You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

"Boss, look at that."

Harrison leaned close to Lyon's ear and whispered:

"That guy's name is Fatty Z."

"He's the cousin of the 12th Street Boys' gang leader, or some distant nephew or something."

"You know what these black gangs are like."

Harrison explained:

"Once someone gets rich and becomes the boss, all sorts of relatives from their hometown will send over to seek refuge with them, including aunts and uncles who don't want to work and only want to make money."

"These kinds of people usually don't have much ability, but they are family members after all."

"So the boss usually entrusts these lucrative places, which don't require much brainpower and only require supervision, to them, as a way of giving their families an explanation."

"In other words, this guy is the actual controller of this store and a member of the gang's inner circle."

Lyon nodded after listening.

It turns out he was a big fish with connections.

Just right.

He pushed aside a croupier blocking his way, stepped onto the thick carpet, and walked straight to the gambling table.

Fatty Z stared at the plainclothes officer who walked straight toward him, his mind clearly still reeling from the card game they had just played.

Here on 12th Street, he's always the one causing trouble for others; no police officer would dare to barge right up to his gambling table.

He slammed the deck of cards on the table, about to open his greasy mouth and intimidate people by mentioning his ruthless cousin's name:

"You freaking know I am...?"

The word "who" hadn't even been uttered yet.

"Bang!"

A powerful hand gripped him tightly.