Chapter Eight: Another One Trips

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When he returned home, Qiu Fengyu found the social security account and related documents in his mailbox. That was good; now all he needed was a driver’s license. He wondered if his Ukrainian license would be valid here, or if exchanging it would be the easiest route. After some thought, he decided to ask Officer Coffin.

Putting those thoughts aside, he finally turned his attention to how to open the shop. The name had been filled out during the application process. Lazy as he was, he simply wrote “Noodle Shop.” He didn’t plan to turn it into a famous brand or open a chain. Expecting someone who only wants to sell twenty bowls a day to make the noodle shop renowned was asking too much.

There was little to prepare in the shop. The signboard was custom-made, costing a thousand dollars—daylight robbery, he thought, watching his once-thick wad of cash shrink rapidly. Qiu Fengyu could only sigh.

He checked the ingredients in the kitchen and estimated he could run for three days before needing to restock in Paso City. So he began simmering beef, as beef broth was the key to his noodles. It needed to cook for a long time, slowly over low heat to draw out the flavor.

As he was simmering the broth, a knock sounded at the door. The door was glass and transparent; he saw it was the girl named Saoirse. She gestured at him.

Qiu Fengyu went to open the door, not with any disdain for her. In fact, no one looked down on her. Americans didn’t care about others’ professions as long as they weren’t interfered with.

As soon as he opened the door, she slipped inside, looked around, and said, “A bit simple, but that’s fine. I like simple. Do you have noodles? Give me a bowl!” Saoirse certainly didn’t act like a stranger.

“It’s not open yet,” Qiu Fengyu said, not turning as he walked to the kitchen.

“But you’re about to open, aren’t you?” Saoirse followed him inside.

Qiu Fengyu busied himself with the broth. “Twenty dollars a bowl, if you want to eat.”

Saoirse laughed. “That’s a bit pricey. Fifteen dollars.”

“If you’re not eating, leave. I’m not open yet!” Qiu Fengyu was trying to shoo her out.

“Alright, I’ll have a bowl. Twenty dollars—really expensive.” Saoirse craned her neck to watch him stir the fragrant broth, nearly salivating. “Smells amazing!”

“Either sit and wait for me to bring it over, or leave the way you came,” Qiu Fengyu glanced at her and then ignored her.

Saoirse wasn’t offended. She smiled and obediently sat in a booth, looking around. Less than ten minutes later, Qiu Fengyu brought her a bowl of noodles.

She ate awkwardly, unable to grasp the noodles with chopsticks. Qiu Fengyu shook his head, fetched a fork, and finally resolved her embarrassment.

The noodles were as delicious as ever. Like others who ate them, she emptied the bowl, even licking her lips. Qiu Fengyu swore she was doing it on purpose, slowly circling her lips with her tongue and casting him a flirtatious look.

When she finished, Qiu Fengyu waited for her to pay.

Saoirse looked at him with watery eyes. “See… dressed like this, where could I keep money?” She wore a straight, thigh-revealing dress with no pockets, and hadn’t brought a handbag or shoulder bag.

“Wash your own bowl, and leave as soon as you’re done!” Qiu Fengyu told her.

Saoirse cheerfully accepted, quickly took the bowl to the kitchen, washed it, put it in the sterilizer, grabbed a towel, and wiped down the table—not just the one she’d used, but all the others as well. Then she mopped the floor and dusted the bar counter.

She was busy for over an hour. Even while working, she didn’t forget to flirt, sticking out her hips while mopping so her underwear was visible.

“I can’t pay you, but I’ll treat you to another bowl of noodles tomorrow!” Qiu Fengyu said, embarrassed at her effort.

“Great! I’ll work for you every day, and you treat me to noodles.” Saoirse was happy, then winked, “When I was mopping, I thought you’d smack my butt.”

Qiu Fengyu rubbed his nose awkwardly, admitting he’d sneaked a few glances.

“Alright, go on, just one bowl. Come or don’t, up to you!” He hurried her out.

Saoirse didn’t insist on staying, smiling as she left. But as soon as she stepped out, someone else came in—a woman not to be trifled with, Deputy Sheriff Coffin.

“Did you hire a prostitute?” Coffin looked at Qiu Fengyu coldly.

Qiu Fengyu quickly denied it. “No, she just came for noodles.”

Coffin didn’t continue that topic; there was nothing more to say. She simply relayed some news: “That Mexican has been sentenced—five years in prison. That’s pretty severe for him. You’re involved, so I’m notifying you. And… the trial was quick because the case had a very negative impact. Once the verdict is in, your house arrest is lifted. Sign this paper and you’re free to leave.” She put a document and a pen on the booth table.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be a month?” Qiu Fengyu was confused, scratching his head. He’d just settled in, and now he was allowed to leave?

“What, you don’t want to go? No one’s stopping you from staying or leaving. Since your shop’s opening, why leave? When’s the opening?” Her words twisted around.

“Tomorrow… a last-minute decision, but everything’s ready…” Qiu Fengyu signed.

“Alright, I’ll be back for noodles tomorrow.” Coffin collected the document and headed for the door. “Oh, since you plan to stay long-term, you need a local driver’s license—it’s the rule…”

“I have a Ukrainian license!” Qiu Fengyu grinned.

“That won’t do. You need an international license if you want to drive right away, but I suggest you get a Texas license—it’ll make things easier.” Coffin waved and left.

After a long day, the beef broth was finally done. He cooked himself a bowl of noodles, took a chair, and sat by the shop door to eat. Curious people watched him, and someone even snapped a photo.

Just as he finished, he heard hurried footsteps and shouting. A figure rushed past him, followed by three pursuers.

Qiu Fengyu was sipping his soup when the last pursuer bumped into him. With a crash, the bowl fell and shattered, spilling soup everywhere.

“Sorry!” the man blurted, about to run off. But as he stepped, there was another thud, and he fell flat on his face.

“Oh my god, sorry, sorry!” Qiu Fengyu mimicked American habits, shouting exaggeratedly.

The man got up, glanced at his distant companions, pointed at Qiu Fengyu threateningly, glared, and hurried after them. Clearly, he had no time for trouble.

After a while, Qiu Fengyu cleaned up the spilled soup, stretched, and prepared to close up and hit the bar. Just as he was about to lock up, a shadow squeezed through the door.

“Close the door, close it, I beg you!” The man hurriedly shut the door, pulled down the metal shutter, isolating himself from the outside, and finally breathed easier.

“David Birkin, you’d better explain yourself. If you don’t, I swear I’ll throw you out and kick you where it hurts,” Qiu Fengyu said to the shaken intruder.

“I beg you, I’m being chased…” David Birkin pleaded, nothing like his usual arrogance.

“Anyone can see that!” Qiu Fengyu retorted, though there was a problem with that statement. David Birkin dared not argue. “You should call the police, not hide here—or go to the station.”

“I want to, but… I can’t… If I call the cops, I’ll die faster.” David Birkin was dejected and panicked.

“You crossed the wrong people? Real tough guys?” Qiu Fengyu smiled, enjoying his misfortune.

“Yes, yes. They’re Russians—Russian mobsters from Paso City—” David Birkin was still shaken.

“You’re bringing trouble to me. Get out!” Qiu Fengyu’s face changed, opened the shutter, grabbed David Birkin by the collar, and threw him out.

David Birkin struggled and pleaded, but it was futile; he was firmly restrained and tossed onto the street. He scrambled up, rushed to the door, but it slammed shut and the shutter came down.

Three men were waiting outside—the same ones chasing David. They stared at him coldly. Outside, screams rang out, along with the dull thuds of sticks beating flesh.