North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 571 - 325_1

"I like lucky people!"

"So, between you two, the luckiest one will get to walk out of here alive today!"

The short middle-aged man threw the revolver, which had only one bullet left, in front of Harry. He then waved his hand, signaling his men to drag the other person forward.

When the other person was thrown in front of Harry, he was barely recognizable, emitting only groans. All that could be discerned was that he was a young white man. The white man's face was a bloody mess. The strap of a camera hung around his chest, but the camera itself was gone; it was unclear whether it had been stolen or lost.

"Happy!"

Harry, enduring the searing pain in his body, crawled to the bloodied young man's side. Only after confirming he was still breathing did Harry let out a sigh of relief. His companion was Happy, who had once fancied himself a detective.

The fool. He had no idea what kind of job he'd taken on.

Not only had he nearly gotten himself killed, but he had also dragged Harry, an unlucky soul, into this dire predicament.

"You black pig, don't waste time!"

The man with the topknot, whom the short middle-aged leader had called Matsushita, kicked Harry back to the ground, a cruel smile on his face. The other henchmen roared with laughter, eager for the show.

Harry picked himself up from the ground, his face etched with frustration. He scanned the menacing crowd, their hands gripping katanas and firearms. His heart sank. He had no choice but to lower his gaze to the revolver on the ground, his expression flickering with uncertainty.

He now had three choices.

First, pick up the revolver, play Russian roulette with his partner, and gamble on luck.

Second, pick up the revolver and, with Happy incapacitated on the ground, fire all six shots at him to ensure his own survival.

Third, pick up the revolver, aim it at the middle-aged man, and randomly take out a "lucky audience member" from the scene, after which he and Happy would be gunned down in this Japanese prick's private club.

With the first two options, regardless of who lived, the other's survival would depend on these people's 'conscience.' Besides, after killing someone, they'd have leverage over him.

Considering he was a police detective… if he lived, he might still get away. If he died and Happy lived, Happy would most likely be killed by these bastards too; he was useless to them.

As for the third option, that went without saying. If he chose it, he might not hit anyone, but he and Happy would definitely die.

So...

...

Amidst the jeering gazes of the onlookers, who watched him as if he were a monkey in a sideshow, Harry sighed. He snatched the revolver from the ground and aimed it at Happy's head, who lay dying. He casually spun the cylinder, then swung it out to check the bullet's position. Spinning it again, he ensured the live round was next in the chamber.

Seeing this, the middle-aged man at the top didn't intervene. He glanced at one of his men in the crowd. The man, holding a camcorder, nodded at his boss, signaling that everything was being recorded.

With a click, Harry closed the cylinder. He took a deep breath and turned to face the short middle-aged man above. "Fellas, could you give me a chance to speak? Truth be told, I have some... close ties with your Yamaguchi-gumi that you might not be aware of."

"Baka!" Matsushita punched Harry's swollen face. "You bastard, if you're going to do it, do it quickly! Stop wasting our time!"

"Matsushita!"

This outburst, however, infuriated the short middle-aged man at the top. He glared at Matsushita, his eyes unfriendly. "I haven't spoken yet. When did it become your turn to speak?"

Matsushita turned pale and quickly bowed ninety degrees. "My apologies, Boss. I got carried away!" With that, he began to slap his own face vigorously.

The short middle-aged man shot a cold glance at his terrified subordinate before turning his gaze back to Harry, who had just spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. With a smile, he asked, "Detective, what sort of relationship do you claim to have with our Yamaguchi-gumi?"

The Yamaguchi-gumi had managed to establish a foothold in Los Angeles this time largely thanks to a few families connected to the city's mayor. Thus, the middle-aged man was genuinely concerned that Harry might actually have ties to those families. If that were the case, today's little game could not continue.

Harry wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. He first landed a hard punch on Matsushita, who was still slapping his own face, knocking him to the ground. Then, Harry looked up at the middle-aged man above and said spiritedly,

"After work, I often go to the clubs you run.

"Those Japanese women you have—they love my big black 'dick.' They kneel to serve, all gentle and submissive. Who knows? They might be your sisters, your younger sisters, or even your mothers.

"Your female relatives and I, we frequently have... *intimate discussions*, delving deep into the 'friendly relations' between our peoples.

"So, you tell me, do we have a relationship?"

The onlookers were stunned. So *this* was the 'connection' the black pig was talking about!

The short middle-aged man sitting above was so enraged his lips trembled. He'd actually been played for a fool by a black pig in front of all his subordinates!

"Bastard!" The short middle-aged man grabbed a nearby sake bottle and smashed it on the ground. "Kill this black pig! I want to...!"

BANG!

A gunshot rang out.

The short middle-aged man shuddered. He touched the bullet hole in his forehead and tried to say something, but his body collapsed uncontrollably, tumbling down the stairs to the feet of his men. His eyes were wide open, a mixture of fury and disbelief etched on his face, as if he couldn't fathom dying by the very revolver he had personally tossed to Harry.