The roads were in gridlock, a chaotic tangle of vehicles and pedestrians. Streetcars clanged their bells furiously at drivers who were blocking the rails, their frustration evident in the constant ringing. The sidewalks were packed with people, making it difficult to walk without bumping into someone. The air buzzed with conversations in Cantonese and Mandarin, creating a symphony of foreign words.
Frank and Alan maneuvered their way down the bustling street until they arrived at a Chinese restaurant with a sign written entirely in Chinese characters. The lack of an English name suggested it catered to locals or was perhaps a front for something less savory. They stepped inside, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The restaurant was sparsely populated, adding to its suspicious nature. A few boxes, wrapped in yellow tape, were on the corner near the cashier, catching Frank's attention.
"I'm starving. Can we get some takeout?" Alan complained, his stomach growling audibly.
Frank nodded, but with a caveat. "Order a few dishes, but skip the alcohol. I’ll try to get into the kitchen to see what’s up."
The man behind the cash register, upon seeing Frank, visibly panicked. His eyes widened and he fumbled with a stack of fifty-dollar bills, which he hastily handed over to Frank. Without missing a beat, Frank slipped the money into his jacket.
"Relax, I'm not here for a shake-down. I just have a few questions," Frank said, pulling out a photograph of Ian Huang. "Do you recognize this man?"
The cashier's eyes darted around the room, unable to settle on Frank’s penetrating stare. His fingers drummed nervously on the counter, a subconscious display of anxiety. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing at the walls, the floor, anywhere but at the photo Frank was holding.
"I... I don't know him," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm... I'm busy running restaurant. I don't get out much. That’s too much luxury!" He forced a laugh, but it came out strangled and unconvincing. "It's... it's full-time job. Lots orders, lots customers. I don't have time to... to know everyone who comes in."
Frank leaned in closer, his presence looming over the cashier. "Look, you’re not fooling anyone. I know you recognize him. Cut the crap." His tone was cold, each word carefully measured.
He then pulled out a black box from his jacket. The box contained intricate patterns that glowed like a heartbeat.
The cashier's face paled, and his eyes flickered with desperation. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "Please, you don’t understand. I'm just cashier. I follow orders. That’s it. I... I don’t get involved in whatever this is. Ian Huang, he... he come here once a week. Orders the same meal—baked chicken cutlet with tomato sauce on spaghetti. That’s all I know, I swear."
The cashier's voice cracked, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He wiped his hands on his shirt, but they continued to tremble. His eyes were pleading now, silently begging Frank to believe him, to leave him out of whatever dangerous game he sensed was unfolding.
"You go to backroom. I don’t want no trouble. I just follow order. Here, I unlock kitchen for you.” The cashier stammered, voice cracking once or twice throughout his speech. He opened the door, though it wasn’t locked in the first place.
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from behind the kitchen, the unmistakable sound of a door slamming open. Frank’s instincts kicked in. He quickly signaled to Alan with a hand, indicating they needed to surround the perimeter. A suspect was making a run for it.
“I’ll have the baked chicken cutlet with tomato sauce on spaghetti,” Alan shouted at the cashier who was still trying to gather his composure.
Chasing suspects through crowded streets was generally frowned upon, but Frank never followed protocol anyways. All he knew was that he couldn't afford to let this lead slip away.
Frank burst through the door, hitting the crowded street with the intensity of a bloodhound on a scent. The narrow sidewalks of Chinatown were packed with people, their chatter a cacophony that filled the air. Street vendors shouted about the prices of wares or items to would-be buyers, and the smell of fruit and flower stalls mingled with the exhaust from the congested traffic. Frank’s eyes darted, scanning for the fleeing suspect, his heart pounding in his chest
He spotted a figure darting through the throng, shoving pedestrians out of the way. Frank's stomach churned as he picked up the pace, his belly flopping with every hurried pace. His breath came in heavy bursts, but he pushed through, weaving through the mass of bodies. He couldn’t risk using the black box he had flashed at the cashier—not when so many people are watching. Civilians screamed and cursed as Frank barreled past them, his focus unbroken.
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The suspect veered into a side alley, and Frank followed, his shoes slapping against the wet pavement. The alley was narrow and filled with obstacles—garbage cans, stacked crates, and cardboard all around. Frank hurdled a fallen box, his legs burning from the effort. He could see the suspect ahead, trying to climb a chain-link fence. Summoning a final burst of energy, Frank lunged forward, his fingers grazing the suspect’s heel, but his grip wasn’t strong enough to pull the man down, and he was kicked in the face.
As Frank fell on the floor, the man was tackled to the ground as soon as he landed on the floor, sending the suspect crashing into the fence with a loud rattle.
“Good job, Alan, now let me catch my breath. I should’ve hit the gym more” Frank heaved and wheezed, gasping for air.
After climbing through the fence with much effort, Frank looked at the suspect.
“Name?” Frank said with much effort.
“Gary” said the man, avoiding eye contact.
“Just give me your ID” said Frank, not wanting anymore bullshit. He also flashed the black box in his pocket at the man. It was a perfect place as the alley was empty of civilians. The man looked visibly panicked seeing the black box.
“I know that you know what this little box is. If you resist anymore, you know what’s going to happen, am I clear buddy?” Frank threatened in a low tone. He had already marked him with the box. There’s no way this man was getting out alive.
The man nodded in reply.
Alan then took out the man’s wallet and fished out the driver’s license then handed it over to Frank. The license stated Anthony Lin, born April 1, 2042.
Frank put a foot down on Anthony’s chest, looked him down, and said “Look buddy, we can do this the hard way or the harder way. Either you tell me everything you know or I get it out of you”
“Fuck, get your foot off me! Help! Someone! This guy is crazy!” Anthony screamed, yet no one looked into the alley and no one seemed to notice his screams.
“Give it up buddy, you took the wrong turn into an empty alley. I’ve already isolated it. Now your next words better be a yes or no” Frank pressed his foot down on Anthony’s chest even harder.
“Alright bro, fuck, calm down.” Anthony calmed down as the foot on his chest eased off.
Frank then displayed the picture of Ian Huang to Anthony. “I knew you were listening to me earlier, now make those lips move or else”
“He came into my restaurant every week and would talk on the phone for hours. All I know is he got into some nasty shit a couple of weeks back” Anthony paused for a while, looking at Frank dead in the eye. ““Heard he got into some beef with one of them Path guys”
One of Frank’s eyebrows raised when he heard the word path. “Go on,” Frank said.
“Heard he was dealing some drugs to them, not just ordinary drugs of course. Something that even someone from Aur would get addicted to. The Path’s been trying to figure out where it's coming from until they found him.” Anthony explained.
“You got any of the drugs?” Frank asked.
“Fuck no, I don’t do that shit” Anthony denied. The foot became heavier until he almost couldn’t breath. “Alright, fuck. I got some. Just fish it out of my pocket after I release the lock.”
As soon as Anthony snapped his finger, Alan crouched down to fish out a ziplock bag with white powder.
“This ain’t crack is it, right?” Alan questioned.
“No shit it ain’t. Don’t open it or even sniff it. You’ll die. Seent one of my chefs accidentally open it. He died on the spot. It’s not for us normal folks” Anthony impatiently urged. “Ian told me it was a drug that gave you a magic high. You sniff it, and then energy in your body triples or quadruples or something. Apparently, it also feels ten to a hundred times better than sex as a Suit”
The world had three main factions. Frank had only ever been involved with the one in America. They called themselves The Path. Each main faction called their magic user something different. In The Path, they called their magicians suit. At the end of the day, they were all soldiers for those above them.
Frank took off his foot on the man’s chest. “Let me guess. You didn’t get this sample from Ian?”
"Right. I found it when one of the Suits forgot it on the table in the restaurant. Thought it was crack at first until one of my chefs died. Lucky it wasn’t me," Anthony said.
“What about them suits. What’d you hear them talk about?” Frank asked with a blank voice.
“Ha! You accusing me of recording all my patrons!?” Anthony exclaimed.
“Look buddy, I don’t have no proof right now to know you’re connected to the Jiuling and you ain’t a spirit. They wouldn’t care if one of their goons disappear” Frank put his right hand into his pocket, causing Anthony to flinch.
“Fuck! Fine! They were talking about some operation in China, but I don’t know where. They didn’t talk that much about it. All I heard is that they’re in high alert right now and they’re gathering suits. The Suits would know more than me.” A drop of sweat ran down Anthony’s neck. “Jiuling ain’t fucking around either. Looks like there’s some conflict happening and I don’t have that info for real this time.”
“I told you man, this shit is bigger than both of us. How about we call it quits here?” Alan’s voice trembled.
“Not now Alan. It’s not that easy” Frank said, his resolve unwavering.
"What do you mean, it’s not that easy? We could just go home, sleep in our own beds, and maybe even crack open a couple of beers. It’s that easy!" Alan shouted, his hands thrown up in exasperation.
“Get your take out. We’re going to the next scene.” Frank sighed, shaking his head. “Bay street is next. We gotta talk to some of their assholes.”