America 1982-Chapter 152 - 55: Welcome to Stanford
Pinkerton detective Butch Younger licked his somewhat dry lips as he flipped through a stack of Lotus Corporation employee files handed to him by a colleague.
If the detective industry also had a special title representing the elite like the white shoes, then in the entire United States of America probably only two firms would qualify for it.
One of them was Pinkerton, established in 1850 and proclaimed "The American Private Detective Bureau."
Thanks to Pinkerton’s unwavering stance from the day it was founded, firmly siding with the government and capitalists, its business had flourished for over a century.
Their primary work involved disrupting public assemblies and marches that attempted to criticize the government, such as during the Black Panther incident, the Western Federation of Miners assassination incidents, the Colorado labor wars, the Blair Mountain labor uprising, and many other strikes or protests. They were hired by the government or capitalists to infiltrate labor unions as worker spies, incite internal union disputes, sabotage various strikes initiated by workers, and sometimes act as destroyers, enforcers, and assassins at critical moments.
From 1865 to 1931, Pinkerton even had a private police force in Pennsylvania, responsible for suppressing or killing any worker who dared to be dissatisfied on behalf of the state’s major coal companies.
"I really envy our colleagues from a hundred years ago; even the judges would kiss up to them. Whomever they declared a criminal would quietly hang." Butch muttered to himself as he read the files, "Rookie, you chose the wrong era. Today’s Pinkerton is no longer as glorious as it was a century ago, and we can’t even call ourselves detectives now but investigators."
"I think this guy is most likely to be willing to cooperate with us." Butch skimmed through the files and then picked out one which he looked at for two minutes before tossing it over to his rookie partner.
"Bobby Black?" The partner picked up the file, reading through it with a puzzled expression.
The information indicated that the guy had half Vietnamese blood, graduated from Northeastern University in Massachusetts with a degree in electrical engineering, and joined Lotus Corporation after graduation. His job at the company only involved some simple tasks, appearing completely lacking of any distinctive features that would attract attention.
"I don’t quite understand. What makes you think he would be willing to help us, Mr. Younger?" Butch’s partner, a rookie who had just obtained his PI (private investigator) license, asked curiously.
Although Pinkerton had an office in Boston, Butch Younger had been specifically brought in from Pinkerton’s Michigan headquarters at Delia Caster’s request. Learning of Butch’s arrival, the local office immediately assigned their best newcomer to assist Butch, hoping he could learn a thing or two from this ace detective.
If one were to judge just by this old guy’s appearance, it would be impossible to imagine that his hourly rate was a whopping two hundred bucks, equivalent to those of famed lawyers, while the other investigators in the Boston office only earned fifty bucks per hour.
"This Vietnamese runt, his address is listed in the Vietnamese enclave. Just look at his photo, half-Asian, half-black, a mixed-bag appearance; you know the surname Black must’ve been given by his mom, and he must have a black soldier dad who’s missing in action. Maybe it was because of his ugly looks that his mom was able to get a visa to the USA out of pity from the embassy when he was ten," Butch remarked as he lit a cigarette and continued:
"He attended Northeastern University and didn’t get a full scholarship, which suggests his mom’s business in America isn’t too shabby. I don’t believe she could turn herself from a Vietnamese refugee into a middle-class American able to afford her son’s private college tuition in just eight years. Either she’s involved in human smuggling or she’s assisting illegal migrants. Just investigate thoroughly, and clues are bound to emerge. Once we have them, it’ll be easy. Tell this dumbass that either we hand the information over to the FBI and send his mom to prison, or he stands with justice now and helps us deal with his boss."
The rookie hesitated then asked, "Is this the way you work?"
"This is the work methodology that Pinkerton has adhered to for the past one hundred and forty-three years, ensuring that the target subjects have the right to choose," Butch said indifferently. "You have to grip their balls tight for them to earnestly listen to your requests."
The rookie shrugged his shoulders, "Okay, how do we go about gripping this Bobby Black’s balls? Find an Asian face to blend into the Vietnamese community?"
"No." Butch looked at the rookie, pointing at himself with his finger, "I’ll do it myself. I’ll rent a room in that community. Starting now, I’m a Vietnam War veteran searching for a long-lost lover or a child that might still be alive. This search for relatives will earn me recognition from the local Vietnamese, then I’ll gather information about Bobby’s mom from their mouths before finally paying her a visit. Just one wrong word from her would be enough to send her away."
"But... are you sure you can deal with Vietnamese people?" his partner asked, looking at Butch with some concern.
The guy was full of racial prejudice—if he ventured into the Vietnamese community, he might easily get beaten to death by Vietnamese people that very day.
"Of course. In 1965, I served in Vietnam; I’m a genuine Vietnam War vet. I know how to deal with Vietnamese women. It’s just that I don’t want to find relatives. If I did, at least a dozen Vietnamese women would have borne me children. But who the hell wants to share their meager estate with a bunch of emotionless bastards?" Butch put out his cigarette and flashed a cruel smile at the rookie:
