aircannonsinc Page 124
Page 124
A glint rekindled in the accountant's eyes—a mixture of excitement and trepidation born from being granted immense power and trust.
He knew that the sharpness of his "knife" directly affected Viktor's control over this rapidly expanding behemoth.
Thus, in Chicago in 1985, a strange picture gradually took shape:
CEO Blair was at the forefront, running around frantically, expanding and stitching together the glamorous and the gray areas of the business, immersed in the self-satisfaction of making history and the immense pressure.
The audit department led by Lao Qiao, like a silent undercurrent, began to quietly infiltrate various newly established business departments, and cold, hard numbers became the only yardstick for measuring loyalty and efficiency.
Meanwhile, Chinese gangs represented by figures like "Big Mouth Snake" have been cleverly incorporated into the frameworks of "Skyline Security" and "gambling entertainment." They are both the group's "protective umbrella" and swift enforcers, as well as potential destabilizing factors that could explode at any time. They enjoy the convenience brought by legalization while trying to resist the constraints that come with it.
Victor Lee stood at the center of it all, long knife in hand, ready to make an example of him.
Chapter 103
In a back alley in Chicago’s South Side, rainwater mixed with grime accumulated in dark puddles on the uneven concrete.
47-year-old Chinese-American detective Phil Chen lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and watched the white smoke dissipate in the humid air.
His partner, 21-year-old Albert Zhang, was nervously adjusting the shoulder straps of his bulletproof vest.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Lao Chen?"
Albert Zhang asked, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly, "Some of these people are people we've known since childhood."
Phil Chen exhaled a smoke ring, his gaze piercing through the rain and landing on a dilapidated two-story building in the distance.
“It is precisely because we know this that we must do it. Old Wang’s son died of a drug overdose last week. He was only sixteen years old. Although he deserved it, the drugs were bought from those ‘Dragon Hall’ people. They’re a bunch of scoundrels. What kind of Dragon Hall are they?”
"But Victor Lee..."
Albert hesitated, then said, "He has ill intentions."
“Victor is not a saint. He wants us to rise to power. I’m old, so it’s alright, but you’re young and have a long way to go. Besides, he has given us a choice.”
Phil stubbed out his cigarette. "Either we continue to watch our community be devoured by these scumbags, or we accept his support and clean house completely. When have those white superiors in the South Precinct ever really cared about the Chinese community, except that they like the money these people hand over?"
Suddenly, car lights came on at the alley entrance, and a row of black SUVs silently slid into the alley.
The middle door opened, and Frankie Lee stepped out, looking particularly imposing in the drizzle, carrying a submachine gun and wearing a bulletproof vest.
A dozen or so people dressed in matching black combat uniforms followed behind him, while more people remained in the vehicle on standby.
"Is everything ready, Uncle Philt, Brother Albert?"
Franky's voice was low and calm, as if he were asking about the weather rather than preparing for a raid.
Phil nodded: "The targets are all inside, eight in total, mainly involved in drug distribution and petty extortion. The leader is 'Agui,' did you know he burned down his own uncle's restaurant last year? Just because he refused to pay protection money."
Albert added, as if convincing himself, "Absolutely insane!"
Franky nodded expressionlessly: "Victor means thorough. Not arrest, but cleanup. You understand what that means."
The two detectives exchanged a glance.
They certainly understand.
This wasn't a regular police operation; it was vigilante justice, albeit disguised as law—they *are* the law, and they came out to whitewash the situation and claim credit after Franky and his team had resolved it.
Phil felt exhilarated, but he remembered the empty eyes of the old couple at their son's funeral, and the families in the community driven to ruin by gambling.
"We understand."
Fürth finally spoke, his voice surprisingly firm.
Franky made a gesture, and his men immediately split into two groups and silently surrounded the building.
Phil and Albert followed behind, their hands on their sidearms, their hearts pounding.
······
Smoke filled the dilapidated building, and the sounds of mahjong tiles clattering and rude shouts mingled together.
Ah Gui had just won a hand of pure one suit and was smugly collecting his winnings when he suddenly heard a muffled thud from the back door, followed by the sound of the front door being violently slammed.
The lookout rushed into the room in a panic.
"Why panic!"
Ah Gui shouted, "This isn't the first time! Flush the goods and don't admit to anything!"
But the moment the door was flung open, Ah Gui realized this was no ordinary surprise inspection.
The men who entered were not ordinary police officers; they were dressed in uniform black tactical gear, their movements professional and deadly, quickly securing every exit from the room. Finally, two familiar faces entered.
"Felter Albert?"
Ah Gui was surprised at first, then revealed a sly smile, "What brings you two here? Why don't you sit down and play a couple of rounds?"
Ignoring his polite formalities, Philt stepped forward and said, "Li Gui, you have been arrested on suspicion of drug trafficking, extortion, arson, and multiple violent crimes."
Ah Gui exaggeratedly raised his hands: "Officer Chen, you're wronging an innocent person! We were just a few friends getting together to play mahjong, is that illegal?"
His accomplices laughed along, but the laughter quickly stopped—they saw the men in black begin to skillfully search the room for drugs and cash, completely disregarding normal police procedures.
Ah Gui's expression changed from a fake smile to wariness: "Old Chen, what's going on here? Just tell me how much you want, why make such a big fuss?"
Philt took a step closer, his voice low: "Old Wang's son is dead, only sixteen years old. The drugs came from you."
Ah Gui's expression changed slightly, but he quickly regained his composure: "That kid asked for it, what does it have to do with me? People die in Chicago every day, is it all my fault?"
Just then, Franky squeezed into the room, almost filling the space in the doorway.
He glanced around, his gaze finally settling on Ah Gui: "Take them all away. Mr. Victor demands a complete cleanup."
Upon hearing the name "Victor," Ah Gui's expression finally shifted from wariness to fear: "Wait! Victor? The old man is gone, and he's in charge now? I can explain! I can cooperate!"
Franky made a gesture without reacting, and two men in black stepped forward to restrain Ah Gui.
The others were also quickly brought under control.
"Chen Guoming! You're Chinese too! Our ancestors were sworn brothers before Mazu, and you're helping outsiders against your own people like this?"
Ah Gui struggled and shouted, his voice filled with despair and anger.
Phil looked him straight in the eye: "It is precisely because you are Chinese that we cannot allow someone like you to continue poisoning our community."
Albert's thinking was simpler: "We're rich!"
·······
The cleanup operation lasted all night.
Frankie's men were divided into more than ten groups, and with the intelligence provided by the two detectives, they precisely targeted all the remaining illegal dens in the South District.
There was some resistance, but it was quickly and professionally suppressed.
Most people are controlled without even understanding what is happening.
By 3 a.m., the main operation was basically completed.
In a secret warehouse of the South District Police Department, Phil and Albert felt dizzy looking at the mountain of drugs, guns, and cash piled on the table.
In their more than ten years of service, they had never seized so many contraband items at once.
Franky was on the phone, his voice respectful: "Yes, Victor, it's all taken care of. The harvest is 20% more than expected... Understood, it will be distributed according to plan."
After hanging up the phone, Frankie turned to the two detectives: "Victor is satisfied. As agreed, one-third of the cash goes to the police—including you and your six officers. Another third goes to our people. The rest you can hand over."
Albert swallowed hard. "So much cash... the higher-ups will ask about it."
"It's all taken care of."
Franky said calmly, "Your white superiors only see a nice drug seizure report and seizure records. Only we know the actual amount. As for the drugs..."
He pointed to the pile of white powder, "It will disappear without a trace at the University of Chicago in less than a week and will no longer poison anyone."
Phil frowned:
Franky gave a rare smile: "We don't touch drugs, that's his principle. These things are handled professionally."
After the distribution was completed, Frankie's men left with their share.
Only two detectives and their six subordinates remained in the warehouse. The young officers' eyes gleamed as they looked at the pile of cash on the table—it represented several years' worth of their salaries.
"Sir, this..."
The youngest officer hesitated before speaking.
Phil took a deep breath: “Everyone take what’s rightfully theirs. Remember, what we’re doing tonight isn’t for money, it’s to clean up the community. If anyone asks, just give the prepared report.”
After his men had all left, Albert finally couldn't help but ask, "Old Chen, did we do the right thing? Cooperating with Victor Lee? He's not exactly an honest businessman."
“You can go and get married now. It’s the white-haired daughter of the detective next door that you’ve got your eye on. If you exchange all this for a house, he won’t refuse.”
Phil looked out the window at the sky that was beginning to lighten: "Is there any absolute right or wrong in this world? At least from tonight onwards, the streets of the South District will be much cleaner. Sometimes change requires extraordinary measures."
·······
The next day, the Chinese community was in an uproar.
Overnight, several illegal dens that had long plagued the community were raided and dozens of people were arrested—that’s what the official report said. But some observant people noticed that those who were ‘arrested’ never reappeared, and instead, the security company purchased a lot of metal barrels.
In the afternoon, Zhao, a highly respected boxer from the South District, was chosen as a representative to come to Victor Lee's office.
Viktor's office was unnaturally simple, with no personal belongings or decorations, only the necessary furniture and a computer.
He personally brewed tea for the old boxer, his movements elegant and composed.
"Master Zhao, what brings you here?"
Viktor asked with a smile, as if unaware of the other party's purpose.
Zhao, the boxer, cut straight to the point: "Victor, the community is in a state of panic. Did you orchestrate last night's operation? Were those people really just arrested?"
Victor slowly poured tea: "The Chicago police are fighting crime in accordance with the law. How could I, as a legitimate businessman, possibly 'direct' the police? I simply provided Officer Chen and his team with some community intelligence so that they could move to higher positions."
The old boxer stared into Victor's eyes: "Let's not beat around the bush. I know those people have disappeared. Also, why were only the Chinese illegal dens raided? The Italian and Black dens remained unscathed?"
Victor gently set down the teapot: "Master Zhao, you've been teaching boxing for many years, you should know that sometimes we need to focus our efforts on solving the most pressing problems. How can we talk about external development if we don't eliminate the internal problems within the community?"
"But this kind of vigilante justice is still unacceptable!"
The old boxer raised his voice, "And I've heard that you've forgiven all the debts of Chinese people, yet you continue to pursue debts from other ethnic groups? This will incite racial conflict!"
Victor's smile vanished, his eyes sharpening: "Master Zhao, do you know why the Chinese community is always bullied? Because we're too rule-abiding and too fragmented. When Sri was in power, he relied on violence and fear. I'm different."