Chapter 2860

Seeing Qiangzi's tense face, Ye Chen, who had been silent, immediately realized that the approaching motorcycle engine noise outside was likely aimed at him.

At this moment, Zhao Zhong Chen realized Qiangzi might have gotten into serious trouble, so he sternly demanded: "Qiangzi, tell me the truth—who exactly have you offended?"

Seeing he could no longer hide it, Qiangzi explained: "Uncle Zhong, these people are from a new gang in New York..."

Zhao Zhong Chen exclaimed: "You owe loan sharks?!"

Qiangzi quickly explained: "No, Uncle Zhong! They just took over Chinatown two days ago and are now going door-to-door collecting protection money—three thousand US dollars a month. If you can't pay, they beat you up and threaten to smash your shop."

Zhao Zhong Chen frowned and asked: "Hasn't Chinatown always been managed by Chinese gangs? For years, it's been three hundred dollars a month in protection fees—how did it suddenly get taken over by someone else?"

Qiangzi sighed helplessly: "The Chinese gang fought them last week, suffered heavy losses, and Big Brother Wei already surrendered, handing over Chinatown to them..."

Zhao Zhong Chen was slightly surprised, then asked: "What's the background of this new gang? Demanding three thousand dollars a month right off the bat—that's too ruthless, isn't it?"

Qiangzi said indignantly: "Who says it isn't! We and the surrounding shops wake up early and work late to make a living—we have rent, wages, and because we lack legal status, we have to bribe everywhere. After working ourselves to death all month, we only earn a few thousand dollars. They want three thousand—it's like we're all working hard just to work for them!"

Zhao Zhong Chen asked again: "What's the origin of this new gang?"

Qiangzi replied: "The new gang is called Burning-Angel. Mostly African-American from Brooklyn and downtown, with a few Latinos. Supposedly backed by Italians behind the scenes. Now Italians are gradually stepping back, not wanting to get their hands dirty, but unwilling to give up this profit, so they've supported a bunch of ruthless Africans to form this gang..."

Zhao Zhong Chen asked: "Is the injury on your face from them?"

"Yes..." Qiangzi resentfully said: "They came to collect protection money, I couldn't come up with that much, so they beat me up. They gave me a deadline—tonight. If I can't pay by tonight, they'll smash the shop."

Zhao Zhong Chen asked again: "Have you called the police?"

"I did." Qiangzi said wearily: "But reporting it does no good. You know how it is in New York—police focus mostly on rich areas. I called, they just came through for show, then told me they couldn't find the people."

Zhao Zhong Chen said angrily: "This is outrageous!"

Qiangzi said helplessly: "I called the police and told them they'd come back. They said there aren't enough officers to monitor here, told me to call 911 the moment I see them—but what good is that? If they really come with guns, I'd be dead eight times over, and the police probably wouldn't even arrive."

As he spoke, Qiangzi sighed deeply: "They're American citizens; we're undocumented immigrants with no status—American police don't care if we live or die..."

As they spoke, the roar of motorcycles had already reached the door of the roast goose shop. Qiangzi instantly became more tense and hurriedly told Zhao Zhong Chen and Ye Chen: "Uncle Zhong, Mr. Ye, you guys go upstairs quickly!"

Ye Chen simply sat down and said: "To be honest, I've never seen gangsters collect protection money before—this is a good chance to witness it. Qiangzi, go get me a plate of roast goose rice. I'll eat while I watch."

Qiangzi quickly said: "Mr. Ye, they really dare to kill people! You should..."

Before Qiangzi could finish, Zhao Zhong Chen interrupted him, patted his shoulder, and said: "The young master told you to prepare a plate of roast goose rice—hurry up and do it, and also make one for me to taste—see if your skills have declined."

At that moment, five young Black men in flashy hip-hop attire had already stepped inside.

The leader was thin and tall, wearing a large hoodie with the hood pulled over his head and half his face, hands shoved into the front horizontal pockets, looking like he might be carrying a weapon.

The man entered, saw Qiangzi, and immediately sneered mockingly: "Wow, Mr. Goose from China—have you prepared my money yet? If I don't see three thousand US dollars by tonight, I'll make you eat a few bullets, then throw you into the Hudson River so your corpse floats back to China!"

Qiangzi instantly became extremely nervous, about to speak, but Ye Chen, already seated at the dining table, interrupted him, urging: "Boss, hurry up and prepare my rice—I'm so hungry I feel like hitting someone."

Qiangzi froze, not knowing what to do. Zhao Zhong Chen beside him whispered: "Hurry up and go!"

Qiangzi gritted his teeth, made up his mind, and said: "Okay... okay... I'll go now..."

After saying that, he turned and went into the back kitchen.

Seeing Ye Chen send the boss to the back kitchen, the lead Black man immediately became displeased, curled his lip, and sneered: "Good, good, good—looks like we've got some new business to do here."

After speaking, he exaggeratedly sat down opposite Ye Chen and said lightly: "Hey, Chinese guy, who gave you the guts to interrupt me while I'm collecting protection money?"

Ye Chen smiled, looked at him, and asked: "What? Does collecting protection money mean customers can't eat? Don't you know the customer is God?"

Seeing Ye Chen's teasing expression, the man immediately realized he might be in league with the boss, so he snapped: "Kid, it seems you don't understand the situation here—all of Chinatown, I mean all of New York's Chinatown, is now Burning-Angel territory. If you Chinese guys still want to do business here, you must pay protection money as we demand—otherwise, I'll take you out one by one!"

Ye Chen paid no attention to his threat, merely raised an eyebrow and smiled: "I'm not easygoing—I hate being disturbed while eating. So whether you're Burning-Angel's angel, wild dog, or rat, if you don't quickly take your few male buddies and disappear from in front of me, I'll make you know what it means to wish you were dead."

"Fuck! You think I'm gay?" The man spat on the ground, then pulled an M9 pistol from his pocket, rested his finger on the trigger, spun it once on the table, then pointed it at Ye Chen's head and coldly roared: "Kid, it seems you've never tasted a bullet—believe it or not, I'll let you taste one right now?"

Ye Chen raised an eyebrow and smiled: "I've made people eat shit, soaked them in iron cages and sunk them in rivers, even made them do human-body calligraphy—but feeding someone bullets? I've never tried that. Since you've brought up this novel idea today, we can give it a proper try."

As he spoke, Ye Chen glanced at the gun in his hand and said lightly: "Your gun is probably 9mm, right? The magazine should be full with thirteen rounds. With so many bullets, I don't know if you like to chew them or swallow them."