North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 592 - 334_2

These didn't even count some of the hidden aspects.

For instance, if you appeared down-and-out in your daily life or couldn't integrate into the community's social circles, you might even be voted out by the community committee. Therefore, maintaining a facade of respectability incurred considerable additional expenses.

These unwritten rules ultimately created a class barrier that excluded the lower strata.

After Dean and Carlo entered the community, they found a group of young people throwing a party.

Youthful, beautiful women in skimpy swimwear played with water guns. People in chef hats and waiters weaved through the crowd, serving food and drinks to the carefree young people.

In a corner, a few young men and women with multiple piercings and rings in their ears and noses huddled together, puffing out clouds of smoke.

Anyone could guess they were smoking marijuana without even looking.

"Boss, see?" Carlo said, looking enviously at the young people and shrugging. "No cops will come to arrest them here. Barnaby must have made a fortune over the years."

Dean patted Carlo's shoulder. Pointing to the group huddled in the corner, he asked with a smile, "What do you think their story is?"

Carlo had potential and had improved significantly. With a bit more guidance, he might be able to handle things independently one day.

Carlo slowed the car and glanced where Dean pointed. "They look very different from the ones playing around," he said hesitantly. "They seem more like people who grew up in the slums."

Hearing this, Dean nodded. "Exactly. Those guys aren't from this community."

Smoking marijuana openly outdoors... Such people are actually rare in these pseudo-affluent communities.

If someone reported them, their family's reputation would suffer. If they weren't well-liked, it could even lead to their family being kicked out of this circle.

"Your observation skills have improved quite a bit," Dean complimented Carlo. "Can you guess why these guys are here?"

Without thinking, Carlo shook his head.

He wasn't God. How could he possibly know why these punks would show up in such an out-of-place, upscale community? How could he guess?

Seeing his reaction, Dean began his lesson:

"You need to learn to actively gather information from your surroundings. For example, that handwritten sign with the drawing? It tells you this is a birthday party for a group of college classmates.

That's when you have to ask yourself: why would a few obvious lowlifes be at a birthday party for rich kids?"

"To provide some... stimulating entertainment?" A lewd smile spread across Carlo's face.

The social climate in the United States is extremely polarized, especially in high schools and colleges, which are notoriously wild.

"No, it's not that simple." Dean shook his head, dismissing Carlo's guess. "You're only partially right. A birthday swimsuit party might mean these young people have some entertainment planned. But even if they wanted some... party favors, they'd arrange for them beforehand, not bring the suppliers to the party itself."

"Alright, Boss. You know I never went to college, so I don't have a clue about these kinds of schemes," Carlo said, giving up.

"It's about people," Dean shrugged, revealing the answer. "These lowlifes only get involved when there's a need to bring *people*. They act like pimps, finding excuses to introduce more conservative international students curious about new experiences, or good-looking undocumented guys and girls, to these parties to become part of the entertainment."

Hearing this, Carlo frowned slightly. "I thought Los Angeles had plenty of modeling and entertainment agencies. These rich kids shouldn't be short of options. Why go to all this trouble?"

"One reason is 'cleanliness.' After all, many other countries don't have as many degenerates corrupted by hippie culture as the United States. Another reason is simply the thrill!

Most international students come from well-off families in their own countries. Corrupting them, watching them go bad—that's a thrill for these types. Just imagine: someone whose social standing back home is equal to or even higher than theirs comes to a foreign country, debasing themselves just to try and fit into the local scene. Doesn't that give them a rush of superiority? Then, watching them spiral downwards provides that twisted pleasure of destroying something beautiful. And that's not even counting the other... enjoyments."

Dean finished, patting the thoughtful Carlo's shoulder. "Observation is a skill that improves with experience. You need to watch and think more."

Carlo nodded silently, absorbing the lesson.

He was just an ordinary guy, somewhat inconspicuous, with some fighting skills. No one else would teach him these things. Following Dean was truly the best decision he'd ever made.

...

As they talked, a predominantly white house, exuding a certain imposing presence, came into view.

Carlo found a parking spot, took out his detective's badge, and pinned it to his chest. "Boss, number 103. We're here."

This was his first time at Barnaby's house too.

After getting out of the car, Dean first glanced at the mailbox standing by the roadside, and his eyebrows furrowed.

Residents in the United States frequently receive all sorts of bills, receipts, and letters, so most people check their mailboxes daily.

But the mailbox outside lawyer Barnaby's house was currently stuffed full. This mailbox, roughly the size of an adult's torso, was quite large. Even if Barnaby didn't have his mail delivered to his law firm, it would take several days for it to get this full.

Besides, given Barnaby's busy practice and the large volume of mail he likely received daily, it was improbable he'd use his home address for deliveries.

So, Barnaby probably hadn't been home in a long time.

"Carlo."

Dean stopped Carlo, who was about to ring the doorbell. "When was the last time you saw Barnaby?" he asked gravely.

Though Carlo didn't know why Dean was asking, he answered honestly, "Barnaby approached us the day after we found the victim, Yu Linfen. That was six days ago."

Six days... Dean muttered to himself.

The victim, Yu Linfen, was suspected of having ties to the HuaQing Gang, a Chinese mafia group, and laundering money for them. Her death was sudden. She was either assassinated by a rival gang, or...

He suspected lawyer Barnaby had already been killed in his house.

He had Carlo draw his pistol and release the safety.

Seeing how serious Dean was, Carlo realized something was wrong. He immediately complied, then went back to the car to put on a bulletproof vest and sling a semi-automatic rifle over his shoulder.

If there had been anyone on the street, they would have immediately thought he was a thug preparing for a violent home invasion.

Feeling a bit more secure, Carlo looked at Dean, silently asking if he should proceed.

"Go ahead and ring the doorbell."

Dean, currently suspended, was only assisting with the case, so he didn't draw his weapon.