Remembering how kind the auntie was, Zhang Jing drove to the small town and went straight into the gun shop.
The greasy auntie was playing on her phone behind the counter. Seeing Zhang Jing walk in, a genuine smile appeared on her face, more warm than seeing a family member.
“Thank you,” Zhang Jing expressed his gratitude. “I slept in the stables yesterday; if you hadn’t notified me, I might be dead.”
“You’re welcome. Whitefish Town is too quiet, not a ripple. You’re the life of the party for all of us.”
The tall, thin policeman, Joe Taylor, had said something similar last night; Whitefish Town was too peaceful, and Zhang Jing had provided everyone with entertainment and conversation.
“My marksmanship isn’t good,” Zhang Jing complained to the old woman. “Do you know of a weapon that I
