Chapter 7: The Rogue Cop (Part 2)
He said, "It's kitchen slop. Most of the time, the flow is from the countryside to the city—but going the other way, a garbage truck would draw suspicion. Kitchen waste is different—it's a legitimate supply chain, actually going to pig farms."
"You wanted fugitives—this is how you get in and out of the city?"
"Yep. Can you handle it?"
I said, "I can handle it. I've done worse."
"Done worse what?"
"Nothing."
Once the bins were loaded, Tiger Lin handed me a plastic bucket.
It was strange—the bottom had been cut out and fitted with a rubber collar, sized to slip over a person's head. I asked, "What's this?"
"When we leave the city and the police set up a checkpoint, we'll need to actually hide in the bins. Between document checks and vehicle searches, it can take several minutes. If you can't hold your breath and pop your head up, you'll be spotted instantly."
I took the custom bucket in amazement. You had to hand it to professional fugitives—they had tools for everything.
The truck started moving, and the car Tiger Lin had been driving earlier followed behind.
As we approached the city limits, there was indeed a police checkpoint. Tiger Lin said, "Hide now. Unless we signal you, stay under even if you're suffocating. And don't even think about deliberately exposing yourself to the police—unless you're sure you can get all of us arrested."
I had no choice. I hid my phone at the bottom of the bin, then gritted my teeth and lowered my feet into the putrid kitchen slop.
The greasy, viscous liquid clung to every inch of my skin. As I sank deeper, I could feel solid and liquid waste sliding over my hands. It was unspeakably vile.
Once the bucket was over my head, the rubber collar sealed tight, keeping the slop from seeping in—but also trapping me in a tiny, airless space.
I could feel the truck slow to a stop. They were being inspected. The bucket made it nearly impossible to breathe. At first it was tolerable, but the air rapidly grew stale and hot. I tried to minimize my breathing, but before long I felt lightheaded, gasping.
No matter how hard I tried to draw air, I was suffocating. But I had no idea how long the inspection would take, and I couldn't risk lifting my head. Yes, I could reveal myself and beg the police for help—but if even one of these criminals escaped, what would happen to my family?
I held my breath until my vision swam, and then finally the truck began moving again.
Someone poked me. I jerked up, yanking off the bucket and gulping air. The driver had opened the hatch between the cab and the cargo area and was poking us with a long stick.
The truck was out of the city. We drove for a while longer before pulling over on a deserted mountain road.
Tiger Lin told me to get out. The sedan was parked beside us. The driver hauled out a large water jug from the trunk and doused us both.
Tiger Lin stripped off his shirt. "You should change too. There are spare clothes in the car—don't ruin my seats."
I nodded. I didn't want those clothes near my body ever again. I washed off as best I could, but I still felt grimy. I asked if he had soap or body wash.
He told me to get real.
Once dressed and in the car, I couldn't stop sniffing myself. I smelled like a bizarre combination of hot pot and grilled fish.
Tiger Lin told me to give directions. I shook my head: "I won't say anything until it's time. I'll navigate when we're close."
"You really want to play this mysterious game with me?"
"If I tell you the location now, do I still have any value?"
I said this, then leaned back my seat and closed my eyes regardless of Tiger Lin's scowl. I checked the time—a little over an hour until three.
I was still nervous.
Sullivan had just confronted Tiger Lin today. I was genuinely worried Sullivan might be recognized. If Tiger Lin realized he was dealing with a cop, he'd take it out on me. I could only hope Sullivan would send someone else as the point of contact.
After a short rest, when the time was right, I started guiding Tiger Lin to the rafting scenic area.
A car was already parked near the storage lockers, its lights on. Tiger Lin pulled up nose-to-nose with it and flashed his high beams.
I asked, "What's that for?"
"Street code. Means we're ready to make contact. You wouldn't understand."
When the other car didn't respond, he flashed his high beams again.
Then the driver's window rolled down, and I saw Detective Sullivan leaning out—but he looked nothing like the clean-cut, upright detective I knew.
Gone was the straight-laced officer. In his place was a man slouched behind the wheel, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his arm covered in minimalist English-letter temporary tattoos, his hair dyered silver with bangs sweeping across his brow, a black mask over his lower face.
Were those... a wig and temporary tattoos?
Sullivan took a drag and said to Tiger Lin, "What the hell are you flashing at?"
Tiger Lin was stunned. He cursed: "Are you out of your mind? Don't you know the protocol?"
Sullivan acted impatient: "If you want protocol, go get a day job. You're making me sick. We're all in the same game—what's with the gangster cosplay? Want me to throw you some secret code words?"
Tiger Lin cursed and got out of the car. I followed.
Sullivan hadn't brought backup. He didn't even get out—just sat behind the wheel looking like a king, cigarette between his lips. When Tiger Lin approached and lowered his voice to ask about the goods, Sullivan ignored him and looked at me instead: "They didn't hurt you, did they?"
"I'm fine."
Tiger Lin was losing patience. He hissed: "I'm asking about the gold—"
"GOLD! GOLD! You want the gold!" Sullivan suddenly bellowed, making Tiger Lin flinch. "Is your throat broken? There's no one here—why are you whispering?"
Tiger Lin's face turned beet red. Clearly he'd never dealt with anyone this wild. "Don't you know who I am? You've heard of Tiger Lin?"
"Why would I need your name? You think you're famous?"
"I'll—"
"Where's the money?"
"What money?"
Sullivan flicked his cigarette—still lit—straight at Tiger Lin. Sparks scattered across his shirt, and he scrambled to swat them away.
Sullivan said flatly: "Monkey Drake sent you to pick up the goods, but didn't bring any money?"
Tiger Lin sneered: "And pay? If our boss wasn't generous, your buddy would be a corpse by now. You—"
"Then let him become a corpse."
Before Tiger Lin could finish, Sullivan stomped on the gas pedal and started to drive away. Tiger Lin panicked and ran after the car, pounding on the window: "Hey! HEY!"
The car stopped.
From the window, a gun slowly extended toward them.
It wasn't a police-issue weapon—it was a homemade pipe gun. Tiger Lin's face went white as Sullivan said icily: "My buddy is an idiot, but don't think I am. This shipment has been tested—it's worth thirty million. I won't haggle. Have Monkey Drake bring ten million in cash. Bank transfer accepted."
Tiger Lin swallowed. "I bet you won't shoot."
"You'd lose that bet."
Sullivan's finger moved toward the trigger. Tiger Lin's legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees: "Don't shoot!"
"Call your boss right now. On speaker."
Under the crushing pressure, Tiger Lin fumbled for his phone with shaking hands. He made a call, and when it connected, he stammered: "The situation's gotten complicated. I'm dealing with a lunatic. Get the boss on the line."
Sullivan smirked: "Pretty careful—told you to call your boss, and you called someone else first. Afraid of exposing your boss's identity?"
A moment later, Monkey Drake's voice came through: "What's wrong?"
"Boss, I'm on speaker. I've got a gun pointed at my head."
A sigh from the other end. "You really are more trouble than you're worth."
Sullivan took the phone. "Boss Drake, right? I'll skip the pleasantries—I don't like repeating myself. Ten million. Try to haggle, and I'll blow your man's head off."
"Young man, you're getting ahead of yourself. Take some advice from your elders—"
BANG.
Sullivan fired.
A spray of shot pellets hit the ground next to Tiger Lin, who shrieked and scrambled backward on his hands and knees.
I flinched hard too.
Monkey Drake had gone silent after the gunshot. Sullivan asked: "What kind of elder are you? I call you Boss out of respect. Without that respect, what are you?"
"Who exactly are you?"
"You talk too much."
"Young man, I see this is a local number. You're not afraid of your family being found?"
"I'm so scared. I'm trembling with fear."
"You've got nerve."
"Monkey Drake, can you stop wasting time? Everyone in this city knows you and your crew are cowards who only dare to scheme from the shadows..." Sullivan said calmly. "Push me hard enough and I'll trade one life for yours. What are you squawking about? Name a time and place. Ten million."
"Fine. Outside the city. Four-thirty in the morning, the old ancestral hall in Shiqiao Village. I'll give you the money—are you brave enough to take it?"
"Cowards always talk too much. See you there."
Sullivan hung up and glanced at Tiger Lin. "What are you still doing here?"
Tiger Lin scrambled to his feet and ran toward the car, but Sullivan loaded another round and aimed it at him: "Who said you could take the car? Touch that door handle and I'll blow you away."
Tiger Lin swallowed, abandoned the car, and took off running on foot. Sullivan nodded in satisfaction: "That's right—run. The little punk talked big, but now he's running like a happy little dog."