Vigo was busy dealing with the Crow Gang's affairs, so Jimmy was quite relaxed. The case wasn't his; he was just a junior trainee agent still in the learning phase. After work, his time was entirely his own. Having not exercised in a while, Jimmy found a gym close to his apartment to work out.

Exercising had become a habit for Jimmy. Back in Little Rock, he would go to the gym at least 2-3 times a week. At the FBI Academy, there were dedicated coaches to monitor and plan workout routines to ensure that trainees were in peak physical condition. Although he had left the academy, he still remembered some of the training.

Jimmy was mostly in the office now, and he drove when he went out, which significantly reduced his physical activity. However, he didn't cut back on his eating, and although it had only been three weeks, he could already feel that he was gaining weight. Exercising after work was the best way to burn off energy.

Incidentally, even when going to the gym, Jimmy always kept a revolver and his FBI credentials in his sports bag. This was a requirement from the training because, for an FBI agent, though there was time off, carrying a gun all year round was a professional necessity since you never know when you might need it.

In the real world, after the United States passed the Law Enforcement Officer Safety Act (LEOSA) in 2004, not only federal officers but all certified police officers across the country had the right to carry firearms 24 hours a day nationwide without requiring a state-issued CCW.

For someone like Jimmy, not allowing him to carry a gun just wouldn't do; it made him restless, feeling like something might happen.

After working out for an hour at the gym, Jimmy packed up and left the gym to go home. He didn't shower there which was another requirement from the academy training; intense exercise redirected more blood to the muscles throughout the body which can further strain the heart during a shower, as the blood doesn't properly circulate back.

After he got home, he took a hot shower. Sitting on the sofa, watching TV while drinking a beer and just about to relax, he heard a gunshot outside. Since the windows were closed, it was difficult to tell what gun it was, but hearing gunshots near his apartment was definitely not a good sign.

Jimmy picked up his revolver and went to the window. He stood behind the wall and peeked out. A man was running down the sidewalk with a gun, occasionally looking back over his shoulder and firing a shot back the way he came.

Good lord, can't you guys just sleep at night instead of creating trouble?

This would be an NYPD matter to handle; Jimmy wasn't in the mood to dress and go downstairs. He watched as the armed man ran through the intersection, turned a corner, and two others chased him. No longer interested, Jimmy simply drew the curtains and got ready for bed. If it didn't concern him directly, he preferred to keep out of it.

The next day, when he returned to his office at Federal Square, Jimmy habitually went to his old spot, Peter's group.

Jones: "Hey, Jimmy, are you coming back to us?"

Jimmy suddenly realized he should have gone to Ruiz's side. But directly admitting he went the wrong way seemed inappropriate; his mind raced for a better response.

Jimmy: "No, I came looking for you. Last night around 11 PM, someone fired a gun outside. Did you notice?"

Jimmy and Jones lived in the same apartment building, with Jones in the basement and Jimmy above.

Jones: "Oh, I heard it, but I didn't bother to look. These things are common, don't worry about it. As long as they don't storm our apartment, let NYPD handle them."

Jimmy: "Okay, just asking because I was about to go to sleep at the time. I didn't go down to see what happened. I'll head over to the other side now."

Jones: "Alright, see you."

Jimmy walked around to the outside of Ruiz's office. Ruiz hadn't arrived yet, so he started to flip through some files—still on Russian mobs, countless small gangs within them. He wondered how much time the FBI had spent compiling this information.

Jimmy was so engrossed in the files that he didn't notice when Ruiz had arrived. By the time he looked up, Ruiz was already sitting in his office.

"Jimmy, come in."

When Jimmy heard Ruiz calling, he walked into his office.

Ruiz handed Jimmy a piece of paper: "Take a look at this yourself, memorize it, then shred it. You can leave now."

Jimmy took the paper, glanced at it briefly—it was about the Triad rules and member rank codes. It didn't seem important until he looked at the segment beneath, which listed a few big names and their codenames from the Ghost Shadow Gang.

Jimmy's memory was good; he forcibly memorized the contents, jotted down some numbers and characters on a piece of paper at his desk, then destroyed the paper Ruiz had given him.

Looking at the codes he had written down, Jimmy felt perplexed. He had been in New York for over two years and had visited Chinatown a few times. Before this, he had avoided contact with first and second-generation ABCs because he had heard too many rumors about them. Now, it seemed that Ruiz might be harboring some unsavory intentions.

"Jimmy, let's go pick someone up."

Lost in thought, Jimmy was startled when Ruiz, grabbing his suit jacket, called him and they both headed downstairs to the parking lot and drove away from Federal Square.

Jimmy: "What's going on? Who are we picking up?"

Ruiz: "Vigo has dug up some information. But it's their internal affair, nothing to do with us. Someone wants to turn themselves in; we need to go pick them up."

Jimmy was speechless. It had only been a day since they had visited the crime scene the previous afternoon, and now they were going to pick up someone who was turning themselves in—and not even voluntarily, but because Ruiz was directly involved. It seemed the gangs were too brazen, and from Ruiz's demeanor, he seemed ready to wrap up the case directly.

They didn't head to Brighton Beach this time but to one of Vigo's apartments in Midtown Manhattan. Ruiz clearly knew the route, heading straight to the apartment and taking the elevator up to the top floor.

A young man opened the door and let Ruiz and Jimmy in. The young man was very thin with brown short hair, a sharp nose, and some beard growth, but his gaze made Jimmy uncomfortable.

A muscular middle-aged man was sitting by the bar in the apartment, with a bottle of liquor and a glass in front of him, looking up at Ruiz and Jimmy as they entered.

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