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

Chapter 88 The Asian Uncle I Don't Recognize (5k)

Having driven away the troublesome old charlatan, Lyon emerged from the shadows of the alley and returned to the Ford van loaded with supplies.

By this time, twenty or thirty people had gathered in the porch and shelter from the rain downstairs in the apartment building.

The soundproofing in this old apartment building was already poor, and with the kids running around making a fuss, most of the residents who were suffering through the freezing rainy night on empty stomachs came down.

There were single mothers holding their babies, elderly women in their pajamas, and those little devils I'd just seen in the hallway.

Upon seeing Lyon appear, the neighbors, whose eyes had been filled with wariness and unease, instantly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Officer Vance! It really is you!"

"I knew it! Who else but Officer Vance would deliver things to us in this awful weather?"

"God bless you, child, you are such a good person."

Voices of gratitude began to rise from the crowd.

Because Leon had made quite a few appearances at Anderson's events in order to maintain his public image, he was a fairly well-known face in this building.

In addition, the truck had been parked there for half a day, and the driver was nowhere to be found, so everyone naturally assumed that the police officer had bought it out of his own pocket so that these poor people could have a good holiday.

"Thank you so much, the children haven't eaten all day!"

Several single mothers looked at the steaming food in the carriage, their eyes reddening, and they thanked the staff while making the sign of the cross on their chests.

Lyon looked at the group of people but didn't offer any further explanation.

He had no interest in taking credit for that old charlatan, but he was also too lazy to correct the fact that he had been forced to say it at gunpoint.

The result is the same anyway, as long as everyone can have food.

Among the crowd, amidst the elderly, the infirm, and the disabled, were a few tall men dressed in worn-out work clothes or flannel shirts.

These redneck guys are usually the loudest in the neighborhood. They do manual labor like repairing cars and unclogging sewers. Their cars always have the Stars and Stripes on the back, and they're always spouting "Make America Great Again."

But at this moment, they huddled at the back of the crowd, their hands in the pockets of their worn-out jackets, their eyes darting around, appearing timid and hesitant. Some kept their heads down, staring at the tips of their boots, while others hid half their bodies behind a pillar, not daring to make eye contact with Leon.

Lyon knew perfectly well what was going on.

For these blue-collar workers who value their self-esteem and the American tough guy spirit more than their own lives, receiving welfare and being given handouts is worse than death.

If they weren't truly desperate, with their wives and children at home so hungry they didn't even have the strength to cry, these prideful guys would never have stooped to stand in line here.

"Alright, stop being so polite."

Leon waved his hand and pointed to a few familiar names: "Old Joe, and Matthew over there, stop cowering, come lend a hand!"

"Move these pizzas and hot soup into the lobby; it's raining too hard, don't let them get wet."

The rednecks whose names were called paused for a moment, then nodded gratefully, rolled up their sleeves, and rushed forward.

Making them do some work instead of taking things for free will make them feel a little better.

Just as everyone was busy moving things, Lyon suddenly caught a glimpse of something unusual out of the corner of his eye.

At the edge of the crowd, there were a few kids who had just run down, each holding a steaming hot hamburger!

Look at that wrapper with the yellow "m" printed on it, it's definitely a McDonald's meal.

As they wolfed down their hamburgers, they excitedly whispered to the other children who hadn't gotten any, their unusual behavior causing a small commotion on the edge of the hungry crowd.

Lyon frowned.

Anderson brought pizzas and roast chicken, where did the McDonald's come from?

"Um?"

Leon walked over with some curiosity and looked down at a little kid with his mouth full of salad dressing.

"Eat slowly, don't choke. Where did this burger come from? Is it a McDonald's Halloween special?"

The little brat, his mouth stuffed full, pointed upstairs and mumbled, "No, Uncle Vance."

"It's coming from upstairs—the third floor. There's an unfamiliar Asian man in Uncle Gary's room."

"He bought several large bags of McDonald's and was handing them out one by one, giving them to every child he saw."

Asian uncle?

Distributing hamburgers in Uncle Gary's room?

The image of the old white man named Gary flashed through Leon's mind.

Gary, his upstairs neighbor, was in his fifties, a devout conservative, and a retired veteran who had served in the Iraq War.

This guy's family, going back three generations, all served in the military.

By Gary's generation, he had fought for Uncle Sam overseas for more than 20 years.

People in the community boast that this old guy killed dozens of people on the battlefield back in the day, received medals, and had an impressive track record—he was an absolute war machine.

After retiring and returning to China, due to inflation and all sorts of miscellaneous interest rates, he still hasn't finished paying off the student loans he took out in the 1990s to attend university.

The meager allowance is simply not enough to cover his expenses, and with various other costs to be covered, he now works as the head of security at a university student dormitory.

How could this old-fashioned veteran family, who are usually very wary of outsiders, suddenly allow a strange Asian face to host a McDonald's party in their living room?

The scene is just so bizarre.

"That's interesting."

Lyon stroked his chin.

"Old Joe, you guys stay here and maintain order while distributing the supplies."

Lyon patted Old Joe, who was carrying a carton of milk, on the shoulder: "I'll go upstairs and take a look."

"Yes, Officer Vance, don't worry, leave this to us!"

Lyon turned around, walked through the excited crowd, and strode into the stairwell.

We've arrived at the third floor.

The corridor was filled with the strong smell of French fries.

The front door of the Gary house was slightly ajar, letting in warm yellow light and the sound of a rugby match playing on the television. Leon walked to the half-open door, raised his hand to knock, but his movement froze in mid-air.

A voice came from inside.

"No, no, no—listen to me, little one."

The voice carried a familiar Eastern accent, still sounding listless and stilted, its grammar halting: "One serving per person, limited quantity, understand?"

"Adults? No. Adults can't have it. This stuff is too high in calories; it'll give them high blood pressure. It's only for kids."

Immediately afterwards, a childish voice, tinged with a hint of sadness, rang out: "But—sir, my brother is hungry too."

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"He worked all day at the repair shop, but he couldn't bear to spend money on food. He said the bank sent a payment reminder, and if he didn't pay off his student loan this week, the interest would double—he hadn't had a proper meal in two days."

A brief, suffocating silence fell inside the door.

Then came a heavy sigh.

"well----"

A rustling sound of paper bags being rubbed together.

"Take it."

The stammering voice rang out again, this time lowering its tone: "It's only because today is Vance Day—oh no, Halloween."

"Hide it in your clothes, don't let anyone see, and don't tell the other children you took two. Go on, go home quickly."

"Thank you! Thank you, sir!"

The child exclaimed in surprise, followed by a series of hurried footsteps, and the door was suddenly pulled open.

A small figure carrying two hamburgers wrapped in paper bags rushed out like a gust of wind, almost bumping into Leon who was standing at the door, and happily ran to the other end of the corridor.

As the child left, the scene inside the house was laid bare before Lyon.

Lyon looked into the room through the door.

The heating in the room was on full blast, making it even a bit stuffy.

A group of people crowded around an old dining table that looked quite old.

Gary, the neighbor who usually had a serious face and considered himself a veteran, was sitting in the main seat at this moment, surrounded by his wife, his seemingly honest eldest son, his two daughters, and his daughter-in-law, with a loud and boisterous grandson in his arms.

A typical American family dinner; although most of the food on the table was fast food, the atmosphere was still quite warm.

At the entrance, a tall figure stood with his back to the door, arranging several huge McDonald's paper bags.

Seemingly sensing the cold wind behind him, the person subconsciously turned around.

Eyes facing each other.

Leon raised an eyebrow, a look of surprise on his face.

That deathly pale face, those dark circles under his eyes, and that expression that suggested he might die at any moment.

Isn't this Alex, the client who was complaining to him about his back breaking in the industrial park just yesterday?

How did he end up in this run-down apartment building, handing out McDonald's in a veteran's living room?

"Alex?"

Leon was somewhat surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Damn! Lyon?"

What are you doing here?

Alex nearly dropped the hamburger in his hand.

He looked at the imposing Leon standing at the door, and his previous dazed, sleepy state vanished instantly, replaced by a visibly tense expression.

broken!

Alex's heart pounded.

Normally, he would just greet someone he knows and that would be it.

But the problem is, this situation doesn't seem like a coincidence, does it?

The intelligence department at Xida University finally discovered that he had been making sarcastic remarks about them online.

On the surface, he was a hardworking international student who also worked part-time as a body collector.

But in reality, he is a hardcore blogger on a certain video website in China, specializing in live-streaming his complaints and rants about the miserable and surreal situation at Xida University.

That shouldn't be happening!

He went to great lengths to prevent the box from being opened.

He registered the account using a fake identity and also had several safe houses in Seattle as backups.

After all, they were fleecing capitalism on American soil, and incidentally exposing America's dirty secrets as well.

If this were discovered by those idle agents of the FBI or CIA, it would definitely be considered an act of infiltration by foreign forces or espionage.

Normally they might be too lazy to care about small roles like themselves, but now it's the time of year to boost performance!

Now, a Seattle cop who just made headlines has somehow managed to find the place where he was celebrating Halloween on a rainy night.

So, in what capacity did Lyon come here?

A friend? The ACU team leader? Is he here to catch up, or to check the water meter?

"Um... officer?"

Alex chuckled twice and subtly took half a step back.

"What a coincidence—you're here to freeload too? The adults won't allow it."

While he chuckled, his mind raced, wondering what he should do if Leon pulled out handcuffs, and whether he would break his leg if he jumped out of the window from the third floor.

Lyon couldn't help but roll his eyes at the guy's tense expression.

Although he had no idea what kind of spy thriller was playing out in this guy's mind, his nervous reaction was too obvious.

"You're kidding me."

"I live here," Leon said irritably, releasing his hand from the holster on his waist and leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "It's downstairs."

He pointed to the floor, "I came up here to see which kind person was handing out food, but I didn't expect it to be you."

Lyon looked Alex up and down, his eyes full of doubt: "What? Ren'ai Bio has expanded into the food delivery business? Or is the market for corpses so good today that you've made too much money and don't know what to do with it?"

"ah----?"

Alex paused for a moment, then his tense muscles slowly relaxed.

It turned out to be the case.

They live downstairs; they're not here to arrest people.

"Ahem—well, haha."

He scratched his head awkwardly, the wariness on his face dissipating, and he returned to his half-dead, listless state: "Ah—what a coincidence!"

"What a small world! Hahaha!"

Hey! Vance!

While Alex was still awkwardly laughing, Gary, who was sitting at the head of the table, also noticed the commotion at the door.

The veteran, over fifty years old, put down his beer can, stood up, and the gentle smile he had for his family transformed into a rugged smile with a hint of appreciation and approval the moment he saw Lyon.

In Gary's eyes, Lyon was a really good young man.

Although he's usually a bit of a scoundrel, isn't that what an American soldier should be like?

Moreover, this young man frequently participates in community activities and is a true tough guy who works on the streets.

Gary watched the news, especially the last two days, several times. He even slapped his thigh and cheered in front of the TV, as if he were seeing himself patrolling the streets of Fallujah when he was young.

"What are you doing standing at the door? Come in! If you don't mind the noise from all these kids, how about a drink?"

Gary waved enthusiastically, his weathered face full of sincerity.

"No, Gary."

Leon stood at the doorway, not stepping over the threshold, but simply waving with a smile: "There are still dozens of people waiting to eat downstairs, I just came up to check on things. Enjoy your meal and have a happy Halloween."

"You're a very busy person, well done."

Gary raised his glass in a perfunctory toast but didn't insist.

After exchanging pleasantries, Leon turned his gaze back to Alex, who was still blocking the doorway, and the several large McDonald's paper bags filled to the brim on the ground.

He counted silently in his mind.

Good guy.

The contents of these bags alone are enough for at least thirty or forty Big Mac meals.

This is no small sum of money. Even in the United States, where fast food is cheap, this pile of stuff would cost several hundred to nearly a thousand US dollars.

Although a few hundred dollars might not be much to Alex, who had just made a windfall, having money and being willing to spend it on strangers are two different things.

"Tsk tsk."

Leon looked at Alex, his gaze softening slightly, and teased, "Not bad, Fatty. You've really gone all out?"

"Are you planning to fatten up all the kids in this building?"

"Hey—don't even mention it."

Alex scratched his head somewhat awkwardly: "I made some dirty money, and I feel uneasy about it. I'm thinking of spending some money to avoid further trouble."

"Besides, I can't bear to see children go hungry. Anyway, this money was taken from the dead, so spending it on the living is a good deed."

Lyon looked at this hypocritical guy, a strange glint in his eyes.

This guy is interesting.

They usually seem sarcastic and gloomy, but they can be quite humane when it really matters.

"Alright, stop lamenting about life."

Leon suddenly reached out and grabbed Alex's sleeve without asking for his permission.

"Since you're so aware of this, that's good."

"Stop handing out hamburgers here, you won't get many left. Keep these bags of food for Gary and his family to eat slowly."

.

"Come downstairs with me."

"what?"

Alex froze for a moment, then clung to the doorframe, looking completely bewildered. "I haven't finished distributing these yet—why are you coming downstairs?"

Leon didn't give him a chance to refuse, and with a little force, he pulled him out of the room: "I just got a truckload of good stuff. Pizza, roast chicken, hot soup, all you can eat."

"Since you enjoy doing good deeds so much, then don't just sit there, come down with me and distribute the stuff."

"ha?!"

Alex was abruptly dragged into the stairwell, completely stunned.

He stared wide-eyed at the back of Leon's head, as if he had heard something out of the blue.

Get a truckload? How did you do that?

Should we still issue relief?

Is this something Leon Vance would do?

In his mind, Lyon, this kind of American policeman, was the standard template of a corrupt cop!

Violent law enforcement, accepting bribes, colluding with gangs, and killing without blinking an eye.

Would someone like that go and distribute a truckload of pizzas to the poor?

What kind of international joke is this?

This is as absurd as hearing that the Godfather Corleone suddenly decided to volunteer at a kindergarten.

"No—Officer Vance?"

As they reached the stairwell, Alex, being dragged down the stairs, couldn't help but complain, "Are you serious? Aren't you the kind of—well, the more pragmatic kind of cop?"

"Your philanthropy is even more outrageous than me eating authentic sweet and sour pork in Seattle."

Upon hearing this, Lyon, who was walking ahead, stopped in his tracks.

He simply replied in perfect Mandarin, "You're talking nonsense."

"I'm known as a philanthropist around here, I'm always doing charity work, okay?"

"Have you ever heard the saying that saving a life is better than building a seven-story pagoda? A pagoda is incredibly powerful. If you come and help me, I'll give you one level."

"----ah?"

Alex was completely petrified.

The shock he felt at that moment was even greater than the sight of the tent full of dismembered bodies he had seen the night before.

If learning that Lyon was doing charity work just made him feel a little uncomfortable...

Now, this authentic Chinese curse, coupled with that absurd seven-story pagoda, completely shattered his worldview.

Although he knew Lyon could speak Chinese before, at that time it was mostly for serious work communication, and he was at most considered a foreigner with a good aptitude for languages.

But now?

If he closed his eyes, he would think he was in some alleyway in China, and had run into an old man who was about to take him to do good deeds!

"Holy crap?!"

Alex's mouth dropped open, and after a long pause, he managed to stammer, "You're really American?!"