Being carried onto an ambulance at the start? But this is America!

With the card information to back him up, Li Ping felt confident that getting Miles' help to repair the car wouldn't be difficult.

He gave his two underlings an instruction, signaling them to keep an eye on the Cadillac.

If you park in this godforsaken place and no one watches for a few minutes, those drug addicts, like hyenas, could tear the car wheels off and replace them with drugs.

"Hello, Miles."

With a gentle smile, Li Ping led the swaying Fletcher over.

Miles, who was repairing a radio by the wall, suddenly looked up. He didn't react much when he saw Li, but when he saw Fletcher behind him, his eyes instantly became alert. He subconsciously hid the child behind him.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"I've heard your story and wanted to talk to you about it, and maybe get my car fixed while I'm at it."

Li Ping spread his hands, indicating that he had no weapons.

"Oh? You've heard my story?"

Upon discovering that this Asian man was in charge, Miles' previously tense shoulders relaxed, his previously hunched posture straightened, and a hint of pride appeared on his face.

"That's true, Miles is a well-known name in the auto repair industry."

Li Ping's eyelids twitched wildly, and he was speechless.

What's with this feeling of a retired dragon king?

However, it does fit his stereotype of American TV shows where overlooked talents are inherently arrogant.

"Uncle, my dad is really good at fixing cars!"

The white kid hiding behind Miles—Little Miles couldn't contain himself any longer.

He keenly sensed a money-making opportunity and, eager to promote his product, leaned forward and looked eagerly at Li Ping:

"My dad used to be the king of modified cars in the West. No matter how broken your car was, as long as he was around, it could outrun the Los Santos cops!"

The little guy's voice carried a hint of barely perceptible excitement. Having been homeless for more than half a month, he knew all too well that not having work meant not having food to eat and not being able to afford oil.

Miles blushed slightly and sighed with feigned world-weariness, "That's all in the past, kid. Tell me, how much are you prepared to pay me to come out of retirement?"

Fletcher, standing next to him, immediately looked completely bewildered.

Li Ping rolled his eyes inwardly. At a time like this, they were still putting on a show of ceremony. He needed to defuse Miles' arrogance.

"I asked you to fix my car, not to hold a press conference for me."

Li Ping patiently cut to the chase, "Fix it, and you can get what you need."

"There really is only one car!"

A hint of disappointment flashed in Miles' eyes, and his feigned arrogance instantly crumbled.

He patted his son and quoted what he considered an exorbitant price: "To fix it for you, it'll cost at least three hundred dollars, not a penny less!"

"make a deal."

Li Ping agreed with unusual ease, "Moreover, if the repairs are done well, I can consider giving you a long-term job."

Li Ping liked homeless people the most, those who had families, loved ones, and a skill.

Compared to those drug addicts with unfocused eyes who might stab someone for five dollars at any moment, people like Miles, who are responsible, are the most solid foundation for his expansion.

Upon hearing the word "job," little Miles shook his arm frantically: "Dad, please say yes! God, are we finally going to have jobs?"

Miles didn't nod immediately. He looked at Li Ping, then at the familiar-looking Fletcher behind him, his eyes filled with suspicion: "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"We are from the Bridge Hole Cooperation Association, currently operating in the seventh and eighth blocks," Li Ping casually stated.

"Oh, I see!"

Miles looked enlightened, and the wariness in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a look of disbelief as if he were looking at a monster. "You guys are that eccentric gang that claims to 'not touch leaves, not sell flour'?"

"I heard the leader is a lawyer? Rumor has it that you're planning to build a second Vatican here."

He had seen plenty of gangs in the slums, some dealing drugs, some robbing people. Outcasts like the Bridge Underground Cooperative Association had long been the talk of the town.

He had been wondering how he could consult that lawyer about some things, but the opportunity came knocking on his door.

Li Ping asked in surprise, "Are we that famous?"

However, the one leading the group is a lawyer. Is this referring to Roland?

"Of course, in the slums, gangs that don't deal drugs are rarer than dogs that don't eat shit!" Miles exclaimed sincerely.

"Can you really take us in?"

Little Miles tilted his head back, his eyes full of anticipation, and asked, "I want to be a lawyer when I grow up, as good as Ms. Roland, is that okay?"

In his limited worldview, lawyers were like gods, living in Beverly Hills and eating at marble tables.

They subconsciously ignored the fact that lawyers are currently homeless.

"sure."

Li Ping bent down, gently patted little Miles' head, and said in a gentle but firm tone, "When you grow up, Attorney Roland will definitely be willing to teach you."

The little guy jumped up excitedly, grabbed Miles's hand, and pulled him towards the Cadillac: "Dad, let's go, let's get the car fixed!"

Miles, seeing his son's excited expression, finally breathed a sigh of relief and nodded: "Okay, I'll go with you."

The group returned to the huge Cadillac.

When Miles saw the old car with its sharp lines and decadent elegance, his previous sense of dejection vanished instantly.

Like a lovestruck romantic who had just met his first love, he circled the car, gently stroking its elongated waistline with his palm.

"My God, a 96 Wood, still the same model as the president's, with a V8 engine!"

Miles leaned over the hood and listened, his eyes darting around like he was admiring a beautiful woman.

"Look at those original wheel caps, and that perfectly modified presidential-level flagpole lifter? This car must have been custom-made for some big shot!"

"This thing can go up and down?"

Li Ping raised an eyebrow. He had initially thought the two flagpoles were too conspicuous and was figuring out how to remove them.

"Of course, but this hydraulic system is as old as my grandfather's joints, it's stuck."

Miles expertly examined the details. "Fixing it isn't difficult, but I don't even have a wrench right now. I need a set of professional tools."

He changed the subject, his tone becoming somewhat helpless.

"That's easy."

Li Ping clapped his hands. "Come with us to Will's Auto Repair Shop on Eighth Street. Feel free to use the facilities and tools."

On your own turf, borrowing a repair shop is a piece of cake; all you have to do is give them some money.

Li Ping led the way in his Cadillac, while Miles followed behind in his wrecked pickup truck, which rattled everywhere except for its bell, with his son in tow.

They kept all their belongings inside, at least preventing them from actually living on the streets.

The two cars drove one after the other to Will's auto repair shop on the eighth block. The owner, Will, was a short, stout Latino who overheard Li Ping's purpose.

"Mr. Ping, need the space? Feel free to use it!"

He didn't want to offend the head of the cooperative that now controlled two blocks.