61: Chapter 61 Intelligence Network Upgrade

"There are good things waiting for us inside."

A month after saying those words, Yan Zheng did not rush to take action.

July 20th, 2:00 PM.

Old Jack's bar.

The ceiling fan creaked as it spun, churning the sultry July air into a pot of lukewarm porridge. There were a third fewer daytime drunks than usual, and those who remained huddled in the corners, drinking in silence, lacking even the energy to argue.

Hell's Kitchen had been at war for a month; even the drunks had become quiet.

Yan Zheng pushed the door open, carrying a paper bag in his hand containing two bottles of twelve-year-Old Jack Daniel's.

Old Jack was dozing on the counter. Hearing the door open, he lifted one eyelid, and upon seeing the bottles in the paper bag, he lifted the other one as well.

"Boss Yan, every time you bring two bottles of good liquor, my wallet starts to ache."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ˘ ᴗ ˘ ˵ )

"Jack, are you still holding a grudge about that twenty-dollar bourbon from last time?"

Yan Zheng placed the paper bag on the bar counter and sat down in a corner seat.

"These two bottles aren't for buying information; they are to thank you for that tip last month—it was a huge help."

Old Jack pulled the bottles out of the bag, checked the vintage, grunted with satisfaction, and tucked them into the secret compartment under the counter where he kept his good liquor.

"Done thanking me?"

"Done."

"Then what's the matter today?"

Yan Zheng smiled and tapped his fingers on the bar counter twice.

"Jack, I want to discuss a long-term business deal with you."

Old Jack moved the unlit cigarette from the left corner of his mouth to the right, squinting at him.

"What kind of business?"

"Intelligence."

Yan Zheng pulled an envelope from his pocket, placed it on the bar, and pushed it over.

"One thousand dollars a week, cash, off the books."

"You help me keep an eye on the movements in Hell's Kitchen—who is active, who is recruiting, who is moving, who has died."

"You don't need to run errands yourself. Just sit behind this bar and tell me the useful things that leak out of those drunks' mouths."

Old Jack picked up the envelope and felt its thickness without opening it.

"A thousand a week?"

"A thousand a week."

"For how long?"

"As long as you are still running this bar, and as long as I am still selling antiques."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ≖ ᗜ ≖ ˵ )

Old Jack stuffed the envelope into his apron pocket, grabbed two glasses from the shelf, and poured two colas.

"Boss Yan, you're an Antique Shop owner; why spend this kind of money to build an intelligence network?"

"For peace of mind."

Yan Zheng took the cola and took a sip.

"You know better than I do how many people have died in Hell's Kitchen this month, Jack. I'm just an Antique Shop owner with no strength to truss a chicken; living in a place like this, how can I get by without knowing in advance where the fighting is?"

"I just want to know which roads are safe and which ones aren't."

Old Jack scoffed, his "you're full of it" look even more obvious than last time, but he didn't press further.

"Fine, a thousand a week to buy my ears."

"Anything else?"

Yan Zheng put down the cola glass and traced a circle on its rim with his finger.

"Yes."

"Jack, do you know any construction workers who have worked in the West District?"

"The West District? Which part?"

"Between 44th Street and 46th Street, underground engineering."

Old Jack's eyebrows twitched.

"You're looking for someone who does underground construction?"

"Yes, preferably someone who has done Underground Room renovations for shops. The more familiar they are with the underground pipe structure in that area, the better."

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ˘ ͈ ꒳ ˘ ͈ )

Old Jack took the cigarette out of his mouth, held it between his fingers, and looked at Yan Zheng with a more thoughtful expression.

"Are you trying to find someone to dig an underground warehouse for your Antique Shop?"

"Something like that. I'm running out of storage space."

Old Jack thought for about ten seconds, tapping his fingers on the counter a few times.

"There is one guy, Old Tom, of Polish descent. He used to do underground pipe construction for the construction union."

"Retired?"

"Fired, because he drove a construction vehicle into someone's living room while drunk."

"And now?"

"Now he's here every day, drinking on credit."

Old Jack gestured toward the corner, where an old man with graying hair was slumped over a table, his glass empty, drool dripping onto the table surface.

"Look, that guy."

Yan Zheng glanced at the snoring figure and turned back.

"Has he done underground work in the West District?"

"Yes, four or five years ago there were a lot of shop renovation projects in that area, and he worked there for at least two years."

"Including the area around 45th Street?"

"It should include it."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ✧ ᴗ ✧ ˵ )

"Jack, help me arrange a meeting with him, when he's sober, tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll treat him to a drink and chat about the underground structure in that area."

"Alright, I'll sober him up tomorrow and have him come find you."

Old Jack put the two empty glasses in the sink and wiped his hands while looking at Yan Zheng.

"Boss Yan, anything else?"

"One last thing."

Yan Zheng stood up, his fingers twirling in his pocket.

"After that battle between Kingpin and The Hand last month, have you heard any news about the main stronghold of The Hand?"

"Location, headcount, defensive situation, anything counts."

Old Jack's complexion changed by half a shade.

"Why are you asking about the lair of The Hand?"

"Jack, I said, I just want to know which road is safe."

"If the lair of The Hand is near my daily delivery route, shouldn't I take a detour?"

Old Jack stared at him for three seconds, then shook his head and pulled the cigarette from his apron pocket, putting it back in his mouth.

"I don't know the exact location."

"But there is one person who might know."

"Who?"

"Old Tom."

Old Jack gestured with his chin toward the snoring figure in the corner.

"Four years ago, he took a job. The client demanded confidentiality, the contract amount was three times that of a normal project, and it was all cash."

"The construction involved digging a three-story underground space under a shop in the West District, with a total area of about seven or eight hundred square meters."

"He bragged to me while drinking back then, saying the clients for that project were all Asian faces, dressed in black, and not a single one of them smiled."

Yan Zheng's fingers paused in his pocket.

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ˘ ᗜ ˘ )

"Three-story underground space, eight hundred square meters, Asian faces, black clothes, all cash."

"Jack, why didn't you say so earlier?"

"You didn't ask earlier."

Old Jack put the cigarette back and shrugged.

"And Old Tom also told me one thing."

"What thing?"

"He said that when construction reached the third floor, the client cordoned off a separate room in the innermost part and wouldn't let any workers go in."

"He once passed by the door of that room and said it was abnormally cold inside; even in the middle of summer, standing at the door in a short-sleeved shirt gave him goosebumps."

"There was also a buzzing sound, like an electrical transformer, but a bit different."

Yan Zheng stood in front of the bar holding the empty glass, the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting the dim light from above.

"Very cold, buzzing sound."

"Jack, tomorrow at 3:00 PM, have Old Tom come here, sober."

"I'll treat him to the best liquor, and he can tell me about that project from start to finish."

"Floor plans, pipe layouts, load-bearing structures—it would be best if he could draw them."

Old Jack rinsed the cola glasses and put them back on the shelf, watching Yan Zheng's back as he walked toward the door.

"Boss Yan."

"Hmm?"

"Are you trying to take a detour, or are you trying to find a path?"

Yan Zheng turned back and smiled at him, then pushed open the bar door.

"Jack, in the antique business, taking a detour and finding a path are the same thing."

"Only by avoiding minefields can you find valuable things."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ≖ ꒳ ≖ ˵ )

Old Jack shook his head behind him, took the envelope out of his apron pocket, and opened it to take a look.

Ten one-hundred-dollar bills, brand new, with consecutive serial numbers.

"Antique dealer, yeah right."