Uncle took the cigarette from Jimmy, and Jimmy lit it for him. Uncle took a puff and lifted his chin slightly, "Are you with them?"

Jimmy nodded, "Yeah, there was a driver just stabbed and robbed of his wallet and phone, just two streets away. A black guy, wearing a hoodie, ran over here and they chased him this far."

Uncle asked, "You don't quite look like a cop. What are you really?"

Jimmy pulled out his ID, "FBI Jimmy Yang, Yang Liansheng, just call me Jimmy. It wasn't my case initially; I was just passing by, but when I got the news that it was one of our own who got stabbed, I came to help out. When one of our own is hurt, someone has to pay. These thugs are getting out of hand."

Uncle nodded and gave Jimmy a thumbs up, "Alright, I didn't see that coming. You're a good man. Wait here for a moment."

Uncle, with the cigarette between his lips, took out a cellphone from his pocket and walked into a shop, obviously to contact someone.

Jimmy watched him enter the shop, his hunch was right. Previously, Ruiz had dumped a bunch of information about Asian gangs on him, suspecting that Ruiz might have business for him to handle, so the data was comprehensive. He had noticed the uncle's tattoo when he first saw him; it belonged to one of the gangs, otherwise, he wouldn't have picked him out from the bystanders.

Two minutes later, Uncle came out and nodded at Jimmy, "You're lucky, kid. Just wait, someone will bring him over."

Jimmy nodded repeatedly, "Thanks, Uncle." He also lit a cigarette for himself, stood with Uncle smoking, and chatted casually about which shop nearby had better goods and where to buy suitable gifts.

Less than 10 minutes later, Uncle's phone rang. He answered it, listened for a moment, and then turned to Jimmy, "Come with me."

Jimmy followed Uncle out of the market and into a nearby labor agency. A black man in a dark gray hoodie was squatting in the corner; on the table beside him were two wallets, two cellphones, a sheathed dagger, and a bunch of keys.

Two men were guarding him, and someone else at the door greeted them, "Uncle Hao, we caught him."

Uncle Hao said to Jimmy, "Jimmy, go see if he's the one you're looking for."

Jimmy said, "Okay." He put on disposable gloves, picked up both wallets and glanced inside; the better wallet had ID and belonged to a Chinese person. He picked up the dagger beside it, pulled it out, and saw that although it had been wiped, there were still some blood traces on it. There was no doubt it was the right one.

Jimmy nodded, "He's the guy. Thanks, Uncle Hao."

Uncle Hao nodded to the men guarding the black guy, and they reached out to pull him up. Jimmy put handcuffs on him and then asked them to bag his belongings. "By the way, when you searched him, did you touch the wallet and dagger? Where did you touch them?"

Their eyes widened, "What does that matter?"

Jimmy, seeing their reactions, knew something was wrong. He turned to Uncle Hao, "Uncle Hao, this evidence needs to be sent for testing. All fingerprints on it will be recorded. Wiping it now definitely won't work. How about they come along for a bit? It's good for enthusiastic citizens to assist the police in capturing a violent criminal, and since the victim was Chinese, it's all about helping each other. There won't be any troubles."

Uncle Hao considered for a moment, then looked at the two men, "Who touched it?"

One of them raised his hand, and Uncle Hao nodded, "You go with him. Jimmy, I'm handing him over to you, make sure to bring him back in one piece."

Jimmy smiled, "Don't worry, I'll handle it. Thanks, Uncle Hao." Jimmy handed him a business card, then escorted the black guy out with the other man.

At the side of the market, several NYPD patrol officers were still watching over the market, really sticking to safety first. Two were enough for guarding the door; the others should have gone in to search.

Jimmy handed over the perpetrator, "Alright, we've got him. This is an enthusiastic citizen who helped capture him, but he accidentally touched the evidence during the search, so be careful not to treat him as a suspect when you go back."

The NYPD officers' eyes nearly popped out. Two officers grabbed the black guy, another took the bag with the evidence, called others to return, and they all headed back to the station together.

Jimmy also called Chuck to explain the issue with the helpful citizen; the rest was up to them. As for the black guy getting beaten up, that was no concern of his. Being a thug, he should have known the consequences of crossing Asian gangs; he would take full responsibility and thus didn't struggle or scream while being led away by Jimmy and the others.

Jimmy returned to his car, checked the time, and decided not to bother staking out in the Bronx anymore. He just drove home to rest, feeling utterly frustrated by the night's events—first a robbery, then sorting out NYPD's business, and his serial killer case hadn't progressed at all.

(The pain is not all gone; it still hurts occasionally.)

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