Jimmy knew the location of the repair shop. He left the Anti-Terrorism Bureau and immediately drove towards the repair shop.

Jimmy didn't call Mahong. Mahong and Philicia were supposed to interrogate the driver and the gunman today. Both of them were unfortunately hit by Jimmy's stray bullets because, while driving and shooting, the uneven road surface caused the car to shake, greatly reducing Jimmy's accuracy.

None of these four had brought cell phones, whether to avoid blowing their cover or for some other reason, Jimmy wasn't sure. When Jimmy and the police were collecting evidence at the scene, they found no electronic devices or identification, preventing him from investigating their call records and locations directly through the system.

Jimmy wondered about the efficiency of Mahong's team. From the fact that El could track down clues in two days, he could infer that Mahong was a formidable interrogator. But since both individuals had been shot, it was clear they couldn't employ physically demanding interrogation techniques. Hopefully, they would get some information soon.

Arriving at the repair shop, Jimmy got out of his car and walked in.

The mechanic recognized Jimmy; it hadn't been long since their last meeting, and there weren't many who took such good care of their cars. He wiped his hands and walked over, "Hey, what brings you back? Any unresolved issues with the Mercury?"

Jimmy shook his head, "No, the car's running fine. Is your boss here?"

Mechanic, "Is there anything wrong? He isn't usually here; this is just one of his shops. If there's anything you need, just tell me."

Jimmy handed over a piece of paper, "This motorcycle is from here, right? Do you recognize this person?"

The mechanic took the paper, glanced at it, and tried to hand it back to Jimmy, "Sorry, we don't deal with motorcycles here."

Jimmy kept staring at his face; he noticed the mechanic's eye twitch when he first saw the video screenshot on the paper, but he quickly recovered, which was interesting.

Jimmy didn't take it, "Think again, why do you think I came directly here."

Jimmy slightly lifted his suit jacket to reveal most of the FBI badge hanging on his belt. The mechanic saw Jimmy's movement, his eyes naturally drifted to his waist, and seeing the shape of the badge, he knew trouble was brewing.

He took back the A4 paper, "Wait a moment." He turned and left the repair bay, heading towards the office and storage area in the back where four people were present, whom Jimmy had noticed earlier but disregarded as they didn't seem unusual.

Everyone in the repair shop was busy with their work; Jimmy stood alone at the door, waiting for someone to come out. The mechanic went inside and took out his phone to make a call. Unfortunately, Jimmy's hearing wasn't good enough to discern what was being discussed inside.

After making the call, the mechanic approached Jimmy and returned the A4 paper, "Please wait here for a moment; the boss will be here soon. May I ask who you are? I'm Chris, Chris Sandler."

Jimmy, "Special Agent Jimmy Yang of the FBI."

Arriving at the lounge outside the office, Jimmy saw four people inside the office playing cards around a table. When they saw Sandler leading someone to the door, they didn't stop. These four didn't quite look like mechanics; their exposed skin had various tattoos, and they weren't wearing mechanic's blue uniforms, making the repair shop seem somewhat shady.

Jimmy sat on a sofa near the door, and Sandler didn't go back to fixing cars but sat nearby, waiting with Jimmy.

Half an hour later, an F150 pickup drove in. Sandler went to meet the driver who got out, a middle-aged Latin American man from the driver's seat of the pickup. They spoke briefly in low voices, then the middle-aged man walked towards Jimmy.

"Orellio, can I help you with anything, Mr. Agent?"

Jimmy pulled out his credentials, "FBI Special Agent Jimmy Yang. I need your assistance with a case." He handed over the printed surveillance screenshot to Orellio, "This motorcycle came out of your shop four days ago. I need information on this person."

Having finished, Jimmy turned to look at Orellio's pickup, noting a familiar crest on the door. This Orellio seemed to also be affiliated with the Continental Hotel.

Orellio glanced at the image, shook his head, "Sorry, we don't keep records of our customers."

Jimmy smiled subtly, moved closer to Orellio's ear, and whispered, "I know who you are, who you work for. For the hotel's sake, give me an answer."

Orellio's professional smile faded; he didn't move but spoke in a low voice, "Who are you?"

Jimmy likewise whispered, "A friend of Winston's."

Orellio turned to look at Jimmy, who continued to gaze at his face, "I don't think I know you."

Jimmy, "From now on, we do."

Orellio nodded, went to Sandler, and handed him the paper, "Give him this."

Orellio then turned to look at Jimmy, "I have other matters to attend to. Goodbye, Mr. Agent."

Jimmy nodded in response. Orellio started the pickup, reversed, and left the repair shop. After Orellio left, Sandler nodded at Jimmy and entered the office; a while later, he came out and handed Jimmy the A4 paper back, with some words written on the back.

Sandler, "Everything's here. His motorcycle was brought in for custom work; it wasn't his own."

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