Money, Breasts, Thighs

Chapter 2: Damn, How Heavy is 50 Million Dollars Anyway?

Honestly, after Michelle left, I did miss her a little. She was my first, after all. I wonder if she missed me. Regardless of how I treated her or whether I deceived her, I was her first man, right? Thinking about this, I lost my appetite (not that I had any food to eat anyway). I pulled my machete out from under the bed, shoved it into my backpack, and stormed out of the house.

Don't get the wrong idea; I wasn't going to chop anyone up. I was heading to Jiba's place. He'd had his eyes on my machete for ages, so I figured I could bribe him with it and have him help me with something.

Just as I reached the snack shop near Jiba's house, he spotted me and called me over. Turns out his parents were fighting again, and he was "forced" to come out for food. Honestly, I figured he probably spilled one of his dad's "chicken secrets" again; otherwise, how else would he have gotten money? After all, most of his weekly allowance ends up in my hands.

"Boss, what brings you here? Good thing you left early yesterday. Right after you left, Linda showed up with a g**g looking to cut you down. I think you should lay low today," Jiba mumbled through a mouthful of fried fish. I wasn't scared, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to lie low for a day. Grabbing his food, I started eating too.

"Oh, Jiba, I need a favor. Help me out, and the machete is yours. Deal?" I said, opening my backpack and letting the handle peek out. Jiba's eyes lit up instantly.

"Boss, you're the best! Whatever you need—cash, people—you name it," he said, pounding his chest in assurance.

I wasn't in a rush. I polished off his breakfast first; after last night, I needed to refuel.

"Find out where Michelle's house is, and the machete is yours. Deal?" I said, wiping my mouth.

"The school beauty Michelle? Sure, I'm on it," Jiba replied without hesitation, though he hesitated briefly. "Oh, and lend me some money. I'm broke for lunch, and take care of my excuse note too."

"No problem." He handed me a wad of cash and happily took my machete.

No classes today, so I had the day off. As for Linda? Whatever. Lay low when you can; if not, endure it.

I thought about hitting the internet café to kill some time gaming. But as soon as I hit the street, a junk collector latched onto me.

"Brother, please, help me look after my cart. My wife's been taken by the city enforcement team. I gotta go check on her," he pleaded in a thick Henan accent, looking pitiful. Feeling a bit sympathetic, I agreed. "Alright, go ahead."

I regretted it immediately. Two hours later, the guy was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, I ended up pushing his cart and half a load of junk home myself. The whole way, people pointed and whispered. Some, recognizing me, even offered "kind" remarks like, "Brooklyn, nice! Collecting recyclables is honest work. Your parents would be proud to see you growing up and becoming self-sufficient."

Damn it, when did I become a junk collector? Too tired to argue, I dumped the cart in the courtyard and went inside to sleep.

I was jolted awake by knocking at the door. It was Jiba.

"Why are you here?" I asked, letting him in.

"Here's the address. Turns out it wasn't that hard; lots of people know it." He handed me a slip of paper: XXX Road, XX Community, Building 15, Unit 1.

Now I'm standing outside XX Community, an upscale neighborhood with guards at the gate and security cameras everywhere. But I wasn't worried; I wasn't stealing anything. I told the guard I was looking for the Lin family in Building 15, and he let me in without a second glance. Apparently, they get a lot of visitors.

At the building, I found Unit 1 on the ground floor, but it had a locked intercom door. Just as I was debating whether to press the button, the door suddenly swung open, knocking me to the ground.

"You blind—" I started to snap but stopped short. Standing before me was a stunning woman, around 25 or 26, with a fiery figure. Forget yelling at her. I was already imagining her in my head in a thousand ways.

But she wasn't so forgiving. "You're the blind one! Blocking the door like that. Lucky you didn't get killed," she shot back, rolling her eyes.

Deciding not to provoke her further, I watched her walk away, then turned back to consider whether I should knock. Wait, the door didn't close? Odd—it's an automatic one. Then I spotted a set of keys near the door. She must have dropped them when she shoved the door open. No way I was giving them back. I pocketed the keys and slipped inside.

Michelle's family lived in a massive apartment that took up the entire first floor. Walking through the hallway, I marveled at its size until I heard the intercom door buzz again. Panicking, I darted up to the second floor to hide. Peeking down, I saw the same woman as before standing at the door.

"Jianguo, Jianguo, open up! I think I left my keys inside," she called out. A man in his 40s opened the door. From his features, he looked like Michelle's father.

"Don't worry; we'll find them later," he said gently, letting her in. My heart raced. Could she be Michelle's stepmom? Or something else entirely?

When the two left shortly after, I decided to snoop around. Inside one of the massive suitcases in the room, I found something unbelievable: cash. Lots of it. Stacks of U.S. dollars.