Chapter Eighty-Three: Driven Away in Anger

"If you don't plead guilty, then you'll have to go to court. In your case, the court will drag things out before issuing a verdict. Technically, a simple traffic court could deal with it, but you know how efficient those bureaucrats are..." Coffin said to Cynthia.

"I plead guilty!" Cynthia admitted readily, without hesitation.

Normally, if you defend yourself in traffic court and win, everything can be written off, including the fine and the points to be deducted. But if you lose, you might receive a summons two months later and have to go to court again, with a high likelihood of losing. So for most traffic violations that involve points, people opt for traffic court to fight for a better outcome. Because losing points could quickly lead to a suspended license.

Coffin was surprised; she had expected Cynthia to choose traffic court. She shrugged and told the plump officer beside her, "Process her penalty paperwork, then let her go."

"I thought you'd find some excuse to detain me for another twenty-four hours!" Cynthia shot Coffin a provocative look.

"There'll be plenty of chances, don't worry!" Coffin retorted, snorting at her before leaving the office.

"Come here, heroine, let's see how many points you'll lose. And... your motorcycle hasn't been brought back yet. Want to go get it yourself? That way you'll avoid the towing fee," the plump officer said, unimpressed by Cynthia's attitude toward Coffin and not particularly friendly herself.

Just then, someone walked in—Davis. He spotted Cynthia sitting in the police station, smiled, and walked over. "I'm here to bail you out. Hey... I want to bail her out, can I apply to the court? How much is the bail?"

"Davis? Ah-ha—you want to bail her out? She isn't going to criminal court, so... we're about to let her go anyway. Don't show off your intelligence, everyone knows this is just a routine traffic violation... You like her, huh? Coming here to play the gallant?"

"Alright, I thought so..."

"Are you here to laugh at me?" Cynthia was completely unimpressed by Davis. "Get out of here, I don't want to see you or your boss."

"Why? I didn't do anything to you—" Davis spread his hands, looking very wronged. "I even thought about coming to bail you out..."

"Regular traffic violations need bail? I'm not a criminal... damn, what exactly is going on in your head?" Cynthia complained loudly.

"I thought... biker girls in leather pants usually have some secrets they can't share..." Davis shrugged helplessly. "I've always thought girls dressed like that were troublemakers..."

"Oh, my God, damn it, just get out of here. Your face makes me want to throw up..."

"Maybe... it's because you drank a lot at the bar last night..."

"Haha... no, your face looks just like a beaver... little eyes, little ears, those disgusting buck teeth, and a face with short whiskers, it's just... revolting."

While they spoke, a tow truck pulled up in the station parking lot, and someone unloaded the motorcycle from it. Caleb handed the keys to the plump policewoman.

She tossed the keys onto the desk and said to Cynthia, "Now... the bike's yours again, you can go. Take your ticket with you..."

Cynthia grabbed the ticket and snatched the keys, then looked at the plump officer with disdain before turning to leave, not even glancing at Davis.

"Buddy, you're a tragedy... How many times have women dumped you?" The plump policewoman looked at Davis with pity. "Go find a nice place to have a good cry, you wimp!"

"I'm not a wimp!" Davis jabbed his finger at her angrily, then stalked out, fuming.

Davis hurried after Cynthia, who had already reached the parking lot. "Sorry... I didn't understand the situation before... So are you planning to stay in town?"

"No, I was going to stay here, seeing your pathetic boss's face, but I've changed my mind. Damn... you're all jerks, you and Qiu." She put on her helmet, flipped Davis the finger, started up the motorcycle, revved the engine, and sped away with a roar.

"Come on... don't treat me like that!" Davis spread his hands at the vanishing girl, slapped his thighs, shook his head, and prepared to head back.

Qiu Fengyu was already back at the noodle shop, polishing his Mustang on the roadside.

"Hey, boss!"

Davis walked over, slumping against the trunk of the car.

"Bailed out?"

"No, it was just a regular traffic violation, and she pled guilty on the spot. She won't even go to traffic court, let alone be held by the police." Davis sounded dejected. "She's gone now, and I doubt she'll ever come back."

"Very good, that girl is trouble. She's not your type!"

"I think she likes you more!"

"There's no point in talking about that, Davis. Whether she likes me or not doesn't matter, because she's gone now. If I'm not mistaken, she won't be back, and... she probably hates me more now. I'm the one who called the cops..." Qiu Fengyu chuckled, utterly unconcerned.

"Alright, she's not my type, I get it. I should act more like a man." Davis was a little worked up. "She said my face looks like a beaver today..."

"A beaver? Oh, I get it... haha, I never thought about it that way, but now that I do, she might have a point, though her imagination is a bit abstract... haha..." Qiu Fengyu laughed heartily.

"Oh, please... boss, you make me want to kill myself!" Davis formed his hand into a gun and mimed shooting himself in the mouth.

"Forget about it, that girl doesn't belong in this small town. Just look at her—she's not the type who can stay here for long. Don't waste your thoughts on impossible things. You're better off going to Brekin's tonight and finding a Russian girl... Brekin has at least five Russian girls working for him now. That guy lucked out..."

"We got rid of the Russians, and that bastard benefitted..." Davis grumbled.

"So... don't show even a hint of that attitude. It means—if you want those girls, you have to pay, understood?"

"Alright, you're right!" Davis nodded, waved his hand, "I'm off, boss. See you at the bar tonight!"

"See you at the bar!"

Watching Davis leave, Qiu Fengyu shook his head. Davis was still too soft when it came to women. Had he really been in so many relationships? Probably always dumped—pathetic.

The bar was a bit quiet that evening.

But Qiu Fengyu noticed the Japanese girl, Ryoko Yonekura, sitting quietly at a table drinking. Odd—she almost never came to the bar.

"Boss, honestly, I didn't really like that girl... When I knew she liked you more, I lost all interest. But... I don't want to mess around with Russian girls either, that's pointless." Davis confided in Qiu Fengyu, "I'm a little confused now..."

"Listen, buddy, I'm not your spiritual adviser, don't dump all your girl troubles on me." Qiu Fengyu grabbed his collar and pulled him close. "When you're drunk, it's best not to say anything, just go home and sleep. Got it?"

"Alright, I'll listen to you, boss... I've always listened to you, you're a good guy!" Davis said, swaying with the effects of drink, slapped a few bills on the bar, and staggered out.

"Poor guy, lovesick!" Brekin leaned over, grinning at Qiu Fengyu.

"Listen, Brekin, he doesn't need your pity..." Qiu Fengyu warned him.

"I know, I know!" Brekin quickly raised both hands. He was always clear on one thing: Qiu Fengyu was tough, not someone to mess with. He had a hunch that the Russians' downfall was connected to Qiu Fengyu. No evidence, but those hunches often proved true.

So Brekin never provoked Qiu Fengyu, even a little afraid of him.

"Put on some jazz, buddy!" Qiu Fengyu raised his glass, took a sip, and looked around the bar.

"Cowboys all love western country music..." Brekin smiled. "Alright, jazz... I've got some old jazz records here, really vintage stuff. I love this nostalgic jazz vibe, I must say... it's a noble taste, very easy on the ear..."

Qiu Fengyu ignored him. After a few drinks, he paid and left.

No sooner had he left than Ryoko Yonekura stood up, followed him out, leaving silently, never having spoken a word.