I'm building Gundams in America

Chapter 488 A Good Omen (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

"Of course, Mr. Wayne, please don't hesitate to ask if there's anything I can help you with."

As a collector of tattooed human skin, Cannon Philip appeared polite at this moment, just as Wayne had when they first met.

"Speaking of which, Mr. Wayne, it's been so long since I heard from you, I thought you'd retired from the business of collecting corpses—"

"I've also seen some news about you online, and it's truly—amazing! Oh, Seattle Saint! It's an honor to be acquainted with you."

Wayne smiled slightly. Apart from his quirky hobby of collecting tattooed human skin, this Ganon Philip was a decent and polite businessman.

Wayne then slowly said, "Mr. Cannon, I'd like to inquire about the Bell Medical Laboratory, part of Johns Hopkins University. Are you familiar with this laboratory?"

Whether or not this Ganon and Bell Medical Laboratory knew each other, this was all a smokescreen.

On the surface, he sent Ganon Phillips to help gather information, thus confusing those secretly watching, such as those from Bell Medical Laboratory, and making them unsure of what Wayne really wanted to do.

Secretly, they had former FBI agents, led by Miller, conduct a thorough investigation.

Then Cannon said, "Mr. Wayne, you should know that Johns Hopkins University is enormous, with campuses all over the world."

There are more than a dozen, and countless laboratories affiliated with other organizations, so this Bell Labs is the first time I've ever heard of it.

"However, since you have a need, I can help you inquire about it. Consider it a small gift for our formal cooperation. Speaking of which, I do have a project that I need to work on with you."

Wayne nodded slightly and said, "Thank you, Mr. Cannon. May I ask what project it is?"

Ganon Philip lowered his voice instantly and said quickly, "It's like this, Mr. Wayne, as you should know, I also have my own medical laboratory. I'm currently working on a project, a cosmetic project. It's a highly profitable project. To put it simply, we extract certain substances from human skin, make them into injections, and then inject them into living people to restore their skin to a youthful state—"

"We have already collaborated with some beauty institutions in China and South Korea, and the initial experimental results were excellent. However, we are now facing a production bottleneck, mainly due to the lack of human body samples."

"This project has obtained all the government approvals, so there is no need to worry about compliance issues. The remaining issue is the supply of raw materials."

Wayne said, "If that's the case, Mr. Cannon, I think you should acquire it from an organization like St. Mary Biotech, rather than from a street urchin like me—considering the supply issue."

"No, no, no, Mr. Wayne, I've done my research on you," Cannon Philip said with a laugh on the other end of the phone. "You're as humble as an Asian—"

"Now even that damn GROK knows there's a Saints Gang in Seattle, and you also have a Kingdom Church. I've specifically inquired about it and heard the rumors. Those chaotic neighborhoods in South Seattle are all under your control now. God, it's practically a corpse farm—"

As he finished speaking, some strange images seemed to appear in Canon Philip's mind, and he couldn't help but let out a groan.

"And I saw on TikTok that you recently went to the slums of Los Angeles? Oh, that's a paradise for corpse collectors like me! Just think about it, drug addicts and homeless people dying of illness everywhere, their bodies, their skin, their tattoos!"

oh----"

Canon Philippe spoke at an extremely fast pace, clearly demonstrating that as a medical expert, corpse dealer, and skin collector, his knowledge of the streets far exceeded that of the average medical expert.

"No need to deny it, Mr. Wayne, I want to buy corpses from you, fresh corpses. I also have my own medical facility in Los Angeles, and I desperately need these raw materials right now. I don't care about the source or legality; I just want them fresh! Of course, I'd like half the market price—"

Upon hearing the other person's words, Wayne couldn't help but chuckle.

Although this Ganon Philip is a perverted man with the title of "leather merchant," he is quite a fascinating person, aside from his hobby of collecting human skin.

Clearly, the so-called corpse skin extraction technology the other party mentioned is not a legitimate business, so I wanted to contact him directly to purchase corpses.

Wayne smiled slightly and said, "Okay, Mr. Ganon, I'll give you a call if there are any opportunities for cooperation."

The other party was clearly very satisfied with this, and indeed had a strong craving for fresh corpses, so he said, "Great, Mr. Wayne, keep in touch."

With that, he hung up the phone.

By the time everything was settled, it was already late at night.

The streets outside were already quiet.

Wayne lay in the tent, fast asleep amidst the distant sounds of sirens, gunshots, and the roar of police helicopters overhead.

Wayne slept until the sun was high in the sky before waking up.

A commotion arose from the street outside the tent.

There were faint sounds of Spanish conversations and laughter.

Wayne immediately lifted the tent flap and went outside, and was slightly surprised by the scene before him.

After another night, the streets outside had become the domain of Latino gang members.

Hundreds of Latino gang members of all kinds were gathered on this street.

These people were either injured and lined up in front of Wayne's tent, or gathered in twos and threes on the street chatting.

There were even many small vendors—hot dog stands, hamburger stands, Mexican taco stands, secondhand clothing stands, and so on—setting up stalls.

They set up their stall on this street.

A scene of joy and harmony.

The members of the Saints Gang, especially the guard team led by Rhodes, patrolled the area constantly, deterring any outsiders who might dare to cause trouble.

This is also the guarantee of peace and tranquility on this street.

The scene before me is becoming more and more like Saints Street in Seattle's South Side.

As Wayne stepped out of the tent, someone spotted him and immediately shouted, "The saint is out!"

The group of people who had been whispering to each other immediately turned to look at Wayne.

Immediately, the people who were queuing formed an orderly line, and the gang members who had been chatting nearby gathered around, looking at Wayne with eager expressions: "Holy benefactor! Sir, please—please exorcise evil and grant me blessing—"

"Oh, this is Saint Wayne! My God, he's like Jesus stepping out of a tent—"

"God, saints bless you! Sir, I have joined the Kingdom of Heaven Church—"

"Holy Lord, thank you for your protection—"

A group of Latino gang members, as if they had encountered a superstar or idol, swarmed towards Wayne, muttering to themselves.

Some of them had already received Wayne's blessing, and now they were even more fanatical, rushing to Wayne's feet and kissing the ground beneath him.

Asoron and Anton, along with other guards, immediately stepped forward and stopped the fanatics.

To prevent people with ulterior motives from hiding inside.

After all, many of these Mexican Mafia gang members are drug addicts and scumbags, so it's not uncommon for them to repay kindness with enmity.

Rhodes stepped forward, eyeing the gang members warily, and whispered to Wayne, "Sir, even more people have fled here last night and this morning. Apparently, the Los Angeles Police Department has intensified Operation Sinaloa and is going all out—"

"These Mexican mafia members are running towards us like crazy, and some police officers almost chased them in—"

Fortunately, Sheriff Cyril was very conscientious and led his men to guard the area, persuading many police officers to leave.

"However, this made this area of ​​Poor Street even more famous, and even more people came here —"

At this point, Rod looked toward the street corner, his eyes becoming even more wary.

The area where Wayne is now located, spanning roughly ten blocks, has practically become a sanctuary for ordinary members of the Mexican Mafia in Los Angeles.

This situation was completely unexpected.

Who would have thought that just a few days ago the Mexican Mafia Commission was desperately hunting Wayne down, but now ordinary gang members are seeing Wayne as their lifeline?

What? A $200 million bounty? A $5000 million bounty? Can you even get it?

Let's focus on surviving the police guns first.

Wayne nodded slightly; this was exactly the effect he wanted.

He then instructed Rod, "Have David and Mike get some supplies to distribute to everyone, regardless of their background or origin. Let's eat our fill first."

Rod frowned, wanting to advise Wayne that the man was far too kind, and that these Mexican mafia members didn't deserve it.

Just then, the Mexican Mafia gang members in front of them, whether injured or not, all became solemn and dispersed to both sides, clearing a path.

Two muscular, tattooed men helped a man with gray hair and a gunshot wound to the shoulder walk over.

"Mr. Wayne, I really didn't expect that just a few days after hearing your name on the committee's conference call, I would be seeking your help —"

The man said to Wayne with a wry smile.

His lips were bloodless, and he also had a gunshot wound on one leg. His body was covered in dust and blood.

Clearly, they had just gone through a life-or-death struggle.

"Let me introduce myself, I am Arturo Diaz," the man said, extending his right hand to reveal a tattoo on his arm that showed an intersecting skull and an "M".

Wayne narrowed his eyes.

It's finally here.

This is a member of a Mexican Mafia committee.

The fishpond you carefully set up has attracted a good one, which is a good sign. It may lead to a whole school of fish.

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