"Third floor, Room 207."
Dean recalled the address sent from the Smith Detective Agency headquarters. He wondered if they had mistakenly given him the wrong one.
This decrepit apartment... calling it cheap housing for undocumented workers wouldn't be an exaggeration. And they use this to meet clients? Isn't it a bit too low-end?
Oh well, since I'm already here... Dean muttered and was just about to go upstairs.
Just then, a woman suddenly roared from above, "FK, go to hell, you bastard!"
The next moment, a figure fell from the sky, landing right on the car in front of Dean.
Dean looked up to see an Asian middle-aged woman on the second floor, still at the window, cursing at the Caucasian man who had fallen, "Fuck your mother to hell, you son of a bitch! I asked you to find evidence of my husband's cheating, and you fucking went and manufactured the evidence yourself!"
Being too agitated, the woman had burst into the dialect of her hometown.
