Chapter 23: Tap Water

Standing in the alley beside the restaurant, Mr. Anderson handed Lans four hundred dollars, his expression cold and tinged with revulsion.

At this moment, he was certain: these two men had been sent to cause trouble.

He had no shortage of “enemies” in Jincheng City—Alberto, that greedy mongrel, was one; his former partner was another—

His partner had recently seen this restaurant’s business explode, and two weeks ago contacted him again, hoping to buy back his shares at the original price.

He naturally refused, so it was entirely possible that this petty man, who resorted to blackmail when facing business troubles, was behind this.

Of course, there were also competing restaurants nearby—no one ever wished their own business was too good.

They’d rather have customers wait an hour outside than let them eat elsewhere for less money.

The better his business did, the more likely his rivals were to resort to dirty tactics.

He had to find out who was behind this.

“Here’s your money. This matter ends here…”

Lans counted the last twenty-dollar bill, stacked them, slipped them into his pocket, and smiled—so bright it reflected the sun, blinding, “Of course, Mr. Anderson. We are men of integrity.”

Mr. Anderson sensed there was more to those words, but couldn’t grasp it. He hesitated, then finally asked, “Who sent you?”

He expected Lans to lie, to bluster—he imagined many possibilities—but he never expected…

“Two hundred, Mr. Anderson.”

“Two hundred dollars, and I’ll tell you the truth.”

“No bargaining.”

The demand nearly choked Mr. Anderson. “I’ve never met a man as shameless as you in my life!”

Lans stepped back, bowed slightly. “I’ll take that as your compliment.”

“I have other matters this afternoon. If there’s nothing else, we’ll be leaving.”

“My poor brother still needs a medical checkup—I don’t even know if four hundred dollars is enough!”

Mr. Anderson’s temples throbbed. He lowered his voice, seething with rage—he believed Lans was greedily pushing for another extortion.

“I’ll tell you this, you son of a bitch—if you ever dare set foot in my restaurant again, I’ll call the police. I know powerful people who’ll make you regret being born!”

He turned to leave, but hadn’t taken three steps before he turned back, trembling with fury, counting out two hundred dollars and slamming them onto Lans’s chest. “Now—right now—tell me that bastard’s name!”

Lans swiftly counted the cash, grinning so wide his mouth wouldn’t close. “Alberto Corti, sir. I currently work for him…”

“Fuck!”

Mr. Anderson stormed off. Elvin tugged at Lans’s sleeve, puzzled. “Will Mr. Corti be angry we betrayed him?”

“Betrayed?” Lans shook his finger, pulled out sixty dollars, and handed them to Elvin. “This isn’t betrayal. Corti wants his money back—he must apply enough pressure on Mr. Anderson.”

“If we don’t reveal who’s behind it, Mr. Anderson won’t know where the pressure comes from. He might wrongly blame someone else.”

“So we must make him know who’s making him uncomfortable—and who to go to to fix it.”

Lans slipped the remaining cash into his pocket, then pulled Elvin back into the car.

The scorching sun hung overhead, baking everything on the earth.

The moment the car door opened, a wave of hellish heat surged out, reminding Lans of the bakery’s oven.

He frowned, waited a moment, then stepped inside.

The scalding black leather seats felt unbearably uncomfortable for the first time. He rolled down the window, letting in as much outside wind as possible.

“Where to next?” Elvin, clearly sweltering, asked.

Lans started the car, glancing in the rearview mirror. “We’re looking for people willing to earn money…”

Soon the car returned to the culvert. Lans brought food—he hadn’t rented a place yet, so they still lived here.

Honestly, the culvert was damn cool right now—cool air at ten degrees blew from its endless depths; some frail ones even needed extra layers.

No wonder people lived here in summer.

Seeing Lans drive up, the kids immediately gathered around.

“We made some money today, Merro. Tonight, when it cools down, take everyone to buy new clothes.” He handed Merro eighty dollars.

There were about twenty people here—each would get at least four dollars.

“Too much. There’s a secondhand market by the port—you can buy a full set for one dollar!”

The port had many such markets, because it was home to the poorest. Most clothes sold there were recycled—often stolen!

Some thieves stole laundry hanging on lines, even from laundries.

Others scavenged them from the trash of middle- and upper-class neighborhoods.

Those nicer-looking clothes cost more—they weren’t for the port. The port’s market was one dollar per set, or sixty cents per piece.

Lans shook his head. “No. Buy outfits like mine—decent ones. We’ll be attending higher-class places. We can’t look like beggars.”

Merro had no reply. Though some asked how much Lans had earned, he only smiled and said nothing.

Elvin said nothing either.

“Do any of you know anyone who came from the Empire and has legal immigrant status?”

“Tomorrow we have something to do—somewhat dangerous. People without status might run into trouble.”

“I need about twenty locals or those with legal immigrant status.”

The kids immediately began chattering.

Many Empire citizens had settled in the Federation and obtained legal status. During the Federation’s economic boom, they’d contributed significantly.

“Little Red’s uncle and older brother are legal immigrants—I heard him say so.”

“Little Red” wasn’t a positive term in the Federation. Despite animated tales, cartoons, and films about it, it wasn’t a compliment.

Some men who preyed on young victims called their targets “Little Red” and themselves “Big Bad Wolf.”

This “Little Red” earned the name because he looked so much like a girl.

A sixteen-year-old boy, pale, slender, almost pretty, wearing a red baseball cap aboard the ship.

So they gave him the nickname.

Unlike Lans and others who smuggled in to settle illegally, he came to join his uncle.

Why he boarded a smuggling vessel? Simply because the Emperor had banned men from leaving the Empire freely.

No smuggling—no escape.

Besides Little Red, a few others offered leads.

Problems in the Empire had long existed; many had already fled to the Federation, and some lived right here.

Lans asked them to write down addresses or phone numbers—he’d contact them.

The anti-illegal-immigrant wave in Jincheng City hadn’t faded. It hadn’t worsened, but it hadn’t improved much either.

Many blamed city hall or the state government for inaction. In truth, it was merely that the political struggle among the elite over Jincheng City hadn’t ended.

Once that struggle ended, Jincheng City would stabilize in less than three days.

For this visit to Little Red, Lans went alone. He didn’t need a crowd for this job.

Little Red’s uncle lived not far from the port, in a low-income apartment building.

People noticed Lans stepping out of his car and paused to stare. Few drove here—and fewer still got out.

Only when they saw him enter the apartment building did they stop watching, turning to whispers.

Little Red’s address was on the seventh floor. The old elevator’s corner held a puddle of foul-smelling urine.

Spittle and toilet paper littered the floor, untouched.

During elevator rides, they might get kicked out and fall into the shaft.

No wonder the air reeked of mildew and faint decay.

When he reached the door, he straightened his clothes and knocked.

A man in his late thirties opened it—brown hair, clean-shaven, unlike the Federation’s beard-wearing trend.

His eyes brimmed with suspicion. “Who are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for Gerald.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m from the Empire. Call me Lans. We met on the ship.”

The man inside studied Lans again—seeing his clothes totaled at least ten dollars—and his suspicion lessened.

He hesitated, then opened the door. “Gerald’s at work. He won’t be back until tonight. Come in, sit down.”

Lans entered, glanced around. The space was small.

He placed the fruit prominently on the table—he knew how to deal with the poor.

“You can call me Burton. I’ll call you Lans?”

“Want something to drink?”

He checked the cupboard. “Sorry. Only water.”

Burton poured tap water into a glass and set it on the table. “You’re new to the Federation—maybe you don’t know. The tap water here is safe to drink.”

“Taste it carefully—you’ll notice it’s slightly sweet.”

“Federation citizens spent decades perfecting water quality, investing heavily in filtration, and adding minerals.”

“I’m not saying the Empire is bad—just that we still have a long way to go compared to the Federation.”

Looking at the tap water—certainly lead-contaminated—Lans now understood exactly who Burton was, and how to speak with him.