Andrew shook his head. "Figures. The kinder you are, the more people step on you and treat you like you are easy prey. Wait a second."

That last line was directed at the manager.

The man stopped and said coldly, "Sir, do you need something else? If you want protection from our restaurant. That will be 10,000 Meurico dollars, or ten gold bars."

Andrew answered him with a direct slap to the face.

With a loud bang, the man was sent flying. He crashed to the ground and struggled to his feet, roaring, "You are digging your own grave! Cause trouble here, and even God himself will not save you."

Dozens of footsteps rang out, and immediately, a group of tattooed thugs surrounded Andrew. Meanwhile, the two little girls retreated behind the crowd.

Andrew sneered. "The Ironheads you talked about were just your own little extortion racket."

The man who had been hit grinned viciously. "So what if you figured it out? I will tell you straight, this place is backed by the city lord's office.