“Don’t listen to his nonsense, she’s just a female classmate I got along well with. She works in the city, we’re worlds apart, not on the same path, and we haven’t been in touch for a long time.” Although he said this, David Carter felt even more uneasy inside. Maybe it really would come true—what would he do then?

“A female classmate you got along well with? Heh, David, you can’t even tell a convincing lie. How ‘well’ did you get along?” John Foster gave David Carter a heavy punch and grinned mischievously. “These days, what kind of ‘good relationship’ can there be between a man and a woman? Besides that kind of relationship, is there really such a thing as pure friendship?”

“Yeah, yeah, John, tonight let’s go to the skating rink and the dance hall to look for some ‘pure friendship’ ourselves.” Charles Wilson chimed in, egging him on.

Chapter 8: The Playboy

The group all agreed and headed to the club’s dance hall, while Daniel Carter took the opportunity to slip away from these older brothers. He had no freedom with them around, and he didn’t want to spend the night feeling constrained in front of his big brother.

On the way, David Carter asked John Foster about his situation. John Foster didn’t hide anything from David Carter. Working in the boiler room was really a job for no one—it was exhausting and tough, with no set schedule, and the pay was low. But these days, having a job at all was already something. Plus, after what happened with his father, he could only grit his teeth and push through. What annoyed him most was the constant sarcastic remarks from his coworkers, which made him miserable.

The club’s dance hall was quite spacious, enough to hold a hundred or two hundred people, and the equipment was pretty good. Four rotating laser ball lights and a large central rolling light spun steadily to the music, making the whole hall feel a bit dazzling.

When David Carter was working with the criminal police, he’d hung out in a few dance halls in Jiangkou County. The factory’s dance hall was much better than those in the county, both in terms of equipment and atmosphere. The lighting was also much brighter, unlike the county dance halls, which always had some dark corners for certain people’s convenience.

When David Carter and his group arrived at the entrance, the dance hall was already open. Melodious dance music played as pairs of young men and women danced energetically in the center. Those who couldn’t find a partner simply paired up with someone of the same sex—a common issue in the textile factory, where there were far more women than men, so if you couldn’t find a suitable partner, you just had to make do.

“Huh? Whose car is that?” David Carter was sharp-eyed and immediately spotted a coffee-colored Bluebird sedan parked in front of the club. The letters BULUBIRD2.0 and the Arabic numerals stood out, and the Guangdong 01 license plate made David Carter especially alert.

Most of these imported cars that made their way inland were a bit shady—basically smuggled vehicles. When even county-level officials were still struggling to get a Santana, having a high-end Japanese car like this meant you definitely had some serious connections.

Money alone wasn’t enough. To drive a car like this, you needed the right connections, or else wherever you went, the police would be eyeing you like a hawk.

David Carter had a good memory. This car had been at the criminal police team for a day or two, but then it was gone. David Carter hadn’t handled the case himself, so he didn’t know the details.

He’d participated in a few such investigations before. Japanese cars with Guangdong, Guangxi, or Fujian plates were always a focus, but most of these cases ended up unresolved. The seized cars would be released in a couple of days, and the higher-ups always kept things hush-hush.

Still, one or two cars would end up in the station. The criminal police team’s current right-hand-drive Toyota TownAce was one of these. David Carter had ridden in it before—compared to the Jinbei van, the acceleration, shock absorption, and sound system were on a whole different level.

“It’s Robert King’s. That guy’s really made it these past couple of years. He rarely comes back, spends most of his time in Andu city, and hardly ever sets foot in Jiangkou,” Philip Warren said, his envy obvious even behind his thick glasses.

“Oh, no wonder. Robert King, huh? I heard he’s doing pretty well. I wonder how he managed to get so much money?”

David Carter nodded. Robert King was two years ahead of him, one of the notorious troublemakers at the kids’ school. But he had a good father—the current factory director and Party secretary, Richard King, was his dad. Rumor had it that not long after graduating, he went to work at the textile factory’s office in Andu, but soon quit. What he was doing now, David Carter had no idea.

“Hmph, how does he get money? Isn’t it easy for him? Cotton and yarn are in such high demand now, and with his dad running the factory, he can do whatever he wants. He flips cotton and yarn and makes hundreds of thousands a year,” Philip Warren lowered his voice. “He’s really something. I heard he’s got deep connections with several county cotton and linen companies—buys with one hand, sells with the other, and spends big.”

“Philip Warren, keep your voice down. Don’t let others hear.” Charles Wilson and John Foster both looked envious, but also a bit worried that outsiders might overhear their conversation.

When David Carter and his group entered the dance hall, they immediately saw Robert King in a flashy outfit, sitting confidently in the center, surrounded by a group of arrogant cronies. Oddly enough, Robert King himself seemed rather restrained, as if he were waiting for someone.