Jimmy checked and returned to Jack's side, "Ruiz, give me your handcuffs, there are still 2 injured people here, and they're not dead yet."

With Ruiz's handcuffs, Jimmy handcuffed the injured person on the second floor, then went downstairs to handcuff the guy who'd had a nasty fall, and after that, it was a matter of waiting for the ambulance to arrive for emergency treatment.

"Jimmy, go check the surveillance van for a first aid kit," Ruiz shouted from the second floor.

Alright, it seemed that Ruiz didn't want these two unlucky gunshot victims to die either. Jimmy responded and ran out.

The surveillance van did have a basic first aid kit, but with two people shot in the room, these few supplies were hardly effective. Plus, neither of them were medics; they had done what they could and left the rest to fate.

Fortunately, this was New York, and the ambulance arrived quickly. Jack and the two injured were taken to the hospital, as for the unlucky dead guy, he would have to wait for the next ambulance to be taken away.

This surveillance operation had been costly, with the loss of a team member and the loss of Reina's whereabouts. They had to go through the videos again and investigate their escape route to analyze the movements. This could be left to the surveillance team members, who were intelligence professionals; they were experts in analyzing patterns like this. Compared to people trained as probationary agents at the FBI Academy, they were far behind.

Ruiz and Jimmy took the surveillance van back to the initial hotel to retrieve Ruiz's car, then returned to Federal Square. Jimmy had to write his gunfire report, which thankfully was easier this time—only one person had died, and the other two had been shot; there was no news on them yet, but they were likely alive. Jimmy thought he'd need to ask Ruiz about it later.

The survival of these two captives was critical for intelligence. He hoped they would pull through.

After submitting his report to Ruiz, Jimmy said his piece and left work early to go home. Ruiz didn't try to stop him; on the contrary, there was a surprisingly pleased expression. Jimmy wasn't sure if his feeling was right, but at that moment, something about Ruiz's face seemed off.

Jimmy left Federal Square and bought a coffee from a roadside café to drink as he walked. Passing a clean-looking trash can, he set his coffee on it, took out a cigarette from his pack, lit it, and then put the pack back in his pocket.

"Hey, buddy, can you spare a smoke?" A homeless man next to him saw Jimmy smoking by the trash can, called out, and waved his hand toward him.

Jimmy turned to look, took out another cigarette from the pack, and walked over to hand it to him.

Jimmy had complex feelings about the homeless. On one hand, during his time in New York, he'd seen too many incidents caused by the homeless. On the other hand, he had started his life in this world as a homeless man himself, with a homeless friend, Jerry, who had since found better days. He couldn't bring himself to despise the homeless completely, like the locals did.

It could just be said that Jimmy still had a conscience and wasn't completely swallowed by the darker side of America. He knew who had been good to him.

"Thanks, man," said the homeless man, taking the cigarette, pulling out a lighter from his pocket to light it, and then putting the lighter back.

"Wait a minute, can I see your lighter?" Jimmy suddenly called to the homeless man.

"The lighter?" The homeless man took it out and handed it to Jimmy.

Jimmy wasn't mistaken; it was the kind of oil lighter he remembered people at home using when he was a child—one side square, the other side cylindrical.

This lighter must have been used for many years; its surface was worn smooth, revealing its brass casing. Although the design was similar to what I had seen in my childhood, the ones back then were generally shiny, silver-colored stainless steel or iron.

Jimmy struck it twice, and it ignited smoothly. He sniffed the scent of the fuel, guessing that the homeless man probably used the same kind of fluid as his own Zippo.

"It's very nice; it looks like you've had it for many years," Jimmy returned the lighter to the homeless man.

"Brought it back from the Vietnam War; it's indeed been many years," the homeless man said, rotating the lighter in his hand. He took a drag from his cigarette, slowly exhaled, and then tossed the lighter to Jimmy. "Here, it's yours now, thanks for the cigarette."

Jimmy caught the lighter and then tried to give it back to the homeless man, "No no, I can't take this. You've had it for so many years; you should really keep it."

The homeless man waved his hand dismissively, "It doesn't mean anything to me anymore."

Jimmy withdrew his hand and took his own Zippo out of his pocket to give to the homeless man, "You still need something to light your fires with, here, take it."

The homeless man took Jimmy's Zippo, and Jimmy thanked him again. Then he went to a nearby bakery, bought some food, and brought it back to the homeless man, leaving him all the cigarettes from his pack as well.

Jimmy chose to buy food instead of giving money directly because he knew that for a homeless person, having cash wasn't always a good thing. Fights over 10 dollars were not uncommon among the homeless.

The United States was no heaven, and for the homeless, New York was even more like hell. The city was teeming with people, and the number of homeless was uncountable. No organization kept track of them—not the Church nor any charity could cover so many. Many homeless people were not so much living as they were waiting to die.

By giving food, Jimmy at least ensured that the homeless man wouldn't go hungry for a couple of days. It wasn't much, but Jimmy dared not give more; it could lead to trouble, really, it could even be deadly for him.

When Jimmy got home, he took apart the lighter, discarding the cotton and wick before thoroughly cleaning it. After a blow-dry, he left it on the table to air out any remaining moisture in crevices.

When it seemed about right, he installed the spare wick and cotton from his own Zippo, refilled it with fluid, and reassembled it. Jimmy tested it; the ignition worked fine. Yeah, he would use this one from now on.

The next day, Jimmy arrived at the office and continued going through documents. Ruiz looked surprised when he saw Jimmy.

"Jimmy, why don't you take a longer break?" Ruiz approached Jimmy's desk.

Jimmy looked up at Ruiz, knowing what he was referring to, "It's okay, I'm used to it, don't worry, I'm fine."

Ruiz nodded, "Alright then, keep working. The surveillance team has gone back to watching Moro from the Holy Crown Alliance. Reina was the one dealing with Moro; he'll show up again for sure. We'll just wait for news."

He turned to go back to his own office but then came back, "By the way, the two people who were shot are alive but still in ICU. Once they're better, you'll come with me to give a statement."

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