These two Yamahas, one red and one white, still looked brand new from the outside, their lacquer gleaming. But when he looked closely through Little Bug, he found they were just empty frames—the engines had been removed, so they were obviously worthless.

Shaking his head, he left, and Little Bug moved through the warehouse.

Just like the massage chair warehouse, there were a lot of miscellaneous items here too, but no sign of a Harley.

Entering the second warehouse, he saw motorcycles again, but this time the bikes were covered with canvas over the back half. Still not what he was looking for—this was a self-assembled motorcycle.

After checking three warehouses in a row, all three had motorcycles, or at least motorcycle frames, which made his search more difficult.

After seeing so many motorcycles, David Thompson was getting a bit cross-eyed. He had to pull back Little Bug midway and look at pictures of the Harley Road Glide again.

The more he used Little Bug, the more experienced he became.

Now he could control Little Bug's avatar for about five minutes, but only if he controlled it continuously. If he recalled Little Bug midway, each time he did so, the time his energy could sustain would decrease by thirty seconds.

It was like driving a car—every time you start it, it uses more fuel. Little Bug crawling in and out of his palm was just like starting and stopping a car.

There were five warehouses in total. He found no trace of the Harley in the first four, and by then David Thompson was exhausted and had to go back to rest.

On the fourth, he returned to the motorcycle warehouse and spent all his time searching the fifth warehouse.

Henry's information was correct—there was a big motorcycle in this warehouse.

And his efforts weren't wasted. To preserve the bike better, it had been disassembled for storage: the tires, frame, and engine were kept in separate boxes. So unless you opened the boxes, there was no way to find any trace of it!

Chapter 0011: Who's the Dumb Dog

February 5th, the clouds finally cleared, and the sun was shining bright.

After a cold winter, the sky over Flagstaff seemed even bluer. David Thompson looked up at the blue sky, feeling refreshed and relaxed.

Countless rays of light poured down on the earth, warming everyone. Henry blew into his hands and said, "Great, spring is coming, and so is the springtime for Big Boss Fu!"

"Spring is coming, are you going into heat? If that's the case, the female cats and dogs in Flagstaff are in for trouble." A rough voice sounded from behind, followed by a few laughs.

David Thompson wanted to laugh too, but he knew he couldn't—he and Henry were on the same team.

Soon, he didn't feel like laughing. The crude voice continued, "Oh, you like little yellow dogs too? That's a pretty unique hobby."

David Thompson frowned. That was a jab at his skin color.

Many Americans have deeply ingrained racist attitudes, but because the law is strict on this, they skirt the line, using all kinds of strange metaphors to mock people of color.

Henry turned back angrily, glaring at a white fat guy with slicked-back hair. " Randall, your mouth is still as yappy as a woman’s. This time I’m going to win the motorcycle warehouse and make enough money to send you to Thailand for surgery."

David Thompson nodded at Randall and said, "No need to thank him, that's just how generous he is."

Randall was accompanied by two big black men, both about 1.95 meters tall, wearing only thin T-shirts, looking like two black bears.

Hearing David Thompson's words, one of the black men growled, "No one asked you to talk, little lady!"

Henry went up and shoved the big guy, snapping, "Barry, no need to act like a damn tough guy here! You're a sissy's sidekick, so you must be a ball-less wimp too!"

David Thompson added, "In China, real tough guys never wear earrings. According to Lupus's reverse inference formula, anyone with earrings can't be a tough guy—they must be a cute girl with a pink soul."

"You looking for a fight?"

"Bring it on!"

"I'm going to crush this little yellow boy's neck!"

Henry curled his lip disdainfully. "Come on, do it! One less competitor for me!"

David Thompson wasn't afraid either. Lately, he'd been studying up on storage auctions and knew that these auctions had strict rules—anyone who started a fight would be kicked out immediately.

Randall left, but before he did, he jabbed his finger into Henry's chest and said, "Just wait, loser. As long as I'm here today, you won't get a single warehouse!"

Henry responded with a middle finger.

This storage auction started at eight o'clock and was supposed to finish before noon.

David Thompson looked around. There were fewer warehouses up for auction this time than last, but more people—at least seventy or eighty.

Henry explained the reason: "Last time, it was mostly Flagstaff's treasure hunters. This time, the Harley is worth a lot, so some treasure hunters from nearby towns have come too."

"What's the deal with that Randall?"

"An idiot from Phoenix—arrogant, conceited, ignorant, and dumb. Just ignore him," Henry said through gritted teeth. "But the guy has a powerful brother-in-law, so just watch out for him."

Just like at the Smith storage auction, the auctioneer this time was still the fast-talking old man in a cowboy hat: "Everyone line up, the storage auction is about to start, I won't repeat the rules, if you don't understand, you don't need to be here at all &%￥#..."