This trip was to Europe, so naturally, Jimmy couldn't carry guns like he did in the United States; he left both guns in the safe of his New York apartment. Since it wasn't an official flight, nor was he carrying a diplomatic passport, Jimmy wasn't eligible to carry guns. Of course, if local permits were issued, it wouldn't be a big issue. TSA and customs reporting could allow for carrying firearms, but it was just too much hassle. The return journey would require going through the entire process for approval, and even though he had a significant lack of security, it wasn't worth the trouble.

New York and Paris were six time zones apart, and because he hadn't prepared in advance, he had to depart during the day. By the time he reached Paris, it was already night, and all he could do at that time was find a place to stay and start his outdoor activities the next day.

Nothing particularly noteworthy happened during the several hours on the plane. Once Jimmy boarded the plane, he had already briefly inspected the people and the place on board. For him, this remote viewing capability was incredibly convenient. Although it wasn't clear, it allowed him to observe something if anything unusual occurred.

Regrettably, there were no romantic encounters on the plane. Jimmy could only pass some time and then sleep. Although the position was uncomfortable, it was better than staring out the window with open eyes.

The plane safely landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Jimmy followed the crowd off the plane, and then the unfortunate happened—he was stopped by airport security and taken aside for a separate check by the airport police.

Jimmy frowned as he watched them. What was going on? Had he committed any offenses here? That shouldn't be the case.

The airport police asked Jimmy to show his passport. He took out his ticket and passport from his pocket and handed them over. When the officer saw it was a U.S. passport, he didn't bother to check the details carefully. He just slipped the ticket into the passport and handed it back to Jimmy, then instructed him to continue following the crowd to the customs check.

Following the crowd somewhat puzzled, Jimmy occasionally looked back at them. Soon, another Asian and a Middle Eastern man wearing a white hat were also stopped. F**K, they were targeting specific people, Jimmy thought, a bit annoyed as his good mood suddenly vanished.

The immigration check went smoothly. Although Jimmy was Asian, his passport was American. After the check and stamp, Jimmy successfully entered France.

At the airport exit, there were already many people lined up waiting for taxis. Jimmy looked around, then walked over to a trash bin on the side and lit a cigarette while he waited for the crowd to disperse. He wasn't one to join the hustle and bustle. Since so many people were competing for taxis, he decided to wait a bit, especially since he wasn't in a hurry and hadn't even booked a hotel yet.

The sound of an engine, "buzz—buzz," came across as a taxi stopped by the side of the road. The car door opened, and the passenger immediately grabbed the door and vomited onto the ground. Jimmy found this situation quite novel. There were many people who suffered from motion sickness, but to this extent was not easy.

After the passenger got off, the taxi didn't leave but stayed put. The people around looking to hail a cab kept their distance and went to other cars. Jimmy looked around; it seemed no one else was competing for this taxi.

Jimmy approached the vehicle and knocked on the window. When the window rolled down, he asked the driver, "Sir, can you understand English?"

The driver with a crew cut looked at Jimmy and nodded, "Yes, get in."

Jimmy opened the back door and got in, saying, "To District 9," then unfolded a map of Paris he had taken from the airport.

The crew-cut driver didn't wait for Jimmy to specify further and turned his body to look at him, "You need to tell me where in District 9!"

Jimmy, looking at the map, casually answered, "The Paris Opera House."

The crew-cut driver, seeing that Jimmy didn't even lift his head, pursed his lips, "OK, ready to go."

The taxi's start was normal, considering the dense traffic. But it had barely moved forward a bit when the speed picked up. Jimmy immediately looked forward and glanced at the tachometer on the dashboard. Good Lord, it was already at 140km/h, and the needle was still gradually increasing.

Jimmy hastily said, "Calm down, slow down. I'm here for tourism, not to die."

The crew-cut driver nonchalantly swayed his body and head, "Don't worry, I've never had an accident."

Jimmy, "No, I'm worried about something else. What does the sign that says Marseille mean? Aren't you a Parisian taxi?"

Crew-cut driver, "Ah, I'm from Marseille. This time, I just came to Paris to drop someone off and make a deal on the side."

Jimmy sucked in a breath. Damn it, why hadn't he checked the city name on the taxi earlier? He asked again, "Do you know the way?"

Crew-cut driver, "Of course, don't worry, I'll definitely get you to the Opera House."

Jimmy had already boarded the pirate ship, and it was too late to jump off now. So be it, speeding all the way, the grand building of the Paris Opera House soon came into view.

Of course, once in the city, his speed slowed relatively, but it was still over 80km/h. Even though Jimmy didn't know the speed limit in Paris, just by seeing the other cars being overtaken, he knew this taxi was definitely speeding severely.

When the taxi stopped, Jimmy definitely felt much better than the previous vomiting passenger, but he still felt a bit weak. Several times along the way, he felt like they were about to have an accident, but the crew-cut driver avoided them. His driving skills really were indisputable.

Jimmy, "Do you usually drive in Marseille?" The crew-cut driver nodded. Jimmy handed over the fare and took a business card, "If I travel through Marseille, I'll look you up for a ride."

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