He had never met Michael Bolton, but he knew that Michael Bolton was a big fat man. In Thomas Bolton's words, he looked very kind, like a Maitreya Buddha. Of course, if you judged him as a good person just by his appearance, you might not even know how you died in the end.

He hadn’t been in the dance hall for long when a waiter came over, looked James Carter up and down a few times, then snickered and asked in a patronizing tone, “Kid, how old are you to be hanging out in a dance hall?”

Chapter 6: Scheming

“I’m not here to have fun, I’m here to find someone.” James Carter showed a bright and harmless smile.

“Looking for someone?” The waiter instinctively glanced around and asked, “Who are you looking for?”

“Brother Michael.” James Carter said.

When the waiter heard this, he frowned, looked James Carter up and down again, then turned his head and shouted toward the back of the dance hall, “Brother Harris, someone’s here to see Brother Michael.”

At his shout, a man slowly emerged from a dark corner of the dance hall. He looked about thirty, his shirt open to reveal a large tattoo on his chest.

“Who’s looking for Brother Michael?” The burly man came up to James Carter and the waiter, his gaze passing over the waiter and landing on James Carter, sizing him up before asking, “You’re looking for Brother Michael?”

This man was nothing like Edward King; he was the real deal—a gangster. James Carter's heart raced and his nerves tensed, but his expression didn’t change; he kept smiling. He nodded and said, “Yes, I want to see Brother Michael.”

“Kid, Brother Michael isn’t someone you can just see whenever you want. If you’ve got something to say, tell me first.” The burly man stuck his hands in his pockets, tilted his head, and spoke with a half-smile.

James Carter hesitated for a moment, then nodded and said, “Alright, big brother, I... know where Edward King is.”

“What?” The burly man’s eyes widened at this, and even the waiter beside him looked at James Carter in shock and disbelief.

“You’re saying you know where Edward King is?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“I want to see Brother Michael.” James Carter said seriously.

“Alright, wait here.” The burly man gave James Carter a long look, then signaled to the waiter with his eyes before turning and heading deeper into the dance hall.

After he left, the waiter casually moved behind James Carter, clearly to block his escape route in case he tried to run.

James Carter found it amusing. Since he’d come this far, he wasn’t about to leave before seeing Michael Bolton.

It wasn’t long before the burly man returned. He walked up to James Carter, jerked his head, and said, “Brother Michael agreed to see you. Kid, come with me.” With that, he turned and walked away. James Carter took a deep breath and followed him.

The burly man led him down a corridor and finally stopped at the door at the very end. He knocked twice, then pushed the door open, stepped aside, and jerked his head at James Carter: “Go in.”

To say James Carter wasn’t nervous about meeting the legendary Michael Bolton would be a lie. He kept his mouth tightly shut, afraid that if he opened it, his heart would leap out of his throat.

He took several deep breaths, then stepped into the room.

The room was much brighter than the dance floor, though it was filled with smoke. Several people were either sitting or standing—some in suits, others in just vests and shorts. Behind the desk sat a middle-aged fat man, who looked to be in his forties. It was hard to tell if he was tall, but he was certainly burly—he must have weighed at least two hundred pounds. His face was big with small eyes, and perhaps because he was so fat, the flesh on his face squeezed his already small eyes into slits, making him look like he was always squinting and smiling.

This must be Michael Bolton! Seeing him, James Carter could understand why his wife would get involved with Edward King. Edward King wasn’t much more handsome than Michael Bolton, but at least his build wouldn’t crush someone to death.

As James Carter sized up the middle-aged fat man, the latter was also sizing him up.

After a moment, the people in the room all let out mocking snickers. The fat man didn’t laugh; he stared intently at James Carter and asked, enunciating each word, “Young man, I am Michael Bolton! I hear you know where Edward King is. Where is he now?”

So it really was Michael Bolton! James Carter grinned, showing two rows of white teeth, and shook his head, saying, “Brother Michael, I can’t confirm Edward King’s exact whereabouts yet…”

Before he could finish, someone on the sofa slammed the table and cursed at him, “Damn it, kid, are you here to mess with us today?”

As soon as he finished, Michael Bolton shot him a fierce glare, scaring the man into quickly sitting back down. Then Michael Bolton smiled kindly at James Carter, reached back to open a desk drawer, took out two stacks of hundred-yuan bills, tossed them on the desk, and gestured with his mouth, saying, “Go ahead, as long as what you say is true, this money is yours.”

James Carter shook his head.