North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 103 - 95 Jinshan_1

In the car.

Looking at the road leading out of town, Dean asked in confusion, "Captain, this road, doesn’t it look like it’s heading towards Lincoln Farm?"

"That’s exactly where we’re going." Monet’s fingers tapped rapidly on the steering wheel. "Dean, do you want a promotion?"

Dean glanced at Monet’s fingers from the corner of his eye.

According to the books Anthony had given him, this sort of behavior often indicated psychological stress, an excessive nervousness that manifested subconsciously. For an old hand like Monet, this was extremely rare.

Dean pretended not to notice Monet’s unusual behavior and nodded. "Everyone wants a promotion, but I’ve just completed my probation period. Even if I want a promotion, I’d have to wait at least a year or two, right?"

Within the system, nobody got ahead without connections. If a newbie broke convention and climbed the ranks quickly, it would upset those who had languished over the years and might even provoke criticism.

Think about Hawk. He’d spent more than a decade as a patrol officer, was middle-aged, and still at the bottom. He couldn’t even touch the threshold for advancement.

Those with connections were often placed in some cushy, do-nothing department, quickly climbing the ranks. Once the right moment arrived, they’d get a lateral transfer into a position of power. That way, with experience from other departments, it wasn’t too conspicuous.

Monet slowed down the car and pointed to the bandaged wound on his chest. "Dean, I got up from my hospital bed last night, risking the rupture of my wound, and I haven’t rested since. Do you know why?

Listen! For those of us with no background, breaking through our current social strata requires more than just opportunities. We also have to seize every single one, even if it means betting our lives!

Now is that time! I’m giving you this chance!"

Last night? Dean immediately thought of the incident at Carmen Manor. After he left yesterday, he had no energy to pay attention to the situation in Anbei. It seems he really succeeded! Even Monet, that old slacker, has been reinvigorated as if enjoying a second spring.

He just didn’t know who was behind Monet.

When it involved political matters, Dean didn’t dare speak rashly, or else he’d become cannon fodder.

Faced with Dean’s silence, Monet did not continue speaking. The rest of the journey passed without words.

After more than half an hour, the ruined buildings of Lincoln Farm came into view.

People were bustling about in the structures. They were residents from the nearby towns, currently ’volunteering’ to clear the place.

But Dean knew that these people were actually under the thumb of the Carmen Family, the kind whose entire families worked in various industries owned by the Carmens.

The arrival of several cars caught their attention.

After getting out of the car, Dean noticed that apart from Monet, himself, Hawk, and a dozen or so patrol officers, the middle-aged man who had previously stood beside Monet was nowhere to be seen. The man had not followed them here.

Monet, leading the group, approached a makeshift checkpoint and said coldly, "Everyone, leave this place!"

Two men, each with a dagger tattoo on the back of his hand and wearing a security uniform, blocked Monet’s path. "This is private property. What can we do for you?"

Monet stared at them and replied coldly, "Many members of the Carmen Family died yesterday, and we suspect the murderer is hiding here. We need to conduct a search. Here’s the search warrant!"

As he said this, he reached into his coat.

The two Dagger Gang security men exchanged a bewildered look. The Carmen Family? What’s that? Don’t these cops know this is Dagger Gang territory, with a big shot backing it?

The next moment.

BANG!

An eruption of white smoke carrying dozens of steel pellets burst out, hitting the two unresponsive guards and sending them sprawling to the ground, a bloody mess.

Not just Dean, but even the other patrol officers who had come along were stunned.

What Monet had drawn was not a search warrant at all, but a short-barreled shotgun loaded with steel pellets!

Because of the recoil, the wound on Monet’s chest burst open again.

Without changing his expression, he slung the shotgun onto his belt and then said to Dean and the other patrol officers, "Don’t ask, don’t get involved. I’ll handle everything. What you need to do now is go into the farm’s underground base and find evidence of illegal activity here!"

Having said that, he didn’t wait for Dean or Hawk’s agreement and walked alone towards the residents who were looking over in alarm. "I’m a captain from the Los Angeles Detective Bureau. Last night, the Carmen Family was attacked and suffered heavy casualties. We suspect the culprit is hiding here. All unrelated personnel must leave immediately!"

"The Carmen Family was attacked?"

A hulking white man, over two meters tall, shoved aside his companions and, with a menacing presence, grabbed Monet’s collar, hoisting him up. "You bastard, speak clearly! What happened to the Carmens?"

The rest of the people also closed in.

Seeing the situation turn sour, Hawk stopped the patrol officers behind him. "FK! The deputy chief never said Monet would handle it this way. If you don’t want to be shot by these townsfolk, do not draw your guns!"

Having been a patrol officer for over a decade in Los Angeles, he knew the small towns around didn’t care much for the police. In fact, more than one highway officer had disappeared while patrolling this area. Their bones might very well be buried under this land.

Monet’s actions were undoubtedly forcing them to act. This wasn’t the assistance they were told about before leaving!

Dean, watching Monet being bullied, hesitated about whether to intervene. He now finally understood what Monet had meant in the car about encountering an opportunity and being willing to risk his life for it. Monet was indeed betting his life.

A single misstep, a failure in communication, could be disastrous. Not only might Monet be shot by these armed ’residents,’ but Dean, Hawk, and the others might not make it back to Los Angeles.

Consider this: the mercenaries before had been cornered on the farm by law enforcement and all ended up dead here precisely because of these residents.

To help or not to help, that was the question.

Dean looked at Hawk and the other intimidated men, massaged his still-aching forehead, and weighed the pros and cons of intervening. He didn’t understand politics, but he understood psychology.

The "opportunity" Monet mentioned must have arisen from the changes in the Carmen Family. That’s why he abandoned his usual dormant style and adopted a much more aggressive, even radical, approach. This meant Monet was very confident that if he could uncover the secrets of Lincoln Farm, he would gain the support of the figures behind him. Even committing murder on the spot would be treated as a minor issue!

In that case... let’s do it!

No sooner had he thought it than he acted.

Without hesitation, Dean reached for his gun. As if by instinct, the moment he raised his hand, his muzzle had already locked onto the burly man’s arm.

BANG! A gunshot rang out.

The 11.43mm bullet precisely tore a bloody hole in the burly man’s wrist, causing him to scream and release Monet’s collar.

"Hawk, if Monet dies here, we won’t have an explanation when we get back! Go get the assault rifles!"

After speaking, Dean, ignoring the soreness in his body, raised his gun and addressed the crowd, "First warning! Everyone, hands on your head and squat down!"

"FK!"

Another big-bearded, middle-aged man in a headscarf swore and, using his companions for cover, reached into his coat for a gun.

The next moment, Dean’s gun barrel twitched, and another bullet shot out, passing through a gap between three men to precisely hit the headscarfed man’s head!

Now he didn’t need to put his hands on his head, because his head was blown apart.

Dean’s voice was cold and stern. "Second warning! Hands on your head, squat down!"

"He only has one..."

BANG!

The man who’d started to speak spat blood, freezing on the spot. Those around him instinctively looked and could see the scenery behind him through the bloody hole in his mouth.

This cop’s marksmanship is too accurate!

Hawk and the others finally reacted. They charged to the police car, grabbed several shotguns and assault rifles, and pointed them at the crowd.

There were only seven bullets in Dean’s handgun. But after three of their leaders were dead, nobody wanted to be among the next four to die, especially with a dozen other patrol officers now also brandishing weapons.

Before long, a pile of various easy-to-carry handguns formed a small mound.

Hawk’s colleagues locked these dozens of ’residents’ into a room on the farm and stood guard over them.

Dean walked over to Monet, who was lying on the ground panting heavily, and extended a hand. "Alright, Captain. I’ll help you seize this opportunity, and you help me get promoted. I don’t want to be involved in anything else."

"Agreed!" Monet grasped Dean’s hand.

Because of the burly leader’s rough handling, Monet’s already torn wound looked even more gruesome. His shirt was soaked in blood, and being pulled up by Dean made him grimace in pain.

But he wasn’t concerned with the pain in his chest and spoke urgently, "Dean, don’t waste any more time. Go to the base below right now and find the secret hidden inside. I’ll stay with Hawk and the others to hold off anyone who comes after us."

"Anyone who comes after us?"

"Yes, a bunch of mangy dogs trying to snatch the Carmen Family’s political assets!"

"..." Dean rolled his eyes, too lazy to comment on Monet essentially cursing himself. He changed his magazine and headed towards the entrance of the farm’s base.

He let out a sigh of relief, though. Monet’s words had a double meaning.

First, all the power brokers in Los Angeles were currently scrambling to divide up the Carmen Family’s legacy.

Second, the contest among these power brokers was all about Speed. Whoever got there first would reap the rewards.

Without the Carmen Family’s coordination and influence in various sectors, the risk of this operation was actually not that great.

He’d bet right!

「...」

The base at Lincoln Farm was located underneath a warehouse disguised as a granary.

This covering warehouse had been blown up long ago, and traces of the mercenary assault from several days prior were still visible.

Possibly because they were preparing to abandon the place, no repairs had been made. It was merely cordoned off with some crude blue metal plates, and new cameras had been installed.

This made it quite easy for Dean to find the entrance to the base.

Because of the commotion outside, there were no security personnel at the entrance, but the cameras were still operating.

After making sure there were no traps like remote-controlled machine guns around, Dean showed his detective badge to the camera and said sternly, "The police have surrounded the area. The Carmen Family is nearly finished. If you don’t want to be trapped and die in here, open the door!"

After about ten seconds of silence, a low voice broadcast from a pipe disguised as a ventilation shaft, "I am Michael, the person in charge here, and also one of the Carmen Family’s butlers. I need to contact my superiors to understand the situation."

The Carmen Family had collapsed too quickly. With the manor in chaos and no one to give orders, those at this lower level hadn’t even received the news.

Dean nodded. "You can!"

Another minute passed.

CREAK.

With a grating screech that set teeth on edge, the C4-blasted wall parted, revealing a high-tech metal door.

An old man with meticulously combed hair and a stern expression, dressed in a tailcoat, made an inviting gesture to Dean. "Detective, you may come in. You can even look around as you please. But we need a promise of immunity!"

Behind him, seven or eight well-built, armed men stood with their guns ready, their expressions unfriendly.

"What’s in here?"

"The production line for the core ingredients of ’Intoxication.’ This is a gold mine that generates at least a billion US dollars annually. I believe that’s sufficient collateral for our immunity. Otherwise, you get nothing!"

A billion US dollars! A gleam flashed in Dean’s eyes, but his expression remained normal as he nodded. "Since we came here immediately, it was to confirm these things. Open the door. Those big shots won’t make trouble for the components that help them generate wealth."

The butler stared at Dean for a long moment before nodding. "You’re right."

With that, he waved to the men beside him.

As a password was entered, the door that even C4 couldn’t blast open slowly swung inward...