I searched and fought in America.

Chapter 109 The Believer's Choice

The morning sun shone on the walls of Zion Chapel. Usually at this time, long lines would have formed at the chapel entrance, with people waiting to receive relief food and for Pastor Meyer to distribute sandwiches.

But today, there was no one at the door.

In the back hall of the church, a heavy wooden door was tightly closed.

Inside the door, a dozen or so people sat in a circle.

There were elderly people with gray hair, workers with calloused hands, young mothers holding babies, and several teenagers with solemn expressions.

On everyone's face was an overwhelming sense of anxiety and anger.

"Uncle Silas, please say something!"

A gruff voice broke the silence.

The speaker was a young Black man in his mid-twenties, broad-shouldered and muscular, who was Marcus, the porter in the community.

At this moment, he was so anxious that the veins on his forehead bulged, and his fists clenched so tightly they cracked: "Pastor Mair has been detained for almost ten hours! Are we just going to sit here like this?"

Sitting opposite him was an elderly white man in his sixties.

Silas, a respected elder in the community, has lived near Zion Cathedral for forty years, watching generations grow up.

His hair was completely white, and his face was etched with the lines of time. He didn't answer Marcus, but slowly scanned the people present before speaking: "Marcus, what do you think we should do?"

Marcus jumped to his feet: "What do we do? Go find someone! Go save him!"

He waved his thick arms: "With so many people in our community, are we afraid of those scumbags from the Fang Gang? I know a few veterans who've fought in wars, and a few brothers with guns. If we want, we can storm their lair tonight!"

"Nonsense!"

A shrill female voice interrupted him.

The speaker was a middle-aged white woman in her fifties sitting next to Silas. Her hair was neatly combed, and she was wearing a faded apron.

She was Elena, the shrewd and direct shopkeeper who ran the grocery store in the neighborhood: "Marcus, are you out of your mind? Who are the Fangs? They're a ruthless gang! You bring a few armed brothers, do you think you can take on dozens of them?"

Marcus retorted, "Then what do we do? Just wait around?"

"You can take legal steps."

A middle-aged man wearing glasses pushed up his glasses. He was one of the few "intellectuals" in the community and worked as an accountant in a small company: "We can petition together, expose it to the media, and contact the municipal government. Pastor Meyer has been in our community for so many years and has done so many good deeds. If this gets out, the pressure from public opinion will be too much for the government to ignore."

Marcus scoffed: "Public opinion? The government?"

He pointed out the window: "Go out and look, look at those homeless people, look at those who can't afford to eat. Has the government done anything about it? Has the media done anything about it? By the time your petition is approved, by the time the media is willing to report on it, Pastor Meyer will be heartbroken!"

The bespectacled man's face flushed red: "That doesn't mean you can act recklessly like that! Violence won't solve anything!"

"Violence doesn't solve problems, but it can punish the people who create them!"

Marcus roared.

There was a moment of silence in the back hall.

In the corner, an elderly white man wearing a worn-out plaid shirt slowly raised his head.

He was the old white man who had chatted with Rosen at the homeless camp. He was sitting on the edge of the crowd, his face still bearing traces of tears.

"Marcus is right."

His voice was firm: "I've seen what those so-called legal channels are like. When I was framed and imprisoned, the lawyer said he could help me, the judge said he would be fair, and what happened? I served three years in jail, and that guy got away scot-free."

He paused, then looked at Silas: "Uncle Silas, I know you mean well, but in this world, good people don't always get good rewards, unless they also have guns."

Silas frowned, but did not refute.

Elena sighed and tried to smooth things over: "Stop arguing. Marcus has a point, and the uncle has a point too. We can't just wait around, but we can't act recklessly either."

She thought for a moment, then suddenly said, "Do you guys remember that 'Houston hero' from the news a while back?"

Everyone was stunned.

"That Chinese guy?" Marcus frowned. "What the hell—"

"Rosen," Elena said, "the Holy Father of the Iron Claws, the one who single-handedly rushed into the sewers and saved more than a dozen people."

Silas frowned even more deeply: "Elena, what are you trying to say?"

Elena took a deep breath: "I heard that although Rosen is involved in a gang, he has a good reputation. His Iron Claw gang never touches drugs, doesn't bully the poor, and has even helped solve a lot of problems in the community."

She paused, then said, "Could we... ask him for help?"

"What?"

The bespectacled man was the first to jump up: "Get the gang's help? Elena, are you crazy? That's like asking a tiger for its skin!"

Silas shook his head as well: "Elena, Pastor Mair spent his whole life fighting against violence and evil. We can't save him in the way he opposed."

Elena panicked: "Uncle Silas, I know your concerns, but I heard that Rosen is different! He saved those people in the sewers without taking a single penny! Besides, he's of Chinese descent and has no financial ties with the Fang Gang, so he won't try to extort us!"

Marcus's eyes lit up: "Yes! That Rosen! I've heard of him! His men are all formidable! If he'd be willing to help—"

That's enough.

Silas's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable authority.

He stood up, leaning on his cane, and slowly walked to the window, his back to the crowd: "Have you thought about this? Even if that Rosen is willing to help, how can we repay him? How much money can we possibly raise?"

Everyone fell silent.

Yes, money.

How much can these poor slum dwellers possibly contribute?

Marcus opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.

Elena also lowered her head.

Just then, a childish voice rang out.

"I—I know where they've locked Pastor Meyer up."

Everyone was stunned.

They turned their heads and looked at the source of the sound.

In the corner, a thin boy stood up.

He was about thirteen or fourteen years old, wearing old clothes that were obviously a size too big. He was the little Joshua of the community, whose parents had died early and who had been cared for by Pastor Meyer.

Silas turned to look at the child: "Little Joshua, what did you say?"

Joshua's hands were trembling, but his eyes were firm: "Yesterday—yesterday afternoon, I was playing in the alley behind the church when I saw a black van drive by, and then—then Pastor Mair was dragged out of the church by several people and shoved into the van."

Marcus rushed over and squatted down in front of him: "Did you see the license plate number?"

Joshua nodded: "I—I've written it down."

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, on which a string of numbers was written crookedly.

Marcus took the piece of paper, his hands trembling.

"Good lad! Good lad!"

Joshua Jr. continued, "I—I secretly followed them for a while. Their car drove into the East District and into an abandoned factory. There were guards outside the factory, and I didn't dare to go near it, so—I ran back."

Eastside.

Abandoned factory.

They exchanged glances, and each saw hope in the other's eyes.

Silas remained silent for a long time.

Then he spoke slowly, his voice sounding several degrees older than before: "Marcus, Elena."

The two of them immediately looked at him.

"Take the money and go find that Rosen." He paused. "Our community should be able to scrape together tens of thousands of dollars."

Marcus's eyes lit up: "Uncle Silas, you agree?"

Silas didn't answer, but looked out the window and murmured, "Pastor Meyer said that sometimes God helps mortals."

He turned around and looked at everyone: "My old buddies and I will go to the city government, petition, contact the media, and put pressure on the Fangtooth Gang, even if it's just to hold them off for a while."

He looked at Marcus: "Go find that Rosen. If he's willing to help, tell him that our Zion community owes him a favor."

"If he refuses—"

Silas didn't continue.

But everyone understands.

Marcus nodded emphatically: "I'll go right now!"

He and Elena quickly walked out of the back hall.

Behind him, Joshua suddenly called out, "Uncle Marcus!"

Marcus turned around.

Little Joshua bit his lip, his eyes reddening: "We must save Pastor Mair."

Marcus glanced at him and nodded vigorously.

Then he turned and disappeared into the morning light.

It's finished, it's finished. Regular updates will resume from now on.

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