North America Gunman Detective

The next morning, Jimmy woke up early without a watch to confirm the time, now basically determining it by the not-too-distant streetlights and the rising sun.

All was quiet around him, the homeless had not yet risen, Jimmy packed up a bit, put everything into his backpack, and walked towards Wolf's house. He had confirmed the route with others yesterday; it was quite a distance, probably about 5-6 kilometers, which would take a good while to walk.

He filled a washed mineral water bottle for the journey and walked slowly along the highway. He estimated it was still early, the sun had just come up, probably just past 7 o'clock. There weren't many cars on the road, and the people here seemed very leisurely, lacking the tense and bustling feeling of his previous life.

He often saw people jogging or walking their dogs, mostly middle-aged, with not many young people. Excluding the small possibility that they all got up early for work, they probably hadn't reached the time to step out yet.

Jimmy did not wear a hat today; his Asian face was probably quite rare in this area. Many passing people glanced at him. Since yesterday until now, he had not seen another Asian, only one or two from Latin America, a few black people, the rest were white. It seemed that if it wasn't for some special circumstance in this community, then as a southern state, Arkansas could be judged to be conservative, with white people making up the majority.

As he walked, Jimmy daydreamed about whether he should find out where Asians congregated, as it might be easier to talk and get things done with his own kind. Because he had asked about the route in advance, he found his way to Wolf's restaurant without any mishap.

It was probably still early as the stores around were not yet open. Jimmy sat on the outdoor steps, staring at the passing cars, lost in thought as he waited for the restaurant to open.

...

About half an hour later, a police car with its lights on but no siren pulled up to the front. The patrol car stopped, the door opened, and a police officer got out.

"Hi, sir, good morning."

"Hi, officer, good morning."

"What are you doing here? Can I see your ID?"

"Of course. Is there a problem?" Jimmy opened his backpack and wallet, took out his driver's license, and handed it to the officer.

"Nothing serious, someone saw you sitting at the restaurant's entrance and contacted us to check on you." The officer looked at the ID and returned it to Jimmy.

"What are you doing here? Waiting for someone?"

"No, I'm here for work. I had an appointment with Mr. Wolf at 10 o'clock, but as you see, I didn't bring a watch and came too early."

"It's 8:50 now, looks like you still have a long wait. OK, since there's nothing wrong, I'll head back. Goodbye." The officer left a business card with him, turned, and drove the car back onto the main road to continue patrolling.

Jimmy stuck the business card in his wallet and continued to daydream.

The level of security in the United States really was puzzling; just how dangerous was it usually for someone sitting at a doorway to prompt a call to the police?

...

After a long wait, Jon finally arrived. He parked his car and walked over.

"You're here early, Jimmy. Let's go in and talk,"

After opening the restaurant's main door, Jon entered the manager's office next to the kitchen, put down his bag, sat behind his desk, and said to Jimmy,

"Please, take a seat. Jimmy, Jerry told me something about you yesterday, but I still want you to tell it yourself."

"Sure, Mr. Wolf. I left San Francisco, California, and traveled, taking short-term jobs all the way to Little Rock. I've staying here for a while, and I need money for my next leg of the journey, so I asked Jerry for help finding a short-term job," Jimmy said as he handed his driver's license to Jon, who simply copied down some of the information before giving it back to Jimmy.

"Just call me Jon. Jimmy, I'll tell you upfront, there's no problem with you taking short-term work here. It's the same conditions as mentioned yesterday, a weekly salary of 350, settled every Friday. Because of your limited experience, someone will show you the ropes today, and you only have one day, as you'll be delivering orders on your own tomorrow. You don't have to worry about taking orders; you just need to focus on deliveries."

"Got it, Jon. When will the others be here? I need to use the restroom to clean up."

"I'll take you there first."

Jon led Jimmy to the staff room, gave him a locker, a set of waiter's clothes, and Jimmy, after placing his backpack in the locker, took the clothes and headed to the bathroom, mainly to take a shower. It had not mattered during his travels, but now that he was working at a restaurant, he certainly needed to clean up thoroughly.

Twenty minutes later, a tidied-up Jimmy returned to the restaurant. The others hadn't arrived yet, so he sat at the cashier's counter to rest and checked the time—10:30. After waiting a few more minutes, the others gradually arrived, and they all went to the staff room to change into their store uniforms and chef outfits.

"Everyone, come here for a sec, let's introduce a new coworker, Jimmy Yang, from San Francisco. Karen, you take him for the day, show him how to deliver meals."

"Hi, everyone, I'm Jimmy Yang, pleased to meet you all."

"Hi, Jimmy, I'm Karen."

Jimmy looked at Karen; she was also Caucasian, with big blonde waves in her hair, a good figure, around 170 centimeters tall, 30-40 years old, and well-maintained, with only fine crow's feet at the corners of her eyes.

"OK, everyone get to work," Jon concluded the briefing and turned to head back to his office, while the others dispersed to their respective tasks.

"Jimmy, follow me, I'll introduce you to everything. You're in charge of meal delivery, which means picking up dishes from this delivery window behind the cash register and taking them to the various tables. This way," Karen led Jimmy from the cash register to familiarize him with the restaurant.

"We have 10 tables, with numbers 1-8 in the main hall and 9-10 in the corner to the left. The table numbers go clockwise—1234—and you need to remember this well. The tickets will be marked with seat numbers like 1-1, 3-2; make sure not to mix them up."

"This way leads to the kitchen, but we usually don't need to go in there. This is the dish return area, where we store the used dishes."

"Spare utensils are in the cabinet next to the cash register; if anyone needs them, they can get them from here."

Jimmy followed Karen around the restaurant, and most things were introduced to him, including the other staff. Then Karen returned to the staff room, and Jimmy sat at a table by the entrance, looking out at the street.

The restaurant had a total of three waitstaff including him; Karen Pires and Annie Riley handled ordering, while Karen and he were responsible for deliveries, one cashier, Erica Sanchez, of Latin American descent, and two chefs, Jacob Riley and Daniel Brown. Annie and Jacob were married.

The restaurant only had six people, five Caucasians and one from Latin America; Annie was also the wife of chef Jacob, confirming the world here was predominantly Caucasian—further supporting his morning thought that Arkansas was likely a conservative state with a vast majority of white people.