I'm building Gundams in America

"I'm glad you're satisfied, sir. It's my pleasure to serve you."

"I'm a white barber," said Steve with a smile, turning to look at White in the doorway as he continued trimming Wayne's beard.

"Sir, is there anything I can help you with?"

White met Wayne's gentle gaze through the mirror and said, slightly flustered:

"Ah, I... I'll come back later."

With that, he turned and left.

Steve shrugged, holding the scissors in his hand, and said with a smile:

"This gentleman seems to be in a hurry."

Wayne nodded and said:

"Life is always busy, perhaps he has other things to do."

Steve Blake, an elite orc nicknamed "The Barber," comes from the Jose branch of the MS-13 Horde. He's a street hustler and hallucinogen distributor in the dungeons, known for flaunting his wealth. He uses his barbershop as a cover for practicing medicine and promoting his hallucinogens. He escaped the Dark Court's Golden Tax Vampire Knights' control. His ledgers are hidden in a golden cabinet behind an oil painting on the dungeon wall.

Wayne raised an eyebrow.

Although Steve is seen as a quack doctor by the people in this community, his true identity is still that of a drug lord.

The so-called medical practice is nothing more than getting clients addicted to drugs, gradually increasing the dosage, and then buying overpriced enhancers from them.

Drug lords often have a cover business to launder money and protect their core operations.

Sometimes it's a laundromat.

Sometimes it's a fried chicken shop.

Steve chose the barbershop.

Wayne remained calm as he looked at the information displayed on the panel in front of him, having already made his decision.

As the lord of the shelter, he discovered last night that he could hear any sound in the shelter if he wanted to.

He also overheard the conversation between Old Will and the others last night.

White is prepared to sacrifice himself to assassinate Steve. Regardless of whether he succeeds or not, even if he does succeed, Jose's gang will be able to trace White's identity back to Wayne.

There are no secrets on the streets.

Every homeless person is a constantly moving source of information on the street.

Therefore, early this morning, Wayne followed the information on Old Joe's phone and went directly to the barbershop to find Steve.

As expected, there were some gains.

At this moment, Wayne was wearing a thick linen-colored geometric patterned sweater and loose trousers. His face was clean, and he looked like an artist.

After all, the line between an artist and a homeless person is often very thin.

His originally messy beard has become much neater after Steve carefully trimmed it.

Steve looked at Wayne in the mirror and said with some doubt:

"Sir, haven't I seen you somewhere before? You look somewhat familiar."

Wayne shrugged and said with a smile:

"Many people say I look like Jack from 'Golden Childhood'."

Steve suddenly realized and laughed:

"Yes, it really does look alike! No wonder it looked familiar."

The trimming was now mostly complete. Wayne lowered his voice and said:

"A friend of mine told me that this place can treat illnesses... My back has been hurting for many days, and the doctor at the hospital has scheduled a check-up for me in six months, but I really can't wait that long..."

Upon hearing this, Steve was taken aback at first, then carefully examined Wayne, sensing that the other man didn't seem to be from the police or a pharmaceutical company, and said in a low voice:

"plz follow me."

As he spoke, he made a gesture, and two assistants immediately stepped forward to close the curtain.

Steve then pushed open the door to the inner room and went inside.

Wayne immediately followed the other person into the inner room, where he found a place resembling a hair salon with two large mirrors.

Steve walked to the mirror, placed his palm on the glass, and a fingerprint recognition system appeared on the mirror. Then, a floor tile on the ground immediately slid to one side, revealing a hidden door.

Steve looked at Wayne, a hint of smugness in his eyes, and said:

"How about it? This secret door is from Tokyo University, absolutely high-tech."

With that, he led Wayne through the door.

Upon entering the underground area, one is surprised to find a fully equipped clinic.

It even has a CT scanner, two medical beds, and a full set of dental equipment.

There was even a nurse wearing a white coat and a mask.

They're quite professional.

"Sir, I haven't asked your name yet?" Steve, having changed into a white coat and put on a stethoscope, asked Wayne.

Wayne said:

"My name is Simon Cervantes, and I live at number twelve Omar Street... You know, I'm quite happy with that house; there's even a tree in my lawn."

Steve gave a professional smile and asked:

Could you describe your symptoms?

Wayne looked troubled, rubbed his back, and said:

"Symptoms? It seems like this area has been hurting..."

Steve frowned, listened to Wayne's heart rate with a stethoscope, and then gently pressed along both sides of Wayne's spine, asking about the points of pain.

Judging from Wayne's description, it seems that there are quite a few places where he is in pain.

After the inspection was completed, Steve once again flashed a professional smile and said:

"I've checked it out; it's just mild nerve pain. Some painkillers should be enough."

Wayne looked troubled and said:

"Do painkillers require a prescription? But I..."

Steve smiled and said:

"Relax, I don't need that kind of thing."

As he spoke, he opened a drawer, took out a bottle of medicine, and placed it in front of Wayne.

"This bottle of medicine is enough to restore your health, and it won't affect your work, for only... $300."

Wayne frowned and said:

"So expensive? This isn't OxyContin, is it? I know that kind of drug is addictive, and I don't want to become an addict. I've seen that movie, what's it called... 'Addictive Dosage'?"

Steve laughed and said:

"Please rest assured, Mr. Simon, the misuse of OxyContin is illegal. It's just a regular painkiller, the latest type."

After a pause, Steve continued:

"Furthermore, you should know that I'm selling these at prices far below market value. These medicines come from India, and I have my own... channels. Plus the $300 consultation fee, the total is only $600."

"You should understand how much it will cost to go to the hospital, especially if you don't have health insurance."

Wayne nodded, picked up the medicine bottle, and said:

"Okay, Dr. Steve, thank you for your treatment."

He then put away the medicine bottle, took out a wad of cash from his pocket, counted out $600, and handed it to the receptionist nurse.

Led by Steve, he left the cellar via the stairs and returned to the barbershop upstairs.

Just as I was about to exchange a few pleasantries and leave, the door of the barbershop was pushed open, and a pale, haggard, but pretty young white girl walked in.

She looked only a teenager, but her face bore a weariness that belied her age.

"Mr. Steve, I...I need to take that medicine, that rainbow medicine...I've already finished the last dose..."

Steve glanced at her, then at Wayne, and said:

"Come with me."

As he spoke, he led the girl into the inner room.

Wayne walked out of the barbershop and onto the street, opened the medicine bottle and looked at the pills inside.

This bottle of medicine costs three hundred dollars and contains about thirty pills.

They were all brightly colored pills.

Rainbow Fentanyl.

This stuff is made up of pure fentanyl and industrial dyes; to put it simply, it's dyed fentanyl without a prescription.

Generally speaking, these are disguised drugs specifically made by drug dealers.

This substance is just as potent as regular fentanyl, reaching 50-100 times the potency of morphine and OxyContin.

It is extremely addictive, far exceeding that of heroin.

Osci-Contin is like a little brother compared to it.

Moreover, withdrawal from this stuff is even more painful.

Steve's illegal clinic was nothing more than a drug trafficking den—if viewed from the perspective of the University of Tokyo.

To put it bluntly, the hospital at Xida University also prescribes this stuff; the only difference is that one requires a prescription and the other doesn't.

However, Steve's initial practice of administering fentanyl to patients was clearly aimed at expanding his clientele.

An ordinary person who occasionally falls ill is of little value to him, far less than someone who is addicted to drugs and uses them long-term.

Moreover, the normal black market price for one of these is only about $1, so Steve selling them for $30 is already extremely profitable.

After figuring out what kind of person this Steve really was, Wayne pulled out Saul's phone from his pocket, searched for a while, and found the website of the Internal Revenue Service (IRS).

The online reporting portal was found quickly.

There are two types of reports.

One type is anonymous, unrewarded reporting.

The second option is a whistleblower reward program, which offers a reward and allows anonymity. However, whistleblowers need to provide specific, credible, and well-documented evidence, and the amount involved must be substantial, with an individual's claim exceeding $200,000 USD.

The whistleblower reward program ultimately awards 15%-30% of the recovered funds.

Without hesitation, Wayne selected the whistleblower reward program and began filling out the original information reward application (Form 211).

After filling in Steve's information, Wayne logged back into the Washington State Medical Board's website and began filling out the illegitimate medical practice complaint form.

Real business battles are often this simple and unpretentious.

[You have safely left the lair of the hallucinogenic abomination. Experience points +1]