Chapter 87: Reporting In

Kalles was still laughing, but Oxy couldn’t force a smile. How could anyone laugh with a hole torn open in their belly? Oxy pressed his hand over the wound and shouted to the people rushing over, “Hurry, get the first aid kit!”

A police officer turned to fetch the kit, while another with first aid expertise came to examine Kalles’s injury.

One look and he gasped, “The intestines are ruptured, contaminated matter is leaking out. This is extremely serious. We have to get him to the hospital as quickly as possible!”

“Bring the Ford Transit over here! He needs to lie flat, and we need to get him to the hospital fast! Someone inform Kalles’s wife!”

An officer turned and left to get the Transit. The van was usually used to transport personnel, with more seating capacity, the kind of vehicle you might not need often, but couldn’t do without.

“The first aid kit is here!”

“Someone get a clean soup bowl, wash it thoroughly!”

The officer skilled in first aid cut open Kalles’s uniform, cleaned the blood and filth from the wound with something sterile, covered it with a sterile dressing, then placed the cleaned bowl over it, securing everything with a triangular bandage.

The Transit van pulled up. Several people lifted Kalles inside and rushed him to the hospital.

Oxy held his pistol, but had no idea whom to shoot. First Rick, now Kalles—both shot and wounded—he felt utterly powerless.

Susan approached, gently taking the pistol from his hand. “Go home and get some rest, Oxy. No one wanted this to happen. The doctors will do everything they can for Kalles, and the station will track down the man who shot him.”

Oxy forced a smile, then went home to shower and change before hailing a cab back to his apartment.

The driver noticed Oxy’s gloomy expression and said nothing, just turned on the radio.

“The Los Angeles Times: Last night, a robbery targeted a gun store. Several African-American men broke in, stealing dozens of rifles and handguns, along with large amounts of ammunition. It is unclear whether this was organized crime or an individual act. Citizens are urged to stay alert.”

“KTLA reports: Multiple shootings occurred last night. Sources say these are repercussions from the recent major gang conflict at Twin Peaks Restaurant. Further escalation is possible. Citizens are advised to stock up on firearms and ammunition and take safety precautions.”

“The Chinese Daily: Last night, Mr. Song, who works for a Chinese food delivery platform, told our reporter that while delivering food in San Gabriel, he came out to find his bike gone. The area usually has excellent security; this was his first theft here.

This was already the second bike he’d lost recently. The bike was essential for his work, and its loss caused significant trouble. An electric bike typically costs up to $1,000, while a basic AR-15 goes for just $820, and 500 rounds of 5.56mm ammo for just $270. (Prices vary; Russian, domestic, or Taiwanese rifles and ammo are cheaper, American-made are more expensive.)

Many undocumented workers choose to deliver food or packages for these platforms, but they are required to have work permits, so they often rent others’ accounts, paying $400–500 a month—about 20% of their entire income.

Besides theft, delivery work exposes them to targeted robberies and malicious attacks. The police usually can’t catch the suspects, and undocumented workers are afraid to report the crimes, even though the police claim they won’t pursue the victim’s immigration status. Their fears remain.

Since delivery workers are constantly on the move, sometimes they spot their stolen bikes but don’t dare approach. They fear being beaten up if they ask for their bike back, or worse, injuring someone and facing deportation.

In the end, Mr. Song bought a car to continue delivering.”

Oxy scratched his head. Why did the stolen bike sound suspiciously like the one he’d taken? That couldn’t be—it was just a coincidence. But wow, talk about being well-off; losing a bike and immediately buying a car was not something he’d ever considered.

When Oxy arrived home, Zornin was in the kitchen cooking. Seeing him, she greeted him with excitement, “Look, I just learned to make breakfast—soup dumplings!”

He nodded and went to sit on the sofa. Zornin followed, reaching out to touch his face. “You don’t look well. Did something happen?”

Oxy managed a smile, deciding it was better not to tell her the truth. “It’s nothing, just a tough night shift, a lot going on.”

Zornin blinked, then walked behind him and began massaging his head. “If something’s bothering you, talk to me. I may not understand, but it’ll help to get it off your chest. And if you’re tired of being a cop, we can do something else. Whatever you like.”

“No, I like being a police officer. I’m just a bit tired. And, uh, is your batch of soup dumplings burning?”

Zornin let out a yelp and dashed back to the kitchen to turn off the stove.

Oxy rubbed his scalp—her massage had made it sting, and he noticed more than a few hairs had come loose.

“Oh no! My dumplings!”

He got up and went over; Zornin looked crestfallen.

Glancing into the pot, he saw a blackened, unrecognizable mess.

“Um… let me see if they’re still edible.”

She had meant well, trying to cook for him; he didn’t want to crush her enthusiasm.

He poked at the contents with chopsticks, fished out something vaguely dumpling-shaped, but after several tries, he still didn’t dare to taste it.

“Ha… maybe we should cut one open and see.” Oxy chuckled awkwardly, picking up a kitchen knife to slice one.

A strange sight appeared: though the dumpling’s exterior was burnt to a crisp, the filling inside was still raw.

Oxy couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow—charred outside, tender inside. That’s some chef’s skill.”

Zornin’s face fell. “Don’t laugh at me. I know I wasted the ingredients again.”

“It’s fine. Maybe the stray animals outside would like to try some.”

“What if they die from eating it?”

“They’ll go to heaven?”

She swatted him. “You’re impossible. Let’s just throw it out. Guess we’ll have to order takeout.”

“Let me handle it.”

Oxy opened the app and ordered two baskets of soup dumplings, one basket of crab roe dumplings, scallion oil noodles, pork chop rice, shredded chicken, and spicy fish skin from Din Tai Fung.

The food arrived quickly. Zornin eyed the feast with some guilt. “Isn’t this a bit much for breakfast?”

“Then just watch me eat.” Oxy picked up a dumpling and popped it into his mouth. “Hot, hot! But delicious.”

Zornin hesitated, then quietly grabbed her chopsticks and joined in, muttering, “I’ll go on a diet after this meal. After the next one, I’ll definitely diet…”

Oxy smiled to himself and dug in.

“Finally, we accept that love can’t return, too many obstacles before us, yet you won’t let go, begging me to stay…” His phone rang.

He answered, “Hello? Mark, what is it? What?! You found the guy who shot Kalles?!”