North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 102 - 94: The Secret of the Farm (Additional Release Situation)_2
Chapter 102: Chapter 94: The Secret of the Farm (Additional Release Situation)_2
"The weapon needs to be upgraded. Handguns have too many flaws for head-on high-intensity combat; they’re better suited as a conventional tool."
After reflecting, Dean managed to clear all traces of his presence. He then took care of the bruises from being shot, covering them with his pajamas, before wrapping his arms around the soundly sleeping Latina beauty and drifting off himself...
「Elsewhere.」
With a stranger’s Caucasian face, Monet sat on the corpse transport vehicle that had just left Carmen Manor, looking somewhat melancholically out the window.
In the underworld, there are also unspoken rules. Assassinating members of top families is a taboo for killers. My career as an assassin ended the moment I left Carmen Manor. Those in power kill one to warn a hundred. My life has also begun its countdown... I hope I can avenge my brother before I die. That would be a release for me.
His companion kept chattering, "It’s been chaotic in Los Angeles lately. This is the second time I’ve seen so many bodies. Hey, Peter, why aren’t you talking? You usually..."
WHOOSH!
A long, diamond-shaped spike precisely pierced the speaker’s throat, pinning him, his unfinished words, and his entire body to the vehicle’s metal exterior.
Monet withdrew his hand without looking back, his gaze still fixed on the window.
The world was quiet again.
...
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.
The intense banging on the door woke the sleeping woman.
"MMM..."
The Latina beauty, curled up in the man’s arms, opened her eyes drowsily, letting out the characteristic confused sound of someone just waking up.
Once she realized someone was pounding on the door, anger flared on her face. Disregarding her exposed body, she leaped from the large bed. Her bouncing breasts, like two footballs, jiggled as she leaned out the window and cursed loudly at the people below, "FK! Which asshole is it? Didn’t you see the sign on my shop saying we’re closed today!"
The next moment, her face turned pale. She scrambled back to the bed, flinging herself onto the soundly sleeping man, and said frantically, "Dean, wake up! There are so many cops outside!"
Police!
The sleeping Dean’s eyes snapped open, bloodshot. The murderous aura emanating from him terrified the Latina beauty beside him, her mind going blank. She felt that Dean, in that instant, was like a Butcher, indifferent to life.
Several seconds later, Dean’s sluggish brain finally registered that he was suffering from aftereffects due to his first experience of intense combat the previous night.
He blinked a few times, reining in the indifference to life in his eyes, and feigned a complaint, "Merlin, what time is it? Why are you waking me up?"
Merlin, the owner of this therapy shop, usually provided beauty and wellness treatments for women. Dean had easily won her over, and she had become his temporary bedmate.
Pushed a couple of times by Dean, Merlin finally came back to her senses.
She studied Dean with a puzzled expression. He merely looked low on Spirit and tired, as if he hadn’t rested well; that indescribable oppressive aura from before was gone.
Was that just an illusion? But our ’battle’ last night wasn’t fierce at all, so why does Dean seem so worn out?
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. fгeewёbnoѵel_cσm
The knocking resumed.
Merlin startled. "Dean," she said quickly, "there are lots of cops banging on the door downstairs! Aren’t you a detective? Go check it out."
"Alright, don’t worry, baby. I’ll get it sorted out," Dean assured her with a kiss. He then stretched and, still in his pajamas, went to the window.
Below the therapy shop, several police cars were parked silently.
The one pounding on the door was Hawk, Dean’s old acquaintance from the precinct, a bald patrol officer.
Beside Hawk stood an unexpected person—Monet.
He’d been discharged from the hospital, injuries and all!
This experienced salary thief and captain of shirking now stood with a solemn face next to another middle-aged man behind Hawk, both looking up at the second-floor window of the therapy shop.
Their eyes met unexpectedly.
"TSK TSK," the middle-aged man beside Monet chuckled. "Monet, your subordinate here seems to have had a very exhausting night. Should I have Hawk take some men to the farm to deal with your business?"
Monet adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, a flicker of doubt in his eyes about whether he had entrusted his affairs to the wrong person.
But Dean was the only bargaining chip he had at the moment. Monet had no choice.
"Uh..." Upstairs, Dean, realizing that a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on him, subconsciously pulled at his pajamas to cover the hickies on his neck. He glanced at the rising sun overhead, feeling somewhat at a loss. "Captain," he said, "I just got carried away last night and overslept. You didn’t have to go to the trouble of checking yourself out of the hospital and bringing so many people just to fetch me, did you?"
As soon as he said this, cheerful snickers broke out from below.
The bald Hawk even gave Dean a suggestive wink.
Such a scene was indeed rare.
"One minute!" Monet said sternly, holding up one finger. "If you’re not down in one minute, you’ll be suspended for a week!"
"Right away!"
Dean ducked back inside, his embarrassment vanishing. He quickly dressed in his scattered clothes, wondering why Monet was looking for him.
I’ve been spending the nights here for several days straight. But Monet shouldn’t have found me unless he specifically investigated. And the idea that it was because I was late for work is even more ridiculous. Monet is often nowhere to be seen. As long as his subordinates don’t cause trouble, he never cares about the Fourth Squad’s workplace discipline. And if I’d been exposed last night, I’d be facing cold gun barrels right now, not a group of people ’politely’ shouting for me from downstairs. So, what does Monet want with me?
Having slept only seven or eight hours, Dean, exhausted in Spirit and body, had not yet recovered.
Under the teasing gazes of a dozen people, he walked out of the therapy shop, his eyes bloodshot and his steps unsteady. He walked up to Monet and said weakly, "Captain..."
"Did you bring your ID and gun?"
"I did."
"Then cut the crap! Time is short. Get in the car, we’ll talk on the way!" Monet glared at Dean, who looked thoroughly overindulged, then turned and walked towards his car without a backward glance.
The middle-aged man beside him watched Dean’s retreating back and beckoned to Hawk, his confidant. "I have a feeling Monet’s recommendation is unreliable. When you get to the farm, find an excuse to let the boys operate freely. Don’t show Monet any respect. If you can figure out what Monet wants, I promise you a promotion!"
"Understood, Deputy Chief!"
Hawk licked his lips and nodded vigorously. He was already a senior officer. A promotion would mean breaking through the ranks of ordinary officers and stepping onto the threshold of management as a police captain. This would make a big difference for his future! Hawk and Dean might have some superficial camaraderie, but that was far less important than his own career prospects.
Before long, several police cars, sirens silent, headed towards Lincoln Farm in the suburbs once more...
