Chapter 58: Buying New

Half-asleep, Enio felt someone prodding him; he was just about to say something when he suddenly jolted awake.

He rubbed his face and stared wide-eyed at Mo Lisi in the darkness.

“A truck’s coming,” he whispered.

The night was silent; voices that might go unnoticed by day would surely be heard at night.

Enio leaned out to peer around the corner—a truck was slowly approaching.

During the day, he’d visited the community clinic; the doctor, after palpation, said his radius fracture wasn’t severe, had applied a splint, and it could be removed in four weeks, but full recovery would take at least three months.

And most importantly, he couldn’t bear weight.

This was probably why the poor feared injury so much—not just because treatment cost money, but because an injury might cost them their jobs.

Enio had a job before, but now it was clearly gone, making him hate Kent even more.

The truck couldn’t enter the alley where the gambling den was, so it pulled over to the curb; Mo Lisi dragged Enio back into the alley. “I’ll climb onto the truck first.”

Enio widened his eyes. “I should be the one doing this.”

Mo Lisi shook his head. “You’re tall, I’m short—they won’t notice me. Besides, they know my father well. Even if they catch me, I’ll just say I wanted to steal something; they won’t give me trouble.”

“At most, they’ll beat me up.”

Enio fell silent for a moment. “I still think I should be the one.”

Mo Lisi shook his head again.

As they spoke, the gambling den’s enforcers had already wheeled in the gambling tables on small carts.

These tables were all wooden and disassemblable, so they weren’t heavy.

This differed from the tables at the Koda family’s gambling den, where they used marble tops covered in velvet to convey prestige and offer better tactile feel.

But that made the tables harder to move.

After the first batch was loaded, Mo Lisi licked his lips. “No time—we’re out of time. I’m going now. Follow as closely as you can; it’ll leave tire tracks.”

Before Enio could respond, Mo Lisi crouched and sprinted to the truck, stepped on the tires, and flipped into the cargo bed.

He found a narrow, blind-spot spot deep inside, hid himself, and slowed his breathing as much as possible.

The entire loading took about twenty minutes; Enio watched Kent and his enforcers drive two cars behind the truck. Though the truck moved slowly, he quickly lost sight of it and could only follow the tire tracks on the ground.

In truth, they hadn’t gone far.

Kent’s crew served mostly Empire people; no matter how they moved, they wouldn’t leave the “Empire District.”

Officially, there had never been an “Empire District” in past municipal planning—only street names.

As new immigrants, Empire people naturally chose to live where more of their countrymen resided; over seventy percent of Jincheng’s Empire population lived in this area, making it the de facto “Empire District.”

Last year, the city hall’s official map, “New Jincheng City Map,” had formally labeled this area as the “Empire District,” acknowledging the popular term.

The Empire District lay in the southwest of the harbor zone, ruled by two gangs.

One was the Camille Gang; the other was the Red Dog Gang.

The Camille Gang controlled a larger territory, but the Red Dog Gang spanned two districts; below them, there were still smaller gangs or groups, but since they lacked organized criminal nature, they were unknown.

For example, if Enio and his friends continued loitering on the streets, consciously defining their territory by their neighborhood boundaries, and fought—and won—a battle against the local street kids,

then Enio and his group could be called a “neighborhood family.” Such “neighborhood families” weren’t necessarily full gangs—they were mostly groups of people who banded together to resist extortion and police harassment.

In the Federation, “neighborhood families” were common, and many large gangs had originally grown from them.

These gangs expanded rapidly in their early stages and had strong cohesion.

Take the Red Dog Gang, the other gang in the Empire District.

But they had drawbacks: once they reached a certain size and failed to adjust in time, further growth became nearly impossible.

As an Empire man, Kent wouldn’t move farther away; even if there weren’t already underground gambling dens elsewhere, the local gang families would be hard to deal with—this would count as trespassing.

And moving to a new environment meant recruiting new customers and risking everything to start over?

They weren’t that foolish. So the two youths assumed they’d go far, but in reality, they’d only moved a few streets away.

The truck slowed and pulled over to the curb—Kent and his men had already arrived.

This time, the place was still a basement; basements were more hidden.

The group began moving items; Mo Lisi seized an opportunity and slipped out.

The two followed the fire escape to a concealed spot and watched as the men carried everything into the basement, closed the door, and didn’t come out again.

They didn’t leave until morning light.

The next morning, Lans took Elvin and Merro to Alberto’s company—he planned to buy two more cars.

“We now have about thirty people. If we add a few new friends, having only me drive and just one car isn’t enough.”

Lans explained his purpose; Alberto naturally didn’t refuse—these cars, even if Lans didn’t buy them, he’d find a way to sell cheaply anyway.

Selling them for money was better than just throwing them away.

Alberto told Lans to pick first, promising a big surprise later.

The three arrived at the parking lot; Elvin and Merro stared at the luxury cars, drooling.

No man doesn't love cars—not even queers!

If given a choice between a beautiful girl and these gleaming cars, they’d almost certainly pick the cars, not the girls!

But sadly, Lans couldn’t afford any of these luxury cars; in the end, with reluctant glances, he led them to the area where the junk cars were parked.

A few hundred apiece.

After seeing the luxury cars, these junkers looked pitiful—but both knew they couldn’t afford the luxury ones now, not even Lans himself.

Choosing cars was a skill, but luckily they were all insiders; Jamie picked two for them, totaling nine hundred.

This price was extremely cheap—nine hundred outside might not buy even one, but here it bought two.

Lans test-drove one; it felt fine, aside from the heavy steering wheel.

Jamie also promised that if anything broke, they could bring it back for repairs—free of charge, as long as no expensive parts needed replacing.

After choosing the cars, Lans had Elvin and Merro practice driving while he went to Alberto’s office.

“Come, sit!” Alberto was delighted, a stark contrast to his previous gloom; he even offered Lans a cigar. “Pure hand-rolled cigars from Sumuli—they say they’re rolled on girls’ thighs!”

“Don’t inhale into your lungs!” he warned, then showed Lans how to cut, toast, and smoke it.

Lans already knew how, but he pretended ignorance and learned again; when he first drew the smoke in, he felt no particular thrill—it was just an ordinary cigar.

“You picked your cars. How much?”

“Nine hundred.”

Alberto shook his head. “I’m giving them to you.”

Lans didn’t understand. He ventured, “Can I still pick a luxury sedan instead?”

Alberto laughed heartily. “Too late. If you’d picked one earlier, I’d have given it to you—but now? The chance was only once!”

He paused. “You told me to stockpile alcohol last time.”

“Yes, I remember.”

Previously, Alberto had been stressed over the Prohibition League; Lans advised him to stockpile alcohol. Now, alcohol trade and storage were legal; owning a large stock legally before prohibition began meant guaranteed profit.

Alberto stood before Lans, cigar in hand, gesturing excitedly. “I followed your advice and stockpiled a huge amount of alcohol—prices have skyrocketed, and I made a fortune!”

“Lans, you deserve credit. I thought you’d pick a luxury sedan, but you…” He wore a teasing expression: “Don’t blame me.”

He took a deep breath. “Fodis told me you’re in trouble. Need help?”

Lans shook his head. “I can handle it.”

He didn’t want to owe Alberto too much—debts of gratitude were hard to repay, and sooner or later, they’d drag you down. This happened every day.

You knew it was a trap—jump in, and you’d be crippled; refuse, and people’d call you ungrateful, dishonorable.

Jump, and they’d say you were loyal—but mostly they’d think you stupid, and you’d end up broken. So you never gave them the chance to begin with.

He thought a moment. “If you want to thank me, give me a few more guns. I might need them soon.”

For Alberto, this was trivial—he wasn’t Federation-born and had a bigger gang backing him; he had no interest in upholding Federation law. Getting some untraceable handguns was just a phone call away.

After briefly discussing the future alcohol market trends, Lans took his leave.

When he left, Elvin and Merro were already driving the cars themselves—along with the two vehicles, they took five pistols.