Bob's hands were bound behind his back, and he couldn't resist while sitting in the back seat. However, he noticed that Jimmy still hadn't taken off his gloves even after getting into the car, which set off an alarm in his head. This wasn't a good sign.

Jimmy drove Bob toward an industrial area to the south of the city, where there were several abandoned factories. Although Jimmy had noted them while he was in Dallas previously, in the United States, such places weren't easily rebuilt, so they were likely still there.

Luckily, not only were the abandoned factories still standing, but there were two more than Jimmy remembered.

Jimmy took a lap around before turning into one of the middle factories, which seemed even more rundown, with rusted steel frames visible from outside.

Driving directly into the large central workshop of the factory, Jimmy made sure there were no homeless people around with Heart Eye; this was the perfect spot.

Opening the rear door and pulling Bob out, Jimmy stood in front of him, sizing him up to make sure there wouldn't be any trouble, or sudden movements that could cause complications.

Bob, too, looked around. He hadn't been blindfolded, and he had memorized the route on the drive over. The blatant disregard that Jimmy exhibited had frightened him.

Under what circumstances would a kidnapper not care if their captive saw their face or knew the route?

Being a local, Bob knew Dallas well. On the drive, he had thought too much, so much that he had nearly scared himself to death.

Jimmy observed calm Bob, truly the mark of the head honcho in Dallas, with excellent mental fortitude.

Jimmy, "All seen?"

Bob turned to look at Jimmy, "Who are you? I have no beef with the Triad, do I?"

Jimmy, "You know who I am?"

Bob, "If I'm not mistaken, you're probably Python, right? Planning to make moves in Dallas?"

Jimmy hadn't expected Bob to think so much, "You don't need to know, Bob. We have plenty of time to chat, no rush. Take a seat."

Without looking for a spot, Bob just sat down on the spot.

Jimmy pulled out Python from inside his clothes, ejecting the bullets as he asked, "So, do we play a little game first or start with the questioning?"

Bob, "Don't bother with these redundancies. What do you want to know?"

Jimmy looked at Bob, the guy had a bit of a tough guy attitude. "Your warehouse, your goods." Instead of pressing for his own objective, Jimmy chose to first score some points for Torsten, get a taste of the rewards as it would help him better cooperate.

Bob frowned, having initially thought it was a personal vendetta or a turf war, but it seemed now it wasn't that simple. "Which gang are you with? Who sent you?"

Jimmy, "Answer my question."

Bob clammed up; the warehouse and the goods, although not as important as his life, were close. Losing those things would earn him trouble from above, and he might really wish he were dead at that point.

Jimmy, shaking his head at Bob, "I'm just trying to save some effort. If you speak up, you can avoid torture, which is good for everyone, don't you think? But if you keep silent," Jimmy continued, "you don't think I won't question, do you?"

Jimmy put the revolver back in its holster and took out the handgun he had taken from Bob's bedside. He cocked it to confirm a round was in the chamber before aiming at Bob's leg, "This is your gun, no fingerprints of mine, you understand?"

Bob's eyes widened. Wasn't he supposed to be beaten first? Why so direct?

Jimmy, "Just say a bit to start with. We have all the time in the world, and you can delay all you like, but once I fire, without bandaging you, you'll only last a few minutes at most. With your body weight, you'll bleed out real fast."

Bob hastily said, "OK, OK. Don't shoot, let's talk. Haven't you always been active in California? Why come to Texas? There are only twenty to thirty thousand Chinese here."

Jimmy, "I'm not interested in this territory."

Bob, "So, it's about the money? I can give you a cut, just for you, not the gang. I won't tell anyone."

Jimmy, "You're rich? Living in such a dump?"

Jimmy put the gun away, looking at Bob, "How come you, the guy in charge in Dallas, only live in that cheap little apartment with just one underling?"

Bob, "That's just a temporary resting place, it's not mine. What's your price to let me go? Half a million, I can do half a million."

Jimmy, "Not enough."

Jimmy haggled with Bob, reaching 1.2 million, at which point he stopped raising the price.

Jimmy, "Alright, chit-chat time is over for now, let's continue. Where is your warehouse, and where are the goods?"

Bob's expression changed abruptly from the lightness of negotiating to stark seriousness. He had thought he could really buy his life.

Jimmy, "The warehouse and the goods belong to someone else, your life is your own, think about it."

Bob, "Fine, I'll give you the money, and you let me go. The warehouse is yours."

Jimmy, neither confirming nor denying, "First tell me where the warehouse is."

Bob, "Upper City, on Washington Street. It's next to an auto repair shop."

Jimmy, "Good, we're off to a good start." He opened the trunk, took out a bottle of water, and gave Bob a drink, "Is all your merchandise in there?"

Bob nodded, and Jimmy continued, "How often do you move the goods?"

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