The flat-headed man raised his eyebrows, "Of course there's no problem. Bye."

Jimmy got out of the car, took his suitcase from the trunk, and stood by the roadside. The taxi moved slowly in front of him. Jimmy watched the car and suddenly noticed the license plate flipping over – a new plate appeared in the blink of an eye. After the flip, the taxi sped away, leaving Jimmy dumbfounded.

Jimmy took out a business card from his pocket, a very simple one with just Daniel and a mobile number, nothing else. He shook his head, put the card back into his pocket, and stood by the roadside to rest. The taxi driver was really good, as long as one could tolerate some things, whether rushing on a journey or getting to know the local area, it was definitely better than reading a map by himself.

Jimmy, dragging his suitcase, strolled down the street, looking around for a hotel while observing his surroundings. Fortunately, there were plenty of hotels here. He checked into a decent-looking one, albeit a bit pricey, but it wasn't much of an issue since he hadn't prepared and booked in advance. This kind of impromptu travel normally costs more; it's not like he could wander the streets late at night, especially since Paris isn't exactly the safest place, even in the heart of the city center.

Checking the time, it was now a little past 9 PM. Jimmy put down his luggage, tidied up a bit, and went out. Daytime had its advantages, and nighttime its own scenery. Jimmy had dinner at a nearby Parisian restaurant and then went out to look for his target.

Jimmy walked along, glancing from side to side, and then spotted a few familiar faces who seemed to have been loitering around here.

A black man crossed Jimmy from the opposite direction and brushed against him sideways. His clothes concealed Jimmy's physique. The man's initial plan was to pick-pocket Jimmy after bumping into him, but being prepared, Jimmy didn't budge an inch. Instead, he grabbed the man's wrist just as his hand reached into Jimmy's pocket.

Jimmy looked at him, "What are you trying to do?"

The black man glared at Jimmy and tried to pull his hand back, but he was not strong and certainly no match for Jimmy, who was muscular under his clothes.

The black man said something, unfortunately in French, which Jimmy didn't understand at all. After struggling a few times, Jimmy let go of him, "Scram."

Being in Paris was truly inconvenient. The language barrier, lack of law enforcement authority, it was all such a hassle to deal with these people. He didn't even have the chance to take them down on the spot.

Jimmy looked around and, not seeing anyone paying attention to him, continued walking forward. In a short while, several people ran up from behind, their footsteps loud and clear. Jimmy glanced back and saw the black man leading two others. As they approached Jimmy, one of them pulled out a switchblade from his pocket.

"Shit!" Jimmy immediately turned around. In the FBI Academy, the combat training emphasized dealing with armed assailants; their everyday enforcement involved either keeping a distance for gunfire or engaging in close combat with no other options.

Jimmy raised his left hand to block the approaching black man's arm, crouched down slightly and with his right hand delivered a punch straight into a sensitive area. The black man instantly knelt down in pain. Then Jimmy stood up and delivered a whip kick to the one with the switchblade, knocking him to the side before dealing with the last unarmed man.

Although Jimmy had graduated from the FBI Academy with excellent marks, this was his first real fight where he was unarmed and facing three people, one of them armed.

This was when Jimmy's regular training showed its results. Normal punches and kicks, combined with Jimmy's muscular strength, were effective, pushing them back and giving him space to breathe. At least there wasn't a situation in which he was immediately swooped on by all three.

Jimmy grabbed an arm of the man closest to him, pulled him in, and with force kicked the man's shin, flopping him to the ground, then kicked the back of his knee. The black man lay on the ground, clutching his leg and howling in pain.

The other two had regained their composure by this time, especially the man hit in a vital area by Jimmy; it seemed that even though Jimmy's punch had made contact, it was too light and hadn't been effective.

Jimmy first blocked the man in front of him, kicked the second man to push him back a little, and then used the recoil of his kick to pull the black man who was grabbing his arm violently backward. Taking advantage of the man's sudden imbalance, he headbutted him, then grabbed the man's arm and clothes, and with a kneel and a twist, executed a shoulder throw that sent the black man to the ground. Although this kind of throw didn't incapacitate his opponent completely, it seemed like his head had slammed against the hard ground, and he now rolled around, clutching his head with both hands.

The last one was the man with the knife. He was stabbing toward Jimmy's abdomen, but Jimmy sidestepped a good distance away, then caught the man's hand with his right, and slapped forcefully against his arm with his left. The pain caused the black man to lose his grip on the knife, which dropped to the ground. Jimmy then kicked the man's calf, and with a strong pull to the side and back, he sent him tumbling to the ground, unstable and off balance. Jimmy also kicked him on the thigh for good measure, making it hard for the man to get up quickly.

Jimmy kicked the fallen knife away and then backed off, distancing himself from them. Although it was night, the street was still quite populated, but as soon as the fight had begun, everyone had quickly cleared out, leaving the scene. Seeing Jimmy take down three opponents in barely a dozen seconds had been a spectacle for a few onlookers, who cheered and applauded as if they had watched an exciting performance.

"Can someone call the police? I don't have a phone." Jimmy looked at the three on the ground: one clutching his leg, another his arm, and a third appeared to have passed out.

However, it was a pity that the people nearby, seeing that the show was over, scattered, and not one of them offered to call the police.

Jimmy couldn't do anything but watch them momentarily, slowly back away, and then leave the scene. As for the three men, he could no longer concern himself with them and hoped they would be okay.

Jimmy didn't feel like going to the bar anymore. His mood had been completely spoiled by the incident that night. After resting for the evening, he planned to check out the nearby sights as intended, but upon waking up, he discovered that it had started snowing outside.

In the light snowfall, Jimmy walked around the area, then headed towards the Champs-Élysées. Despite knowing beforehand that it was packed with expensive luxury brands, he was still startled by the prices. Jimmy realized that even though he had no worries about food and drink, he was still poor.

That afternoon, Jimmy took a taxi directly to the Thirteenth District. He had inquired with locals near the sights in the morning and found out that there were many Chinese communities in Chinatown, similar to New York's, so Jimmy opted to head there straight away; he needed to prepare some backup clothes and other items.

The reason for choosing this place was that Jimmy believed Chinatown in Paris, just like the one in New York, would lack surveillance, making it easier for him to blend in with the Chinese crowd and avoid being tracked. Even if he bought anything, nobody would know.

Because it was winter, the backup clothes Jimmy chose were several turtleneck sweaters and hooded sweatshirts, along with scarves, pants, shoes, and gloves. If necessary, he didn't want any belongings he'd brought with him to be found in any inappropriate situations.

In a well-hidden mobile phone shop, Jimmy not only bought a burner phone but also picked up a second-hand walkie-talkie. Of course, the frequencies used by Paris police were given as a freebie by the shop owner who appreciated the business. Jimmy knew he would have these items because it was the same in New York; as long as you paid, they'd pull out whatever you wanted from some hidden stockpile—it was all just a matter of money.

Carrying a bunch of purchases, Jimmy took a cab back to his hotel, sorted the items into his suitcase, and then felt relieved. After dining out, he returned to his room, continued planning where to visit next, and listened to the conversations on the walkie-talkie with one earpiece.

The trouble from last night was too annoying; Jimmy needed to avoid areas with frequent incidents based on the police radio transmissions; otherwise, he would lose control and use excessive force. Even without a gun, using the skills he'd learned at the FBI to take down a couple of gang hideouts wasn't too much of a problem, especially when he had an edge.

The next day, the weather cleared, and early in the morning, Jimmy headed straight for the Louvre, which was his destination for today. After looking around Paris, aside from shopping, there didn't seem to be much else that interested him. Jimmy planned to finish visiting his selected places and then prepare to leave.

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