America: Starting with Daily Intelligence-Chapter 33: There’s Something, But Not Much

Many gangs control the streets, extorting up to 80% of their members’ earnings, even taking it all, leaving them just enough for food, water, and some drugs to keep them in check. Disobey and they’ll beat you down.

So you only get 20%, what is this, charity?

Leo felt like the person before him was an angel sent from God to save him!

Allen Zhang was no angel; he was just doing what he had to do. But without something to compare to, you don’t feel the hurt. What the hell are these other street organizations?

Bullying with power, no organization, no discipline.

Even the gang members band together simply for profit, and their internal power isn’t united. Leaders of different territories have to watch their own backs, and they might even assassinate one another over profit-sharing and community leadership elections.

Everyone hustles for their own gain, hustling to and fro.

If you want to grow big and strong, you need to lead with virtue and power, to be both soft and hard. Just oppressing others will get you nowhere—in the streets, you always pay your dues eventually.

This time, taking a stand for Dominic to regain face was justified and initially successful.

Allen Zhang also took control of a street in the process, raking in an extra 100 US Dollars in spoils of war, and recruiting a member of the Beggar Gang Disciples, further increasing his influence in the neighborhood.

I was just worried about not having an excuse to take over more territory, and these Black Devils just come knocking at my door, as if I, Hanberger Juan Jin, really give a damn about disrupting street equilibrium, about expanding recklessly, about bullying others.

But now, it’s them who started bullying us first, this is self-defense!

Who would have thought that little Black Devil would be so weak, handing over his turf so politely and without a fight.

He’s offering it, and I’d be rude not to take it, right?

"Leo, can you still move?" Allen Zhang asked.

"Of course," Leo replied immediately.

"Follow me."

With determination, Allen Zhang wanted to reclaim the rest of the territory.

Leo didn’t understand what he was up to but still packed up his stuff and followed with his cart.

The street where Dominic was extorted by Kobe and other Black Devils didn’t have a name, so let’s simply call it Leo Street from now on.

The harassment and shoving occurred on another street controlled by a different group of Black Devils.

Coincidentally, the two streets weren’t far apart, just past the crossroads, on the next street over.

Kobe and his group seemed to know the other gang, and they usually got along pretty well.

When Allen Zhang brought Leo over, he saw Kobe and his group being helped by a few Black Devils.

The Black Devils, learning about their beating, were filled with righteous indignation and wanted to reclaim their spot!

Upon discovering that they were beaten up by an Asian, they were even more pissed, their noses practically askew.

Cursing away, spouting smooth street lingo and beautiful, obscure codes.

"Bro, you’re telling me some Asian dude beat you guys up? WTF!! How can you be so spineless?"

The Black Devils who hadn’t experienced the beating had no idea what they were in for, continuing to throw their weight around, boasting big.

"Bro, you said that Asian guy can fight? Alright, let me tell you, I used to box! Don’t worry! If he dares to step on our turf again, I’m gonna teach him a lesson!!"

"Damn right! I’ll pull his pants down, hang him from the streetlight and humiliate him good!!"

The Black Devils were fuming with indignation.

But Kobe and his lot were scared shitless, with no thoughts of retaliation. Their opponent was too brutal; going back would mean certain death!

Bruised and aching all over, they asked weakly, "Got any painkillers?"

"Nah, we don’t use that stuff, it’s for sissies! I got something much better! You deserve the best!!"

One of the Black Devils whipped out a pack of drug-laced cigarettes, took a deep drag, then stuffed it into his mouth.

Clouds of smoke billowed and they swapped spit, suddenly feeling the pain in their waists and legs fade away.

Kobe’s cheeks were swollen like a ball, his speech slurred; he’d just taken a drag when he turned and saw a familiar figure.

Rubbing his eyes, still not quite sure, when he saw the other person storming over, recognizing the face, he jumped like he’d seen a ghost.

"Wtf!! He’s caught up again!! We gotta bail, man!!"

But that was wishful thinking on his part. With half his face swollen, as he spoke, drooling, his gibberish made no sense to anyone.

Some of the Blacks laughed at him for his weakness and ridiculous predicament, "Man, I think you’re really high. Chill, you coming to us for help and willing to join us means we’re now brothers. If that guy dares come here, he ain’t leaving today!!"

"But you’ve got to hang with us first."

The Black guy with the dreadlocks ogled at Kobe’s musculature with lust, "Look at those muscles, man, they must feel real nice to the touch."

Kobe was about to go mad. At a time like this, and they still want to pull down my pants!

Staring with dead fish eyes, he was bordering on despair, thinking it was all over, the enemy had arrived.

"Hey!! Black Devil!!"

Allen Zhang’s rebuke came from behind him, starting off with a full-blown insult.

Such demeaning language carried far, directly rubbing the Blacks the wrong way, who turned to Allen, with faces dark as coal, "Fxxk you! Where you from? Got a death wish?"

"That’s him!!"

The Black with the limp, lost in his high, suddenly widened his eyes, and remembering his broken leg, must have felt agonizing pain like ripping heart and lungs apart.

Clutching his leg, he let out a pig-slaughter-like wail.

The Blacks looked at each other, the little Black guy who claimed to have boxed, wearing a black hoodie, charged ahead, anger written all over his face.

He adopted a boxing stance, hopping around, upper body swaying, and cursed, "Yellow monkey! Ice cream!! Soon I’ll make you kneel and bite me!!"

Allen Zhang burst into laughter.

Alright, alright.

You do have some style.

As the Black swaggered in his stance toward him, Allen Zhang perked up.

But it quickly became clear that the guy’s footwork was in disarray, lacking rhythm, the technique too crude and inconsistent.

Probably just an amateur enthusiast.

Some stuff, but not much.

The gap between amateurs and top professionals is like the gap between an average Joe and Tyson the boxing champion.

There’s no comparison between an average person and an amateur fighter, either.

But whether professional or amateur, against an average person, they can knock them out no question.

The little Black guy lunged forward, throwing a lead punch towards Allen Zhang’s face.

Allen Zhang instantly straightened up, sidestepping in retreat, dodging the punch, his explosive power concentrated in his right hand, on tiptoes, the power rose from the ground, a lightning-fast straight right punch drilled perfectly into the Black’s chin.

With a crack, the Black’s face contorted, saliva spraying, a molar flying out.

In an instant, he stiffened, rolling his eyes back, and thudded face-down to the ground.

Face to the dirt, a nosebleed even skidded out. A sleep quality like that of a baby’s.

The other Blacks who had stepped forward were stunned by the efficient punch.

Frozen in place, clueless.

They couldn’t believe that their fellow, usually so tough, got KO’d by the opponent in a blink!!

Allen Zhang flexed his fist, feeling that the guy’s chin was harder than most.

Not bad. The jawbone’s probably just slightly fractured, not shattered.

He then looked back at the few Blacks and spoke the street’s exquisite code.