บท 16: Chapter 14: Coming to the Door
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"Dean, here's what you wanted," Jerry, who had just returned from outside, found Dean tinkering with a network iron in the garage.
He tossed a bag of parts salvaged from a second-hand market to Dean and then curiously leaned in to look it over from all angles.
"Dean, are you planning to replace the speakers on your home computer?" Jerry didn't understand what he wanted with a bunch of junk, even if he wanted to modify something, he should buy newer parts.
"No, just making some little gadgets," Dean answered his question vaguely.
Setting aside the work in his hands, Dean casually sifted through the package Jerry brought back.
Unbranded black plastic boxes, violently disassembled speakers, and a hodgepodge of wiring. Hmm, not bad, pretty much everything's here.
"Good job, Jerry. I got that 'Double Dragon 2' you wanted sorted out last night." Having inventoried his haul, Dean went back to his major modification project.
After being inspired at Wedner's, he had been tirelessly preparing for tomorrow's deal.
These small boxes, acting as external speakers, were the accompanying devices Dean had prepared for the telephone cards.
Of course, that was just a guise, merely serving the purpose of deceiving people.
But you can't say they're completely useless because Dean's handmade boxes can indeed amplify the sound from the telephone receiver.
There was no need for too many, seven or eight sets were sufficient; Dean could finish them in one evening.
"By the way, Dean, when I passed by the east side of town earlier, it seemed like someone was actively seeking to buy our internal cards. But since I didn't have any on me, I didn't inquire further; those guys didn't look too friendly."
While watching Dean's handiwork, Jerry suddenly remembered what he had seen on the road. His intuition told him not to mess with the people from the east side of town, especially those black guys with their heads wrapped in bandanas.
Hearing his description, Dean paused his work and raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Jerry, you did the right thing. We'll stop selling the internal phone cards for now, and I'll find an opportunity to dispose of them all in one go."
Dean knew that dealing in phone cards wasn't a sustainable gig, but he hadn't expected people to become aware of their presence so quickly.
Was it the phone company? It didn't seem likely; Dean was quite confident in his computing skills. He felt that he hadn't left any loopholes, and all his actions had been very restrained.
Nevermind, now wasn't the time to fuss over these things. If the deal with that Scott from Texas goes well, then these small-time phone cards really wouldn't matter.
"Dean, that's a lot of money. Isn't it too wasteful to give it up like that?" Jerry, who had already tasted the sweetness a few days ago, was somewhat reluctant to give up the income from the phone cards.
"Jerry, think long term. We're just making pocket money, not trying to end up in jail."
"Alright, I'll listen to you, Dean." Jerry knew he wasn't as smart as Dean, so following his lead was definitely the right choice.
"All done, my work here is finished, now I need to go out and make a call." Counting the eight black boxes in front of him, Dean slapped his hands satisfactorily and left the garage.
Dean went upstairs to change into a different outfit and, upon returning to the living room before he could leave, was stopped by Frank's excited voice.
"Dean, look what I found!" Frank waved a copy of the "Youngstown Guardian" in his hand, "Someone is standing up for Peter, and it's a doctor."
Without waiting for Dean's response, he started reading aloud from the paper. "As we all know, as early as 1957, the American Medical Association officially recognized alcoholism as a physiological disease.
According to surveys, 90% of Americans agree that there is a direct link between alcoholism and physiological diseases. Since those who drink excessively are not acting as agents of free will, physiological diseases should not be blamed on personal fault."
"He's damn right! Dean, this doctor is a genius!" Frank wholeheartedly agreed with the statement from Dr. Sean Murphy.
After all, how many people in Youngstown don't drink? Who can guarantee they won't be the one caught tomorrow?
"This Dr. Sean also cited a recent drunk driving case in Youngstown as an example, claiming that Peter shouldn't face excessive punishment as it violates human rights."
"Really?" Dean shrugged, "Sounds like an enlightened doctor."
It seemed his 200 US dollars were well spent.
"Exactly, he is a compassionate, enlightened, selfless doctor! Peter's case will definitely get a good outcome in two days."
A selfless doctor? Dean smirked, if he hadn't taken his 200 US dollars.
Leaving his aunt's house for Bruce Street, Dean pulled out a spare phone card, ready to call that Mr. Scott.
Because of the presence of the black boxes, the method of the deal had to change.
"Dean!"
Just as Dean arrived at the phone booth, he heard someone calling his name from behind before he could go in.
Turning around, Dean's mouth fell open slightly; he saw someone he totally didn't expect.
"Reed?!"
With a hint of cautiousness and hopefulness on his face, Reed attempted to lift a smile.
"Dean, it's been almost half a year since we last saw each other. I heard you went to Cleveland for college."
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"F*ck you, Reed! You still have the nerve to come back?" Dean strode up to him. "Bang!" He landed a punch on Reed, who didn't even try to dodge.
"Asshole, do you have any idea how Mom died? Do you realize that even when everyone else gave up on you, she never did!" Dean grabbed his collar and pinned him against the phone booth's glass enclosure.
A flicker of pain crossed Reed's eyes, but he resignedly kept his mouth shut.
"If you really want to atone for what you've done, you should go to church and confess, beg for Mom's forgiveness at her grave. Then disappear from Youngstown and stop messing with everyone's life."
Dean wouldn't relentlessly pursue Reed's mistakes, but he also didn't want to forgive him. For the Price family and his aunt's family, Reed's disappearance would be the best outcome.
Seemingly stung by Dean's words, Reed's eyes reddened slightly, but he quickly regained his composure.
"Dean, I didn't come to ask for your forgiveness. I know the sins I've committed can only be washed away in hell. But you should recognize this, right?" Reed pulled out a card resembling an MCI phone card from his pocket.
Dean's expression changed, "Where did you get that?"
"East side of the city, people are probing its origin. You know, those gangs and junkies have a high demand, and they love a bargain—in their eyes, it's just another business deal."
Dean's expression turned complex. Damn, why is it so hard to make some extra cash in America? He had barely gotten started, and already people were on to him.
"Let's find a place to talk." Reed glanced at the house on the street corner belonging to his aunt, signaling to move somewhere else.
...
Youngstown South, Mill Creek Park.
"Remember when we used to feed birds here together as kids?" Reed gazed at the snow-clad forest with a reflective look.
Following behind him, Dean's mind involuntarily traveled back to those days.
Back then, many of Youngstown's factories were still open. From the north end of the park, they could see the steel mills and railway tracks, with faint sulfur smells permeating the air above Mill Creek Park.
Yet, this didn't disturb the vibrant life of the park where, to pass the dull moments, he and Reed would often come and pick oranges. They'd hollow out the fruit and stuff it with peanut butter.
Then, using a piece of string to thread through the orange, they would hang it on a tree in the park to feed the birds. Whenever the birds came, both of them would get so excited, jumping and dancing around. It was one of the joys of their childhood.
"Dean, you've grown up, become smarter. But you're still too kind-hearted towards this world. As a kid, that was a sign of love, but as an adult, it's easy to hurt yourself."
Reed took out the card, "Like this, for instance. Maybe you just wanted to make some pocket money, or perhaps you thought of selling it cheap to those in need.
But you've overlooked how your actions also attract the greed around you. After all, there are more poor than rich in the world, especially here in Youngstown, where those who are desperate don't mind taking risks.
Think about the crime rate in Youngstown these past years. You won't find a single clean person in the east or north of the city."
Dean frowned at him, as if seeing him for the first time.
"Don't look at me like that, I only understood this after going through it once myself," Reed recalled the days when he worked as a pharmacy assistant.
"So you came to me today just to remind me of this?" Dean interrupted Reed's reminiscing.
"No," Reed turned around, "give me the rest of your cards, I'll handle them for you. You'll get every dollar of the income."
"What?" Dean thought he had heard wrong.
"Dean, you're not cut out for this stuff. Your future is in college, follow the path and you'll be one of the elite.
And certainly don't hand it over to Jerry, you can't expect a high school student to be thorough, otherwise, I wouldn't have found you."
"Jerry?" Dean's expression changed; he seemed to have inadvertently dragged his cousin into this.
Seeming to know what he was thinking, Reed reassured him, "Don't worry, I've already cleaned up any traces for him."
Phew, he almost caused trouble for his family due to his carelessness.
"Can you trust me now?" Reed looked at him quietly.
Dean was conflicted. He didn't know whether to trust an addict, yet some of the things he said were true.
Moreover, deep down Dean subconsciously believed that Reed wouldn't deliberately hurt their family, as there was no gain in it for him.
"Dean, I'm currently undergoing rehabilitation," Reed shared this news for the first time outside of Serenity Club.
"Rehab?" Dean looked at him in surprise.
"Yes, it's painful, but I've made it this far." The horrific withdrawal symptoms still haunted Reed.
Sighing deeply, Dean paused in his thoughts.
"Reed, I don't know if I should trust you. But remember, we have Irish blood in our veins.
Irish people don't betray their family, Mom taught us that over and over."
"Of course," Reed fell back into reminiscing.
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