Through the binoculars Wang Bo looked ahead and saw two youths of about twenty-four or twenty-five come into view.

One was tall and one short. The tall one was roughly 1.9 meters, bald and thick-faced — he swaggered as he walked and looked like he might as well have “I’m no good” written across his forehead.

The shorter one was under 1.8 meters, wearing a blue tracksuit and a neat crew cut. He had headphones on and walked as if carefree, but his eyes were sharp and furtive, scanning left and right.

“Sure they’re the ones? Hit them!” Wang Bo put the binoculars away and said.

Uncle Bing nodded. “They’ve already circled the parking lot once. The bald guy tried to mess with a Mercedes earlier but the other stopped him — they’re definitely car thieves.”

There were few people in the lot now, and the short one was very alert — any rustle and he’d notice and then lead the tall one away. Wang Bo had to wait for them to make a move. He and Uncle Bing hid behind a car in the rear and watched the two youths through the binoculars.

Seeing nobody around, the short one gave a nod. The tall one strolled up to an older Toyota Prado, leaned on it for a while and pretended to fiddle with his phone like nothing was happening. Wang Bo kept watching closely. Even though both his hands appeared occupied with the phone, after a moment the car door opened by itself, and the tall one slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

He looked at Uncle Bing in surprise. “Did you see how he opened the door?”

Uncle Bing grimaced. “I don’t have binoculars, boss.”

Wang Bo felt awkward. Now it was time to spring the trap. He waited thirty seconds to give the youths time to get inside, then signaled Zhuang Ding, “Take care of that guy!”

The short youth was on lookout duty. Wang Bo figured that if they simply appeared the two would abandon the car and run, so to catch them they’d need Zhuang Ding. Zhuang Ding didn’t disappoint — it slid out from behind cars, sometimes squeezing out from under vehicles, and ran to a spot behind another car near the short youth without being noticed.

When it got close to the short youth, Zhuang Ding suddenly accelerated, charged a few meters, leapt onto a car, then sprang into the air and with a loud thud knocked the short youth to the ground. The youth reflexively tried to scream; Zhuang Ding shoved a paw into his mouth and mashed him into the dirt. The kid could only make muffled “mmm” noises.

Wang Bo and Uncle Bing ran over. Uncle Bing cuffed the short youth, and Wang Bo walked up to the Prado and opened the driver’s door.

In the driver’s seat, the bald youth had his head down, working under the steering column. When the door opened he said, “Hold on, Leston — this car’s started by key and computer. You can’t hotwire it. Wait a sec, I’ll wreck the computer first…”

Wang Bo cleared his throat and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, clipping them around the steering wheel.

The bald youth got alert. Hearing the unfamiliar cough he didn’t look up; he lunged from the driver’s seat toward the passenger side and pushed the door to run. Wang Bo’s hands were quick — he grabbed one of his legs and the handcuffs snapped onto the steering wheel, locking him in place.

With both of them restrained, they walked back to the patrol car. On the way the bald youth muttered, “Man, I told you we shouldn’t have come out today — the 13th, damn it. God won’t protect us today.”

Wang Bo sneered, “Look at the crap you’re up to and you want God to protect you?”

Once in the police car, Uncle Bing searched them and found pliers, screwdrivers, an electronic lock key, wrenches — and an interesting item: a fake hand. Seeing that fake hand everything clicked for Wang Bo. No wonder the bald youth could lean against the car and seemingly open the door while “playing” with his phone — the fake hand was holding the phone as a prop while his real right hand was busy opening the door.

The youth, Leston, was cooperative and even pulled out a wallet with a wad of cash — Wang Bo guessed at least a thousand in bills. Leston sized up Wang Bo as the leader and gave him a wink. “Hey, brother, I’m heading to jail soon anyway. This money’s useless to me — don’t waste it, take it.”

Wang Bo chuckled. “What, you trying to bribe a cop?”

Leston shook his head and said casually, “How could I do that? Bribing you would ruin you. I just want a friend, that’s all.”

Wang Bo pointed silently at the surrounding CCTV cameras. “Everything you said and did was recorded. Originally you only had the charge of stealing a car — now there’s more. And trying to bribe an officer too.”

At that, the bald youth got agitated and struggled, shouting, “Bullshit—”

Uncle Bing elbowed him in the ribs; nobody could tell how hard it was, but the youth instantly went still, doubled over like a shrimp and gasped.

Wang Bo gave him a half-smile. “What, pal, you want to assault an officer too?”

Seeing he was no match, Leston decided to play tough. He demanded, “Show me your ID! When did Dunedin get Asian cops? You trying to turn this into a setup?”

Wang Bo laughed. “You think we’d frame the likes of you? Sit tight — I’ve got a few questions.”

“I want to see your badge!” Leston insisted.

Uncle Bing threw a punch. Wang Bo pulled Leston aside so the blow missed and crashed into the car seat, shaking the mountings slightly.

Leston’s face went white; he panicked and cried out, “Violent policing! Torture!”

Wang Bo said, “I’ll ask you some questions. Cooperate and keep your mouth shut; otherwise my violent buddy can play with you all he wants and you can sue us afterward — then we’ll both end up in jail, and my buddy will keep playing with you.”

That scared Leston into compliance. He begged pitifully, “I’m sorry, officer. This is our first offense — please let us go. Forgive us, please.”

Wang Bo smiled. “First offense? From your gear alone I can tell you’re not first-timers. Sit down and answer.”

“First question: Were you responsible for the car thefts here over the past two weeks?”

“No, absolutely not! We’re first-timers!” Leston stuck to it.

Wang Bo continued: “Second question: What were you planning to do with the cars if you stole them?”

Leston tried to butter them up. “We weren’t planning on selling them. We just wanted to mess around. We saw people on TV stealing cars and thought it looked cool…”

“You like to lie?” Wang Bo said coldly. “Alright, I won’t touch him — Uncle Bing, beat that guy. If he lies again, you give him a good one.” He spoke without emotion, and the sound of knuckles cracking as Uncle Bing clenched his fist made things worse.

The two youths were terrified. Leston quickly shouted, “Don’t hit him! I’ll tell the truth, OK? The cars are stripped for parts. Selling parts usually gets two to five times the profit of selling a whole car!”

Wang Bo smiled. “That’s more like it. One more question: do you know anything about the widely reported cattle thefts recently?”