention it!" Natasha sat cross-legged on the bed, smiling. "You can come over anytime to listen—I'm bored out of my mind listening alone every day."

"I will. Get some good sleep."

"You too."

…

The next morning, Roger rode his bicycle out of the community toward the neighborhood where Vulture lived.

His own neighborhood was a white community, well-landscaped and quiet, nothing like Xin Yidunweier Shequ.

But when Roger arrived at his front door, he found several sleepy, sexy girls walking out of the house.

They carried high heels in hand, barefoot on the ground, their short skirts barely covering their buttocks—obviously prostitutes.

"Hey, handsome, need company?"

As they passed Roger, they smirked with half-closed eyes.

Roger scanned them up and down: "Did Vulture send you here?"

"Of course, who else would?" the woman teased. "You're one of Vulture's one-hour fuck buddies? Here, let me tell you a secret."

Leaning close, she whispered: "He lasts only five minutes, hahaha—the other fifty-five minutes he's on drugs."

Then they burst into laughter.

Roger shrugged and walked into the living room.

The huge house was thick with smoke, walls stained yellow from cigarette burns, faint traces of marijuana lingering in the air.

On the sofa and floor lay several drunken, lifeless men, fast asleep.

The ground was cluttered with beer bottles, pizza boxes, and other debris blocking the way; needles were hidden in the corner.

Roger frowned, scanning the squalid room as he searched for Vulture.

Finally, he spotted the only man still awake in the kitchen.

"Who are you?" The man had dyed yellow short hair, earrings and a nose ring, two snakes tattooed on his neck—he looked like a thug.

"I'm Aodisi's friend. Are you Vulture?" Roger watched him slicing a rock-hard loaf of bread with a knife.

"Hmm, yeah." Vulture was slightly more alert than yesterday; he glanced at Roger. "You're the one who wants to do business?"

Roger nodded.

"Want to do business? Prove yourself first." The Vulture sliced hard at the baguette—but the knife stuck fast: "I don't play with cowards."

Roger stepped forward and took the knife right from his hand.

"What are you doing?" The Vulture stepped back half a pace, watching him warily.

Roger pressed one hand on the baguette and brought the other down with full force.

"Bang!"

The baguette split cleanly in two.

"Whoa, buddy, you've got some strength!" The Vulture picked up the baguette, took a bite, and grinned: "I like your style—clean, sharp. What's your name?"

"Just call me Qiangsen. So what do I need to do?"

"No rush," The Vulture evaded his question, stalling: "Go back and wait. If I get the goods, I'll call you."

Roger knew the man still wanted to observe him—and might even call Aodisi.

But Aodisi was currently detained at the police station; once released, he'd surely tell The Vulture the truth.

So Roger decisively opened his pocket watch: "I'm in a hurry, Vulture. I want to do business now."

"You're joking, right?" The Vulture spread his hands: "You want me to go out right after my party, still savoring the vibes, to pick up that damn stinking corpse? Are you fucking with me, buddy?"

"But my debt won't wait until tomorrow!" Roger's face twisted with panic: "If I don't pay, the gangs will kill me!"

The Vulture shrugged: "Buddy, no deal. Understand? Gangs are your problem, not mine. Best you just follow orders—or I won't give you any business."

Roger was utterly desperate: "Please, buddy."

The Vulture chewed the baguette, shaking his head.

"I'll pay double what Aodisi pays—how's that?" Roger pulled out his last card.

The Vulture's eyebrows shot up in surprise: "You're serious? Double?"

Though he hated doing business at this hour, if he could make more money, that changed things.

"Yes, I'm serious." Roger's expression turned grave: "How much did you pay Aodisi?"

The Vulture glanced around the living room, saw no one was awake, then whispered: "I paid him fifteen hundred dollars per body."

"Aodisi didn't say that," Roger lied.

To his surprise, The Vulture flushed: "Oh, I misremembered—it's twelve hundred per body."

"So I'll pay you twenty-four hundred, right?"

"Exactly. Cash on delivery!" The Vulture grinned: "I'm the best secondhand dealer in southern Seattle."

Damn, he's proud of selling secondhand Gundam?

Roger internally scoffed, but kept his face neutral, feigning difficulty: "But I don't have that much cash right now—you know I'm broke."

"Then why the hell are you talking to me?" The Vulture instantly turned hostile, leaning back: "No money? Go sleep on the street!"

"Hold on, buddy." Roger glanced at his pocket watch: "I can give you a deposit now, then pay the rest after I sell the goods."

"I've already lined up buyers—once the goods arrive, I get paid immediately! I swear, no more than two days!"

The Vulture frowned, hesitated: "Really?"

"Trust me, man. Aodisi can vouch for my character!"