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The Batiste brothers were stirring their noodles with their hands as they said jokingly, "Has New York been conquered by aliens? Or was there a terrorist attack again?"

Unfortunately, they had a point. The late police car had confirmed that.

"I can only report the crime now. My boys have all been sent to the center of Manhattan."

Sam opened his mouth. "What’s happening?"

"An anti-war demonstration. The number of protesters increased suddenly for no apparent reason. Originally, there had barely been more than 100, but in the evening there were as many as 1,000."

"Fights broke out. I wonder if there were any leaders. Whey they began to attack the City Hall, we noticed that there were many sturdy men involved."

"Aren’t they veterans? Ha ha!"

Sam fell silent at the news. He was frightened. They were far from the City Hall, but the riots downtown indicated a great danger. The city was short on public security, so it was natural for its residents to be scared.

"Well, it’s too late now. I’ll drop by the police station tomorrow."

Uncle Sam rushed back to his home with his shotgun. Those smart criminals will fish in troubled waters in the turbulent night. They might skip a broken store, but would they set fire to my store if they failed to find anything? Oh, my!

Cong Nianwei, who had also witnessed the whole thing, wanted to shout. She laid her boiling noodles aside and shouted at Qin Guan, "Will our gallery be safe?"

All the foodies fell silent. Qin Guan recalled his own art studio, which enjoyed big fame at the Chelsea Fair. He was not rolling around in money, but the annual profits were hundreds of thousands of dollars. Besides, Lan Jin had just brought several cases of Chinese products... Shrewd men were everywhere.

Chelsea Street was a heaven for art studios. Those Negro gangsters would not be interested in them, but the Russians had good taste. They were good at smuggling artwork in oil tankers. Qin Guan couldn’t bear to think about it.

Suddenly, his phone rang.

"Hey! It’s Lan Jin. I heard that you were robbed! Don’t worry. I’m coming. Don’t forget me when you get rich!"

You are the shame of Chinese compulsory education.

"Hey, don’t cause any more trouble..." Lan Jin hung up. Qin Guan noticed that Cong Nianwei was getting ready to go out.

"You going to the gallery?"

"Yes." Cong Nianwei nodded. "Lan Jin must have gone there. We have to go too. If he comes across any robbers..."

Qin Guan pictured Lan Jin shouting at a group of tall, strong robbers to stop.

"Okay, let’s go. Joseph, would you please wash the bowls for me? We’ll be gone for a while." Qin Guan reached for his car keys.

"Wait, I’ll come with you." Joseph wiped his mouth elegantly with a tissue and smiled at Qin Guan.

"Me too! Your noodles were a little raw, Cong Nianwei..." The two naughty brothers were concentrated on their food.

"May I put on a warrior costume before I come with you?" Coulibaly, the Congo Prince, looked like an African warrior ready to die a heroic death.

Cella wiped her mouth on the white table cloth. "Stop that rubbish. Let’s go!"

I have a UN army on my side.

In the parking lot, Qin Guan tried to persuade them a final time. When he saw Joseph’s armor, the paint on Coulibaly’s face and the feathers on his head though, he swallowed his words.

Cella’s car filled with strange people. The two cars dashed towards the Chelsea Fair. The people on the streets were careful and vigilant. In a few minutes, they pulled up at Chelsea Street. Most of the stores were closed at the time.

Qin Guan cast a glance at the J Clothing store and saw that its banners were still floating above the roof. He let out a long breath of relief. It seemed that his store was safe from the riots.

Smiling, he shouted at his friends, "Get out! It’s alright. We’d better take any expensive products back home just to be safe though."

Joseph and Coulibaly, who were both fully armed, were speechless. They had suddenly become free labor workers.

They went into the store in their strange costumes.

As a weapon lover, Joseph was carrying firearms from all over the world. Coulibaly’s face was painted like an actor of the Peking Opera. He had a blowgun in his hand.