Ch: 153-160
One hundred fifty-three, If you want to play, I'll play with you.
This is just fucking surreal.
Carrying such a large thing, swaggering into the building, going through security, taking the elevator up to the sixteenth floor, and not a single person noticed.
How is that even possible?
The most important point.
Probably more than half of New York's citizens saw this scene on TV. If the building explodes, there's no question about it, the blame will be squarely placed.
"The negotiator is here."
"Will it be useful?"
George took a deep breath, stared at the car's TV screen which had switched back to Locke's image, and said in a low voice, "Have the negotiator stand by."
"Yes."
"Find a way, see if we can breach from the top floor."
"Understood!"
The SWAT Team leader stationed on the sixteenth floor waved his hand, left two team members behind, and led the others toward the elevator, to see if they could directly rappel from the top floor, break the window, and rescue the hostages.
Locke was completely indifferent to the movements outside.
Ms. Patty Finn, sitting over there, glanced out of the corner of her eye at the pistol resting on Locke's thigh. Her heart was pounding, but she steadied herself and displayed the demeanor of a qualified, elite businesswoman. Looking at Locke, she invited, "Well, Mr. Peerless, shall we begin?"
Locke nodded: "Of course."
Patty Finn and the camera operator nodded, she cleared her throat, held up three fingers, and then lowered them one by one.
Immediately.
The opening sequence of New York Channel One Television Station appeared on the TVs of over half of New York City's residents.
"Oh, shit!"
"Is this for real?"
"An opening sequence at this time?"
"I'm fucking laughing."
The opening sequence ended.
Patty Finn addressed the camera: "Good evening, New York. Just now, our broadcast was fortunate to invite a very special guest. He is the subject of our recent series of reports, the one with the NYPDcodename 'sin hunter,' also known as AKA the Peerless Assassin, Mr. Peerless."
The camera instantly switched to Locke, sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, impeccably dressed in a suit, the very image of a handsome man in a suit.
Locke also smiled and nodded toward the camera: "Good evening, New York."
The camera instantly zoomed out.
"So..."
Patty also turned her chair toward the sofa, facing Locke directly. Wearing a professional smile, with a hint of curiosity and a slight tremor in her voice, she said, "Mr. Peerless, both I and the viewers at home are very curious. What is the purpose of Mr. Peerless's visit today?"
"I originally intended to go to the NYPD."
"The NYPD?"
"Yes."
Locke nodded, like a real guest on a TV interview: "Perhaps because I visited the NYPD yesterday, their security today was very tight. Coincidentally, I heard you were broadcasting about me, so I simply turned around and came here instead."
Patty was slightly taken aback: "Mr. Peerless, you went to the NYPD yesterday?"
Locke nodded: "Yes, I went to the morgue. I had just gotten off the plane when I heard the NYPD and all of New York saying I had committed two cases. I wanted to go see who exactly I had supposedly killed."
"Mr. Peerless just returned to New York?"
"Yes, it's Christmas. I gave myself a vacation, went to Iceland for a bit. After all, bad people are endless. And someone like me, constantly exposed to negative energy, also needs to see beautiful scenery and, at the same time, elevate myself, to better understand why I do what I do."
"...Can you tell us about it? I think everyone is very curious."
"Of course."
Locke spread his hands: "I love all things beautiful, but I suddenly realized that much ugliness tarnishes these beautiful things. I'm merely doing my best to eliminate that ugliness."
Wasn't this about playing a big game?
A live broadcast, did that count as big?
And it didn't require causing those large-scale scenes with real weapons, as those scenes still required expenditure. At the very least, an audi was a mandatory expense.
Here?
Going on TV required absolutely no expenditure.
Right.
After the interview ends, ask if there's any guest appearance fee. After all, movie stars and such get appearance fees for being on TV.
Locke's current starting price for a job is two hundred thousand U.S. dollars minimum.
Compared to those stars, a two-hundred-thousand appearance fee could be said to be a real bargain.
Locke thought to himself.
Patty, however, caught onto something: "Mr. Peerless means that the three Notice, including today's, are not your handiwork? That someone is impersonating you?"
Locke smiled slightly: "Correct. I was originally going to make a phone call, but you didn't answer, so I came up directly."
Patty laughed: "I'll save Mr. Peerless's number. Next time, I'll definitely answer."
Locke smiled slightly.
Next time?
Probably no chance.
This time, he intended to make a big scene. After this, probably no one would dare impersonate him again.
Patty composed herself.
She frowned.
"Mr. Peerless, that's not what the NYPD is saying."
"I can understand that."
"Hmm?"
Locke looked at Patty, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly: "Patty, may I call you that?"
Patty spread her hands: "Of course."
"Thank you. You can just call me Peerless."
"Mr. Peer... I find that most of the public has many misconceptions about you."
"Is that so."
"In the eyes of most people, Peerless, you seem to be a cold, merciless vigilante executioner operating in the darkness. Can you tell us about that?"
"Execution is work, life is life. In life, I'm quite easygoing. For example, I'm nothing like the FBI's profile."
Locke seemed to think of something, looked at the camera, and said lightly: "For example, I don't live in my parents' Room. Come on, I have money, what kind of Villa can't I buy? And I have many friends, all professionals. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to find those people's information to judge them."
At the FBI Headquarters in Quantico, several people in the Behavioral Analysis Unit looked at each other, their expressions somewhat unpleasant.
"Back to the main topic!"
Locke steered the conversation back, looking at Patty: "I can understand why the NYPD is saying I did these three cases, and I don't blame the NYPD."
"Why?"
"I am a sinner. In the NYPD's eyes, only the law can judge. So, the NYPD wants to use this impersonator to not only lure me out but also make the Imposter drop his guard. Killing two birds with one stone. If I were in their position, I'd do the same."
Locke's greatest strength is his ability to see things from others' perspectives.
As the saying goes.
The Peerless Assassin was always meant to be exposed.
Just like Victoria Knox.
Locke could understand Victoria Knox giving up the Peerless Assassin to save her own life; he could understand that. Just as he now understood the NYPD.
In their position, they do their duty.
In fact.
Even if S.H.I.E.L.D. went all out against the Peerless Assassin, Locke wouldn't be angry.
But... targeting Locke himself? That wouldn't do.
Listening to Locke's words, Patty seemed a bit stunned. She smiled somewhat awkwardly, organizing her words: "Peerless, you really are... different from what we imagined."
Locke spread his hands, smiling at Patty: "Patty, if you knew the real me, perhaps we could become good friends."
"Really?"
"Of course."
Locke leaned forward slightly, smiled, and said: "Perhaps, when I take off my sunglasses, we might meet in some coffee shop, exchange greetings. Maybe you could become one of my friends too."
Patty's mouth twitched slightly.
My friend is a killer?
Patty hardly dared to follow that line of thought.
Just the slight imagination of it already felt chilling and horrifying.
Patty shook her head inwardly, pursed her lips, cleared her throat, and looked at Locke: "Peerless, so, you came this time just to explain to the audience that this matter wasn't your doing?"
Locke tilted his head: "That's not my main purpose for coming, but it could be considered a secondary purpose."
Patty was slightly taken aback.
"Then the main purpose..."
"Heh."
Locke lowered his head and chuckled, then looked up again at Patty: "Patty, how are the ratings now?"
Patty looked at her assistant, who had composed herself, was suppressing her fear, and was working at her station.
The assistant grabbed a whiteboard, wrote a string of numbers with a marker, and held it up.
Locke frowned slightly: "Sorry, I don't know much about the media industry. After all, you know, in the assassin profession, professional skills also require continuous learning and further education. Can you explain to me, roughly what percentage of New York City is watching this program now?"
Assassins need learning and further education?
Everyone listening had odd expressions.
Patty's female assistant thought the same. She had the staff member beside her pull up the data again, adjusted it to the New York City interface, looked, and wrote down a percentage.
"Seventy-five percent."
"Wow."
Locke seemed surprised: "Does that mean seventy-five percent of New Yorkers are watching this program right now?"
Patty nodded: "Yes."
Probably even more.
A killer storming a TV station for a live broadcast isn't an everyday occurrence. With such a big commotion, how could New Yorkers, being first in line for the spectacle, miss it?
"That's good!"
"Peerless..."
Locke smiled and nodded, glanced at Patty, then looked at the camera, revealing a brilliant smile: "I never kill the innocent or those standing in the light, resisting the darkness, even if they have some flaws. I am more tolerant of them. Congratulations, you have successfully caught my attention. I will find you, and then we will see what happens."
Patty: "..."
New Yorkers: "..."
The perpetrator: "..."
154. Unscrupulous Peerless
This was the truly grand scene.
Since that impostor dared to use his name, he should have expected that it would force him out.
A real serial killer wouldn't tolerate an impostor, but serial killers don't dare to show their faces, so they have no channel to speak out when their identity is used.
Either you learn from that Red John in California—whoever dares to impersonate him, he kills them.
Or you just suck it up.
Those were the only two choices.
But Locke wasn't a serial killer. He admitted he was a sinner, but he wouldn't admit to being a murderer. Therefore, Locke could choose a third path.
In front of the camera, Locke had his hands in his pockets, his temperament as elegant as a British gentleman.
"If you're watching television, then I have a small suggestion for you."
The corners of Locke's mouth curled up as he stared into the camera. "Run. Run now, and run far away. Because I'll be coming after you soon. And once I catch you, you won't die—I swear it to the Almighty Lord—but you will wish you were dead. I'll let you know exactly what the consequences of impersonating me are."
Within his words, Locke made no attempt to hide his killing intent.
He didn't mind someone impersonating the Peerless Assassin.
But he minded very much if someone used the name of the Peerless Assassin to commit murder and robbery.
"Heh!"
After Locke finished speaking, he gave a sudden laugh and sat back down on the sofa. He looked at Patty, who was breaking out in a cold sweat after being indirectly faced with his overwhelming killing intent, and gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I lost my composure a bit."
Patty forced a smile. At this moment, she finally realized that although Locke acted like an ordinary person, even an elegant gentleman, at his core, Locke was a hitman—and an unscrupulous one at that.
Locke stood up, straightened his tie, and looked at Patty. "Alright, I've said what I needed to say. Sorry for disturbing you. I'll be going now. Let's keep in touch by phone."
Patty's mouth twitched.
I'm going to change my phone number first thing tomorrow morning.
Only... this building was already surrounded by the NYPD, the FBI, and the Department of Homeland Security. How was he going to get out?
Patty watched Locke as he walked toward the door, unable to help wondering in her heart.
Just then.
Locke stopped in his tracks.
The hearts of everyone in the studio skipped a beat, followed by a surge of despair.
It's over.
They were going to be silenced.
Only... Locke turned around, looked at Patty who had stood up in front of the camera, and said, "Next time I come over, please invite the New York Weather Queen, Barbara. To be honest, you're not a professional host."
A professional host should know how to liven up the atmosphere.
But Patty?
If it weren't for the fact that Patty was George's ex-girlfriend from high school, Locke wouldn't have given her such an on-screen opportunity.
As expected.
Life requires connections everywhere.
Locke shook his head, carrying the man-portable missile in one hand while holding a remote control in the other. He completely ignored the two SWAT Team members at the door and pushed it open to leave.
Everyone in the studio looked at each other, completely bewildered.
Was that... it?
They had survived.
On the stage in front of the camera, Patty's expression was also bewildered to the extreme.
In the hallway.
After Locke stepped into the elevator, he tilted his head and looked at the two SWAT members pointing guns at him at the elevator door, smiling. "Don't you plan on coming down together?"
The two SWAT members were expressionless, their guns aimed at Locke, who was holding the missile.
Locke shook his head and released the elevator button. As the elevator doors slowly closed, he waved at the two SWAT members. "Then, goodbye."
Ding!
The elevator descended!
The two SWAT members gasped for air while simultaneously contacting the personnel downstairs via radio. "The target has gone down. Repeat, the target has gone down."
In the lobby on the first floor of the building.
"Quick, quick, quick!"
"Aim!"
"No one fires without my signal!"
George, Colin from the FBI, and Ms. Hand, the S.H.I.E.L.D. New York Commander disguised as a Department of Homeland Security official, led their elites to surround the lobby. They watched the elevator as it got closer and closer.
Third floor.
Second floor.
First floor.
Ding!
The crisp sound of the elevator arriving rang out, followed by the rapid clicking of countless weapons being chambered.
"Yo!"
Locke carried the man-portable missile out of the elevator. Seeing the scene before him, he seemed somewhat flattered. "Wow, such a grand scene. Impressive."
George took a deep breath, his brow twitching. Staring at the missile in Locke's hand, he said loudly, "Peerless, you are surrounded."
Locke tilted his head. "I think that's not quite right."
"What?"
Locke shifted the missile to his left hand, and with a flick of his right, a pistol appeared. He didn't point the pistol at anyone; instead, he aimed it at the missile in his left hand.
"To be precise..."
Locke looked at George with a face full of smiles. "Officer Stacy, you should say that you are the ones surrounded by me."
If this Stark-manufactured missile in his hand exploded, this entire building would be gone.
Dammit.
That damn Magneto had run back to babysit and hadn't returned yet. Otherwise, Locke could have learned the ultimate assassin skill, 'Leap of Faith', from him.
Locke flipped the safety off his pistol and smiled at the grand array of riot shields, submachine guns, and sniper rifles lined up before him. "In five minutes, I want to see an audi parked at the door. Otherwise, we'll all go down together."
George and the others were dumbfounded.
What the fuck?
George sneered directly. "That's im—"
"Bang!"
Locke fired a shot directly at the missile, and a spark immediately flared up.
Everyone present was stunned.
"Once is good luck."
Locke let out a surprised sound, then looked back at George and the other Police Officers. "I won't kill innocent people, but I can commit suicide. Do you want me to fire a few more shots and see if you'll be buried with me?"
Supervisor Colin of the FBI felt his legs go weak, and sweat poured down his face. Just now, he almost thought he was really going to meet God. "George..."
Ms. Hand beside him also took a sharp breath, looking at Locke as if looking at a madman.
A madman who didn't care about his own life at all.
Ms. Hand also said in a low voice, "George, there are no hostage casualties, and Washington is watching this. There are still many hostages upstairs."
George was expressionless, staring fixedly at Locke.
Locke gave a chuckle.
He pulled the trigger.
"Wait!"
"Bang!"
Locke performed a flick shot, and the bullet grazed the missile and slammed into the ground. He looked at George with a bright smile. "Officer Stacy, how is Officer Jeff Martin? Is he better?"
George's brow twitched. He roared at the people behind him to find an audi, then stared at Locke with a heaving chest. "I will catch you, Peerless. I swear."
Locke nodded. "Very good, I enjoy this feeling too. By the way, I heard your daughter is dating that boy who was identified by the Department of Homeland Security as my accomplice?"
Hand's brow twitched nearby.
Locke smiled. "Well, I admit, he is my accomplice. Perhaps you can use him to lure me out. Hahaha."
George clenched his fists. "Madman!"
Locke stopped laughing. "You're an idealist, George. So am I. It's just that you believe in the law, whereas I see the scumbags the law cannot punish. I've only done what I should do—what a person should be able to do."
"You have no right to judge others."
"I agree."
While waiting for the car, Locke didn't mind chatting more with George. "Look, I never said you shouldn't arrest me, nor do I think of myself as some judge or vigilante. You can come and catch me; I won't stop you. After all, it's your job, and I support your work, George."
George remained expressionless.
Locke smiled and looked at the car already parked over there. He then looked directly at George and the other Officers. "Just to mention beforehand, this missile is also connected to my heartbeat. If I die, this missile will explode. Oh, and there's another one on the ceiling of the twenty-eighth floor. I'm leaving now. Goodnight, Officer Stacy."
After speaking.
Locke turned and left.
Rustle.
A path leading directly from the elevator to the main entrance was cleared by the Police Officers.
"Commander!"
"I have a better line of sight. I can fire. Repeat, I can fire."
A sniper stationed in the building across the street watched Locke through his scope and requested the order to fire.
But... George directly ordered the cancellation of the shot.
Soon.
Surrounded by the crowd behind him, Locke arrived at the roadside. He opened the back door, casually tossed the missile inside, then straightened his suit. He slightly raised his chin toward the representatives of the three law enforcement agencies at the building entrance. "Goodbye, everyone. You can try to chase me."
After speaking.
Locke got in the car and started the engine. With a roar, the audi shot out like an arrow.
Vroom!
Locke put his right hand on the handbrake. In the back seat, the missile gradually merged and began to form a perfect golden bracelet on Locke's right arm like squirming liquid gold.
Yes.
That missile was transformed from the Peerless Artifact. If Locke wanted the missile to explode, a single bullet would suffice. But if Locke didn't want it to, then even a direct hit from a real missile wouldn't make it explode.
"Officer."
"How is it?"
"Nothing!"
A bomb disposal team member ran to George and shook his head. "We've searched the entire twenty-eighth floor. No traces of any missile were found, and no explosive substances were detected."
Colin frowned nearby. "We were played?"
George turned to look at Colin. "You guys prepared the car. Tell me, did you send people to tail him?"
Colin said, "Of course we sent people to tail him."
"Where are they?"
155. Gwen, the Supportive Wife
Installing a tracker was one thing.
Arranging for surveillance personnel was another.
But... by the time George and his group of three arrived, what met their eyes was the Hudson River, appearing somewhat luminous under the night sky.
A car that the Federal Bureau of Investigation had just borrowed from a dealership was now totaled.
"What happened?"
"Officer."
A tracking Federal Agent, seeing the expression on his superior Colin's face, quickly explained the sequence of events.
The sequence of events was actually quite simple.
They were tracking normally when they saw the car Locke was driving suddenly accelerate. They sped up to follow, only to watch it plunge straight into the Hudson River Valley.
Ten minutes later.
A frogman surfaced and shook his head at the three supervisors from different law enforcement agencies on the shore, saying: "The car has been found, but the target and that missile were not inside."
Clearly.
A-Zu had returned home once again.
"Gurgle, gurgle!"
Locke retracted his clone from his home, took a step, caught his falling phone, and then walked toward the bar to continue his conversation with Gwen on the line.
The television was broadcasting the salvage operation in the Hudson River Valley.
Gwen asked over the phone: "What do you think?"
Locke was slightly taken aback: "What?"
Gwen said: "What I just told you—taking two hundred and fifty thousand out of that five hundred thousand and giving it to the family of the Police Officer who couldn't be saved. What's wrong with you tonight? This has happened several times."
Locke smiled and said: "I've said it many times as well; that's your compensation, you don't need to ask me."
Yes.
The Officer who sacrificed himself ultimately could not be saved.
Locke had no intention of saving him either; he couldn't find any excuse. Again, he wasn't a saint. Because of Gwen, he had found an excuse to save Jeff, but for this one, he had none.
He wasn't a Hero; he couldn't save everyone.
In her Room, Gwen sighed. She held the phone to her ear with one hand while using a spare phone to watch the salvage work being live-streamed at night: "Are you watching the live stream?"
Locke looked up at the TV: "Yes. Fortunately, the one that fell into the river wasn't mine. I just went to the garage to check and confirmed my car is still there."
Gwen laughed upon hearing this, then watched George on the phone screen, standing on the shore: "Dad seems to be furious."
Locke hummed in agreement: "George has always wanted to catch this Peerless Assassin."
It was fine if he was furious.
As long as he didn't get so angry he coughed up blood.
Leaving George something to focus on would prevent the office-bound George from having nothing to do. For a Detective like George, if there were no cases to solve, he would age quickly.
I really am too kind.
Although tonight's events were quite sensational, George wasn't the only one losing face. After all, both the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Department of Homeland Security were there.
Furthermore.
Even though the Peerless Assassin had escaped, there were no hostage casualties, which was already a very good outcome. It was just that George wanted a perfect ending.
But... in this World, how many perfect endings are there?
How does that saying go?
Regret is what makes things beautiful.
"By the way."
"Go ahead."
"Locke, do you think that killer is watching TV?"
"Probably. Didn't you say the group chat is exploding? Almost everyone is following this live stream."
"True. Do you think he's panicking right now?"
"I don't know."
Locke spoke truthfully. He didn't care if the killer was panicking; he only cared if the scene was grand enough.
[Mission influence multiplier: 50x!]
This was excellent.
Now, as long as he did nothing but catch that killer and execute him directly, he could get a fifty-thousand-point reward.
But... Locke's eyes flickered.
This one live stream had already brought a fifty-fold multiplier.
What if there was another broadcast?
The cap of a hundred-fold multiplier would be a full hundred-thousand-point reward.
Gwen punched the pillow behind her with her small fist and leaned back again: "Want to hear my psychological profile of this killer?"
Locke gripped his bourbon and smiled: "Of course. I thought you said there wasn't enough data."
Gwen said: "Because I'm not sure if this was really done by the Peerless Assassin. If the Peerless Assassin is involved, then the profile is completely different."
"Alright."
"Regarding the profile of the Peerless Assassin, I admit I might be wrong, but I still suspect he said those things on purpose to provoke law enforcement."
"...Is that an intuition?"
"I suppose so."
Gwen laughed and then said: "However, there's too little data on the Peerless Assassin to analyze, so the psychological profile will always have some discrepancies."
Locke smiled.
"But this impostor is different."
"How so?"
"This impostor used the Peerless Assassin's notification card. Moreover, judging from the first case with that couple, it seems to have been premeditated. So, he is someone who looks full of hostility on the outside but is full of insecurity on the inside."
"...Deliberately leaving a notification card to mislead the Police indeed shows a lack of confidence."
Which established assassin or serial killer would copy the signature moves and behaviors of another?
None.
Only insecure assassins or copycats would do that.
Because famous assassins are fearless in the face of difficulty.
Just like the Peerless Assassin—what does it matter if so many guns are aimed at him? He can still talk and laugh amidst a vast army.
Gwen continued.
"He is very hostile toward the Police. It's very likely he has been treated violently by the Police before, or perhaps he spent some time in prison before this."
"This..."
"He killed two Police Officers, Locke."
"Uh..."
Gwen's words continued: "If it were me, I would start by investigating that couple."
Locke walked to the study and turned on the computer: "Why?"
Gwen said: "It's simple. It's possible that the death of that couple flipped his killing switch. That notification card was likely added after the fact. Since the Police Department only found the bodies a day later, he had plenty of time to do it. Then, seeing that the Police Department assumed it was the Peerless Assassin's work because of the card, he completely released his Beast."
Locke pulled up the file on the couple's murder and frowned: "But, I haven't heard that the couple lost anything."
Gwen shrugged: "Then I wouldn't know. I'm not a professional; I'm just trying to do some reasoning."
Locke smiled: "Alright."
It seemed that after finishing this topic, Gwen was also sleepy. After saying goodnight to Locke, she hung up the phone.
He checked the call duration.
Three hours.
Locke rubbed his chin, made a note to top up his phone credit tomorrow, and looked at the files on the computer.
There was nothing particularly special about the deceased couple.
Middle class, owned a cheap apartment building slated for demolition. After George discovered the notification card was a forgery, he had sent people to check all the tenants in that building, and they all had alibis.
And... treated violently by Police, hence the hostility?
Doesn't this perfectly fit the description of a person of color?
Locke raised an eyebrow and hacked directly into the New York City municipal backend, found that apartment building, and pulled up the targets he wanted to investigate.
The next second.
Locke called out, "Goodfellas."
For no other reason.
Although there were two tenants of color in the couple's apartment building, that wasn't what surprised Locke. It was that everyone living in this building had a criminal record, and they had all just been released from prison recently.
This couple were saints.
Locke thought to himself. Just like in China, in the U.S., those with criminal records face discrimination. At the very least, there are many jobs that people with records cannot do.
In the minds of most people, those who have broken the law are always unwelcome, especially those who have been through prison.
This is the real society.
If you've broken the law, why shouldn't people discriminate against you or look down on you?
"Ring, ring, ring!"
Locke's gaze swept over the avatars of the tenants with criminal records in the apartment, then he looked at the satellite phone ringing on the desk.
The head of the New York underground homeless intelligence, Boweri Jin!
Four in the morning.
Queens.
"Coo, coo, coo!"
Countless pigeons under the overpass instantly flapped their wings and flew toward the sky due to the arrival of an uninvited guest. A Homeless man curled up under the overpass with his hands in his lap opened his somewhat bleary eyes to look at Locke.
Ding!
Locke flicked his right hand, and a gold coin landed in front of the Homeless man: "Recognize me?"
The Homeless man looked at the approaching Locke, who was wearing sunglasses, swallowed hard, tossed the handgun in his arms aside, and stood up: "This way, Mr. Peerless."
Tonight's New York live stream had once again elevated Locke's reputation in the assassin circle by a notch.
There was no shortage of assassins with flamboyant personalities in the circle, but someone as bold as Locke was undoubtedly unprecedented.
Soon.
Following the Homeless man in front, he entered a discarded sewer. After turning a corner, he arrived at a vast underground space where one could even race horses.
An office desk.
An electric wire privately connected from above ground provided lighting for the area.
A burly man who looked dark-skinned but was definitely not of color sat in the office chair behind the desk, smoking a cigar.
Locke reached out and waved away the cloud of cigar smoke: "Jin, if you want to be the King of Beggars, then don't smoke these three-hundred-dollar bourbon-priced Cuban cigars."
Over there, the gap-toothed Boweri Jin grinned: "Want one?"
Locke's gaze fell on the Homeless man curled up to the side, motionless, and he said directly: "Is it him?"
...Recommended!
Monthly tickets!
Begging!!!
One hundred and fifty-six, I found you
On the ground, a homeless man was curled up, bruised and swollen.
After hearing Locke's voice, he couldn't help but shiver.
Locke pulled out a chair and sat down.
"What did you do?"
"Are you very concerned about how I treat my people?"
"No."
Locke looked at Bowery King and shook his head, saying, "Your home, your people, how you deal with them is your business. I'm just concerned about whether the intelligence I bought at a high price is worth it."
Bowery grinned and said, "I watched the live broadcast tonight."
Locke smiled and looked around. This place couldn't be described as having everything, but it could certainly be called destitute. Forget about a TV, there wasn't even a damaged screen.
Bowery laughed heartily, "My friend, this is my office."
Locke hummed in agreement.
To set up his office in a sewage-filled sewer, Bowery was clearly a bit crazy.
However… Locke wasn't here to be a psychiatrist. Gwen was a top student who could perform as if she had a pay-to-win cheat without needing one. He, on the other hand, couldn't. He needed some skills to level up.
And psychology skills were not within Locke's range of choices.
Three thousand potential points were still potential points, enough to buy a bundle of small health potions.
Moreover, psychology and such weren't very suitable for a practical person like Locke.
Bowery then exhaled a puff of cigar smoke and nodded slightly.
Two subordinates immediately walked over to the bruised and swollen homeless man. With a scream, the homeless man was directly hoisted up.
Bowery's smile vanished, and a chilling coldness filled his gaze as he stared at the homeless man: "Tell Mr. Wushuang what you saw."
Locke turned his chair and also looked at the homeless man.
The homeless man tremblingly recounted what happened in that alley yesterday.
This homeless man was the one Jeff Martin mentioned who was also in the alley. On the night of the incident, this homeless man was in his self-built cardboard house.
What he initially said was actually similar to what Jeff Martin described. In fact, he only noticed what was happening outside after Jeff Martin let out a scream and two gunshots rang out.
This homeless man was not one of those unorganized and undisciplined homeless people; he was an organized one. After pledging allegiance to Bowery King, he was taught the three hundred moves for homeless people to save their lives and how to distinguish valuable intelligence. Therefore, when the gunshots rang out, he didn't rush out like a headless fly.
He only tremblingly crawled out of his cardboard house after the assailant with the lightning mask had left. By then, Jeff was already dead, and the assailant had also left.
Locke frowned: "So, you don't know who the assailant is either?"
As he spoke.
Locke looked at Bowery King: "I thought you said on the phone that you already knew who it was."
This wasn't a question of whether or not to use a tracking card or a locator card.
While these two cards could be used as cheats, without a target's name, what kind of tracking could you do?
It was the same as George having no way to deal with the Wushuang Assassin.
The Wushuang Assassin had only revealed his appearance, and so far, no law enforcement agency had anything else besides that appearance.
How to investigate? Where to investigate?
Bowery King laughed heartily and said not to worry, then looked at the homeless man: "Tell our customer what you did after you went out?"
The homeless man shivered: "I… I took the police officer's wallet."
Locke seemed to realize something: "You were also at the scene of the second police murder?"
The homeless man nodded tremblingly.
To be precise, he wasn't at the scene, but rather, he was being followed by the killer.
After the homeless man realized who the dead person was, he intended to dispose of the wallet. However, just as he was about to discard the wallet, the male police officer seemed to notice him. Just as the homeless man thought he was about to be apprehended, a seemingly reckless white man appeared with a knife and then hacked the male police officer to death.
Fortunately.
The homeless man was organized. He lifted a manhole cover and then, in the sewers he was familiar with, quickly shook off the killer and hid again, until he was found by Bowery King's men.
Bowery King took out a sketch from his pocket and handed it to Locke: "This is a sketch I had an artist draw."
Locke took it.
Instantly.
The Memory Palace opened its doors wide, and then page after page of photos in the Memory Palace were flipped open. Immediately, the man in the sketch began to be compared within the Memory Palace.
The next second.
Locke matched the guy whose half-face he had glimpsed among the onlookers at the second crime scene.
The homeless man wailed over there: "Boss, I really didn't mean it, I…"
He didn't finish his sentence.
Slap!
Bowery King's subordinate had already slapped the homeless man across the face.
The sound was a bit muffled, not very crisp.
Homeless people, with their rougher skin, were completely understandable.
Bowery King sneered, pointing at the homeless man with his cigar, and said to Locke: "This idiot came here to pledge allegiance half a year ago. Although he hasn't provided any intelligence in the past six months, I didn't mind and kept him. But then…"
If there was any group in New York City that could be described as having eyes and ears everywhere, then the homeless community would dare to claim second place, and no one would dare to claim first.
And Bowery King was the king of this homeless empire.
He provided warmth to those who were bankrupt and became homeless, so that they wouldn't die inexplicably or from thirst and starvation.
In return, the homeless people collected any valuable intelligence and clues for Bowery King.
Like this time.
Bowery King took a puff of his cigar: "You idiot, if you had come and told me immediately that you were a witness, instead of coveting the less than one hundred US dollars in cash in that wallet, do you know how much of the reward from our customer you could have gotten for this information?"
As he spoke.
Bowery King paused, then, with a look of disappointment, held up one hand: "Five thousand US dollars, a full five thousand US dollars, you idiot."
Locke glanced at Bowery King.
Five thousand US dollars?
Was he a skinflint?
If he remembered correctly, he had given Bowery King fifteen urgent-order Continental Gold Coins.
Although the exchange rate between Continental Gold Coins and US dollars had always been a mystery.
But… one gold coin, at least, was worth more than five thousand US dollars.
So.
Capitalists always made the most money, and capitalists could always put on an act that giving five thousand US dollars was a huge sacrifice.
Bowery King sighed, putting on a pained expression, and directly waved his hand: "Take him out, find a place to bury… send him away."
The homeless man completely panicked.
Thud!
As the homeless man was about to beg for mercy, a heavy punch knocked him unconscious, and then he was dragged away by the two subordinates.
Bowery King laughed heartily and looked at Locke: "Mr. Wushuang, I am not a guilty person."
He almost forgot who was sitting in front of him.
If he had forgotten just now, he might have been beaten to a pulp too.
Locke's mouth curved upwards, and he stood up: "Alright, the deal is done, I should go now. Thank you, Mr. Bowery King."
He wasn't that nosy.
It was still the same saying.
In this world, evil people can never be completely eradicated, and the Wushuang Assassin doesn't work for free. If no one offers a bounty for an evil person, except for a very few out of personal interest, Locke generally wouldn't kill for free.
Soon.
He returned to the Star Tower.
At this moment, a new day had already begun.
Locke, who had been awake all night again, felt exceptionally energetic. After taking a shower and changing into clean clothes, he pretended to have gone to bed early and woken up early, wiping his quickly dried hair as he went to the study.
He opened his computer.
He directly accessed the backend of the New York monitoring center, selected the surveillance footage from yesterday afternoon on Fifth Avenue in the Lower East Side, then took a sip of his first bourbon of the morning, exchanged good mornings with Gwen who had sent him a message, and watched the fast-forwarding surveillance footage.
Before long.
Locke pressed the spacebar, watching the target who was among the crowd, observing the scene, and a slight smile appeared on his lips: "Got you."
There were always some killers who couldn't resist their impulses and ran out to join others in observing their own crime scenes.
This one was no exception.
Locke shook his head, somewhat speechless.
He had actually thought at the time that it was someone from a mysterious organization who had come out, intending to tarnish his reputation in this way or to force him to reveal himself.
Locke had indeed thought so at first.
But… Locke was wrong. This guy was just an idiot, an idiot who didn't know the immensity of heaven and earth.
And this guy was even a celebrity.
Locke had just put a screenshot of this guy's face into the program to run, and the first clue that popped up wasn't from the NYPD, but from a popular entertainment video platform, YouTube.
Whoosh!
"Have you ever tasted billiards?"
"Explosive footage, man swallows five billiard balls."
"Oh, God, you simply can't believe how strong a man's stomach can be."
"…"
Locke was shocked.
After watching the video, he was even more shocked.
This video footage seemed to be from the surveillance of some entertainment venue. In this surveillance footage, the man Locke was looking for was violently beaten by a very smart but still somewhat handsome man. Even worse, after that, this unlucky guy was pressed onto a billiard table by that person, and then swallowed billiard ball after billiard ball…
157. Locke Wushuang and the others appear on the same screen again
This video is incredibly popular online!
At one point, the number of likes surpassed a million, not to mention the countless shares and secondary edits.
Locke even found videos of the billiard ball swallowing incident, grotesquely memed with various screenshots, in the 'Wall World'.
Of course.
The man who fed the billiard balls to the unlucky addict was also captured in screenshots.
Locke looked at the screenshot of the exceptionally intelligent man in a jacket, narrowing his eyes: "Jason Statham?"
Jason Blount.
Jeff Martin's partner.
And the person who swallowed the billiard balls… "Barry Weiss?"
Locke looked at the information retrieved from the NYPD database, observing the low-level drug addict with a lengthy criminal record, who had been brought in for various charges including fighting, harassment, and using counterfeit money.
He stroked his chin: "No wonder he chose the Flash mask; it's because his name is Barry."
However, while the Flash's name is also Barry, his surname is Allen.
Only someone named Barry with the surname Allen can be the Flash.
You, a Weiss?
A surname that isn't even well-known, and you're impersonating the Flash here.
What do you call this?
Putting garlic in your nostrils and pretending to be a spring onion?
Wait.
Locke looked at the file of this low-level drug addict, who not only impersonated him but also intended to impersonate Barry Allen, and seeing the colorful arrest record, he seemed to recall something and re-accessed the couple's files.
With Gwen's reminder and a name, Locke easily found the connection between this low-level drug addict and the couple.
The couple were kind people who took in ex-convicts who had no immediate means of making a living.
And while Barry Weiss hadn't been sent to prison before, he had been sent to the hospital for a stomach pump after swallowing five billiard balls. If he hadn't gone to the hospital, he would have ended up in the morgue.
But a month ago, after Barry Weiss was discharged from the hospital, he intended to return to the couple's apartment, but there were no empty rooms left, so the couple had to politely decline.
Then, the couple was brutally attacked by someone impersonating the Peerless Assassin.
Locke had a pretty good idea of what had happened.
A small kindness is repaid, a great kindness breeds resentment!
Not all people at the bottom of the federation are of low character, but a white drug addict like this, a repeat offender who practically treats prison as home, certainly has low character.
It was quite clear.
Because the couple refused Barry Weiss's request to stay, Barry Weiss finally couldn't suppress his murderous intent and decided to eliminate the couple.
Afterward… the fear of murder gradually dissipated, and then he began to target the NYPD, who had made him a complete laughingstock.
Locke checked the case report.
When Jason fed this guy the billiard balls, it was a weekend, and Jeff and George were both on the scene, and they were the ones who ultimately stopped Jason in time.
Oh, wow.
So, you can't be soft-hearted with an addict like this.
Wouldn't it have been cleaner to just chop him up then and there?
Anyway, you guys can investigate yourselves.
Locke shook his head, a little speechless.
Then… Locke raised an eyebrow, seeing George and Jeff's names appear in the case report.
"Ring-a-ling!"
Gwen, who was about to go to the library with Cindy, answered the call with a smile: "I thought you said you had something to do today and couldn't go to the library with us."
Locke chuckled: "It was canceled last minute. Where are you?"
"About to leave."
"I'll be right there, I'll go with you."
"Okay."
Locke hung up the phone.
Better safe than sorry.
Perhaps this guy was a low-level drug addict before, but after he'd seen blood, he was no longer a low-level drug addict, but an erratic psychopath.
Locke smiled, pulling out his sunglasses: "As long as the reward is sufficient, even if you remove the last two words, I'd still dare to kill."
Saying that.
Locke rose from his computer desk, turned off the computer, adjusted his cuffs, and then strode towards the door.
In the garage.
Vroom!
The Audi drove out of the garage after repeated confirmation from the security guard.
No choice.
It was pretty much common knowledge that the Peerless Assassin liked to drive an Audi, and among them, Locke's had been targeted a few times.
Exiting the Starry Sky Building.
Locke's mind stirred, and another Locke appeared in the passenger seat.
"Here."
"Thanks."
The Locke in the passenger seat took the sunglasses and put them on.
Instantly.
The Peerless Assassin was online.
As they passed a small alley without surveillance, the passenger door opened briefly.
Locke, multitasking, drove towards Gwen's house, and at the same time, as if suffering from split personality, controlled the Peerless Assassin to find a nearly new Audi parked by the roadside.
He walked over.
Directly opened the door.
The man, who was buying a burger nearby, turned around and looked at the Peerless Assassin who had gotten into his car, stunneding for a moment: "Hey, that's…"
Before he could finish his sentence.
Boom!
The silver, nearly new Audi shot out like a sharp arrow.
Ding!]
Tracking card successfully used!]
Barry Weiss tracking map deployed!]
Deployment successful!]
Unfolding!]
"Vroom!"
Locke glanced at the tracking map that appeared in his vision, looking at the small red dot displayed on the map, and frowned.
This guy's location… He slammed the accelerator, immediately picked up speed, and with a drift, the Audi he had just borrowed from the roadside roared, its tail flicking, and it accelerated rapidly towards Gwen's apartment.
Downstairs at Gwen's apartment building.
Locke got out of the car, not even locking the car keys. After ringing Gwen's doorbell, he glanced at Barry Weiss, who was not far away, wearing a police cap, clearly an awkward disguise as a police officer.
Barry Weiss was wearing a white police uniform and a superintendent's cap, his head bowed. He seemed to notice Locke at the apartment entrance and quickened his pace, walking towards Locke.
"The door's open, Locke!"
"Okay."
Locke unhurriedly pulled open the apartment door, slipped inside, and with a thud, kicked the door shut again.
With a thud.
Barry Weiss had an intimate encounter with the glass.
"F*ck!"
Barry, who had intended to quickly follow Locke inside, clutched his nose, looked at his nosebleed, cursed, and then looked up at Locke behind the glass: "Open the door."
Locke tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.
Frankly, Locke had prepared many ways for this imposter to die, but now, this guy had, with his own actions, chosen a way to die for himself.
And he had chosen the most painful way to die.
Barry Weiss, blocked outside the apartment, looked at Locke, who remained motionless inside. He knocked on the window twice, thump-thump-thumping, and said to Locke: "Kid, I'm telling you to open the door!"
Locke's smile was infinitely radiant.
He was restraining himself.
Locke turned and prepared to go upstairs.
No other reason.
His other self was almost there, and it wasn't good for him to stay here at this moment.
"F*ck!"
Barry Weiss outside looked at Locke, who had turned around, seemingly mocking him, and roared. Then, he directly pulled out the pistol he had just snatched from another police officer he had shot and prepared to break in.
Just then.
Boom!
A silver Audi, trailing thick white smoke, drifted into the street at a ninety-degree angle. Then, the car door opened, and a man wearing sunglasses, who had stepped out of the moving car, buttoning his jacket, looked towards him expressionlessly.
Thud!
After spinning, the borrowed Audi, apart from some wear on the tires and engine, came to a steady stop in a parking space by the roadside.
Their eyes met.
Locke's right hand flashed.
Golden gun in hand.
"Bang!"
"Ah!"
Barry Weiss screamed, dropping his pistol, and then, with a thud, rolled down the apartment stairs. His police cap rolled directly onto the road.
The gunshot startled Gwen in the room.
But Locke's appearance instantly calmed Gwen's heart.
"What's going on outside?"
Gwen hugged Locke, and then, perhaps because Locke was by her side, she became curious about what was happening outside. She said this as she walked towards the window facing the road.
"Peerless?"
Gwen stood at the window and immediately saw the Peerless Assassin. She couldn't help but exclaim, and at the same time, she turned to find the phone, preparing to call George.
Locke stood at the window, also watching the Peerless Assassin below.
"Barry Weiss."
Locke on the ground looked at the drug addict, who had rolled onto the ground and then, like a drunkard, stumbled to his feet, a useless addict who needed to kill to boost his confidence: "I told you, I'd find you."
Gwen walked over to Locke at the window: "Dad said they're already on their way here. They already know who the imposter is."
The NYPD is a massive organization, and due to personnel bloat and salary issues, if cases go through normal procedures, the forensics department has a backlog of many cases.
Let's put it this way: if you submit fingerprints for examination today, you might not get the results for three days.
And today was exactly the day the matching results for all the fingerprints in the couple's room were released.
If Barry Weiss were a law-abiding citizen, even if the police had his DNA or fingerprints, it would be useless because the database wouldn't have a match.
But was Barry Weiss one?
Clearly not.
Moreover, Barry Weiss was just a useless scrub who could only succeed by sneak attacks. He had only received pre-school education. He knew how to imitate the Peerless Assassin's notice, but he didn't understand the simplest rule.
When committing a crime… remember to wear gloves, especially for the first crime…
158. Booking a Show
"Peer... Peerless?"
"Surprised?"
Locke, wearing sunglasses, unhurriedly straightened his cuffs. Meanwhile, he removed his magazine and replaced it with a fresh one as he looked at Drug Addict Barry Wise not far away. "I told you I'd find you, didn't I?"
Barry Wise snapped back to his senses instantly.
And then... *Bang!*
"Ah..."
A bullet pierced right through his right knee, shattering it instantly. The Drug Addict Barry slammed face-first into the ground, three teeth popping out as he let out a pained scream.
"fuck!"
"fuck!"
"fuck!"
Drug Addict Barry cursed repeatedly, struggling to support his mangled leg as he tried to get up once more.
The next second.
*Bang!*
*Thud!*
"Ah!"
Falling to the ground once again, Drug Addict Barry twitched. Cold sweat poured from his forehead as he looked at the shattered kneecaps belonging to both his knees lying before him.
Locke, wearing sunglasses, looked up slightly as he passed by Gwen's apartment.
"Oh my shit!"
Gwen, who was upstairs, let out a cry of alarm and instantly pulled the Locke beside her down into a crouch.
Whether it was Locke or his sunglasses-wearing clone, both simultaneously revealed a rather handsome smile.
Over there, Barry Wise, whose knees had been blown apart, rolled over. Looking at Locke slowly walking toward him, a crazed smile suddenly appeared on his face. "Come on, do it! Kill me! You're no different from me!"
*Bang!*
"Ah!"
Barry Wise clutched his right hand to his chest, screaming in agony.
Locke chuckled out of amusement. "No different from you? There's a huge difference. First of all, you're not as handsome as me."
Sweat poured down Barry's forehead like rain.
"Also..."
Locke's tone was gentle, as if he were talking to a friend. "Dying isn't that simple. If everyone could just atone with death after impersonating me, then who would still dare to fear me? Tell me, to me, you're a chicken. I need to kill the chicken to warn the monkeys. How could I possibly bear to let you die?"
Drug Addict Barry's mouth twitched slightly.
*Ptooey...*
*Bang!*
"AHHH!!!"
Locke laughed. "Trying to provoke me? I am very angry right now, but I can control my anger. So, don't waste your energy. You won't die—that's my promise. But you will wish you were dead—that's also my promise. I've prepared a show for you. I think you'll definitely like it."
As he spoke.
Locke tilted his head, watching the drug addict whose knees were shattered, palms pierced, and whose face was a mess of tears and snot. He smiled.
He hadn't originally intended to do this.
What a pity.
Locke wanted to be kind, but there are always people who love to seek death, treating his mercy as capital for their reckless behavior.
Listening to Locke's words, the drug addict on the ground had already fallen into infinite terror.
Locke pulled a phone from his pocket.
He dialed.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Finn, I thought you wouldn't pick up my call again this time."
"...Peerless?"
Ms. Patty Finn—George's former high school girlfriend, now a star producer for New York Channel One Television Station—was just leaving the Police station after being questioned by FBI profilers for nearly the entire night. She just wanted to go back and catch up on sleep, but she couldn't help but stop in her tracks as she listened to the voice on the phone. "Are you the Peerless Assassin?"
"Yes. Wait a moment."
Locke looked down at Drug Addict Barry, who had begun to shiver on the ground. With a flick of his right hand, he produced a Small Blood Vial, opened it, and poured the liquid directly into Drug Addict Barry's mouth.
Instantly.
Drug Addict Barry's complexion became ruddy and glowing.
"What did you give me?"
"Something to keep you from dying."
The corners of Locke's mouth curled up as he looked at the drug addict, who was now in excellent mental condition. "I told you, you won't die until I allow you to."
As he spoke.
*Bang!*
"Ah!"
Amidst the scream, Locke said to Patty on the other end of the line, "Patty, are you free tonight?"
Hearing the gunshot and scream, Patty seemed to realize something. "Mr. Peerless, have you caught that imposter?"
Locke smiled. "I thought it was some enemy trying to draw me out, but I didn't expect it to be so easy. I originally thought it would take at least three days to flush out this imposter."
Patty didn't know what to say, so she could only laugh twice to be polite.
Locke said, "So, are you free for a live broadcast tonight? Or do I need to go up and find you directly like I did yesterday?"
Patty pulled open her car door, canceling her plan to go back to the FBI behind her.
Because... this was another golden opportunity for ratings.
"It's possible."
Patty got into the car, placed her bag on the passenger seat, and frowned. "But Mr. Peerless, once we send out the teaser, aren't you afraid the NYPD will be waiting for you there?"
"I'm not afraid."
"...Can I ask why?"
"Because..."
The corners of Locke's mouth turned up as he watched several Police cars with sirens blaring appear at the end of the street. He smiled into the phone. "Your friend George is already here."
"What?"
"Around eight... nine o'clock tonight, I'll bring the imposter over. I hope that when we go live, the ratings will be as high as they were yesterday. You guys like putting out teasers, right? I agree to it. No problem?"
"...Of course, but..."
"—"
Locke hung up the phone cleanly and decisively.
Over there, the sound of Police car doors slamming rang out. George, Jason, and Kate instantly drew their guns. Along with over a dozen Police Officers, they aimed at Locke, who stood in the middle of the road, bold and undisguised.
George shouted even louder, "Hands up!"
Barry Wise, who had already been shot five times on the ground, saw George and the others as if they were his saviors. He turned his head and roared, "Save me! You damn Police, fire! Kill him!"
Hmph.
Quite arrogant.
Locke scoffed, looking at George fifty meters away. "George, do you think after you catch him, you can use the law to judge this guy?"
George said in a heavy voice, "I don't know, but I know you have no right to kill!"
"He killed your friend."
"—"
"If it wasn't for me, your friend would be dead already."
"—"
"He also killed one of your colleagues."
"—"
"He probably even killed another one on his way here."
Locke's tone was indifferent as he stepped on the drug addict. He tilted his head, watching George. "Does such a person deserve to be forgiven by the law?"
Yes, forgiven.
How does the saying go?
If someone brags to you about how law-abiding they are, then that person is definitely a piece of trash.
Because the law is the floor, never the ceiling.
But if you use the law to deal with someone who has already broken through that floor, if that isn't forgiveness, then what is it?
"And..."
Locke smiled and said, "I promised your friend that I would take him to do a live broadcast tonight to give New York City an explanation. You wouldn't want me to break my word, would you?"
George remained expressionless.
"George..." Jason stared intently at the slumped drug addict. Knowing how all of this had happened, Jason said in a heavy voice, "George..."
George interrupted him directly, "Jason, we are Police Officers!"
Jason: "..."
They were there to uphold the law, not to break it.
Locke raised an eyebrow.
As expected of George.
But... this was also what Locke appreciated about George. After all, someone who knows how to control their anger and never breaks their principles is inherently commendable.
Locke's gaze fell on Jason.
He smiled.
The next second.
Locke moved his foot off the drug addict and jerked his chin. "Fine, George. You want him? Fine, I'll give him to you. Come and get him."
George could die, but he couldn't die at his own doorstep.
Dammit.
Gwen was still watching from the window. If his future father-in-law's blood were to splatter on the spot, Gwen's mental state would probably completely collapse.
Besides.
It was still early. Let this drug addict go to the hospital with George and the others first to get bandaged up—maybe get a wheelchair or something. That would also save him the effort of moving him from here to the TV station.
New Amsterdam Hospital was even closer to New York Channel One Television Station.
Just two blocks away.
As he spoke.
Locke raised both hands high and retreated about ten steps.
George signaled to two officers.
Seeing this, the drug addict slumped on the ground roared, "Dammit, you bunch of useless trash! Fire! He's a killer! Fire! What are you do—AH!"
The two officers had already reached the drug addict. With two clicks, they unhesitatingly flipped him over and handcuffed his arms behind his back.
"fuck!"
"fuck!"
The drug addict roared repeatedly, "I'm getting a lawyer to sue you! fuck, I want a lawyer!"
Locke tilted his head, looking at the group with their sour expressions, and then said to George, "George, I have an appointment for a live broadcast at nine tonight. I'll give you the man for now. You can interrogate him to your heart's content. If your methods don't work by eight o'clock, then we'll do it my way."
George's brow twitched.
Locke glanced at the window of Gwen's apartment, then looked back at George, speaking just as George was about to open his mouth. "Don't bargain with me, George. I have no intention of becoming an enemy of your law enforcement agency. I understand that you're trying to catch me, but this time is different. He offended you, but he offended me even more."
He paused.
Locke raised his wrist and tapped where a watch would be. "It's ten in the morning. You have ten hours. When time is up, if you can't do it, then we do it my way."
After saying that.
Locke turned around and, after turning a corner, instantly vanished from the sight of George and the others...
Chapter 159: Obtaining Permission to Open Fire
"fuck!"
"fuck!"
"fuck..."
The Drug Addict Barry Wise was being ruthlessly held up by two Police Officers, his legs almost dragging on the ground. With a distorted expression, he laughed maniacally like a madman, "I'm going to sue you! I'm going to sue the NYPD! I'm going to sue you all! I want a lawyer! I want medical attention..."
*Thud!*
"Jason!"
Kate watched as Jason's fist knocked out the few teeth Barry had left. She quickly stepped forward and pulled back Jason, who looked ready to send the guy to the afterlife right then and there.
*Spit!*
Drug Addict Barry Wise had a frenzied expression, clearly not quite right in the head as he looked at the grim-faced Jason and laughed arrogantly, "I'm innocent! I want a lawyer!"
Jason wanted nothing more than to throw another punch.
George said with a dark expression, "Take him to New Amsterdam Hospital."
The two Police Officers, expressionless, once again dragged the drug addict toward the police car.
Jason broke free from Kate's grip and wiped his face. "I'll drive."
"You are not allowed to go."
"What?"
George looked expressionlessly at Jason, who had turned around, and repeated, "We are law enforcement!"
Jason laughed. He was about to pull his badge out of his pocket and throw it in George's face, but his right hand paused. He looked at George, gave two cold, superficial laughs, and then turned to walk toward his own car without a word.
Soon after.
Jason drove away directly.
Kate watched the headlights of Jason's departing car, then snapped back to reality and looked at George. "I'll take some people to the hospital first. Why don't you go home and check in?"
In fact, when Gwen called George, they were already on their way here.
For no other reason than this:
In Barry Wise's hideout apartment, they had found photos of Jason, Jeff, and George, including photos of their families.
When George saw a candid photo of Gwen with an 'X' drawn over it, he realized something was wrong.
Fortunately... George nodded, his mind racing. He didn't know what he was thinking, but he let out a heavy breath and then walked toward his house.
Half an hour later.
Gwen listened to George's account, her mouth hanging open in shock. She covered her mouth and glanced at Locke, saying, "God, I saw it on the surveillance. He seemed to be right behind Locke. Heavens, it's a good thing you didn't open the door for him, Locke."
George also looked toward Locke.
Locke smiled and said, "I saw that man speed up his pace after I opened the door, and I felt something wasn't quite right, so I closed the main door after coming inside."
Hearing this, George couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief and nodded. "You did the right thing, Locke."
Locke responded with a smile.
"Dad."
"Yeah?"
Gwen thought back to the words she had heard by the window and looked at George with some concern. "Is what that Peerless Assassin said true? Is there no way to convict him?"
Locke also looked at George.
George was silent for a moment before saying, "We have no direct evidence."
Gwen frowned. "But didn't you say, Dad, that this guy's fingerprints were detected in that couple's apartment?"
George shook his head. "That's not direct evidence."
Moreover, his fingerprints were only left in that couple's home. As for the second, the third, and even the home of the Police Officer from this morning, no fingerprints were left behind at all.
This drug addict actually had one merit: true to his long criminal record, after forgetting to wear gloves the first time, he had learned his lesson.
Without direct evidence, even if the District Attorney's Office risked an indictment, he could completely explain it away in court by saying he had lived in that apartment before.
And once a court has passed judgment, there's the principle of double jeopardy.
Gwen frowned. "So, Dad, what do you all plan to do?"
George smiled. Seeing that his daughter was fine and that Locke was here to protect her, he stood up. "Don't worry. Catching bad guys is what we do professionally."
With that...
George called Locke to the door.
Locke looked curiously at George as he put on his shoes. "Is something the matter?"
George looked at Locke, remained silent for a moment, and whispered, "There's a safe in my study. The password is Gwen's voice. There's a spare handgun inside."
Locke looked at George in surprise. "I'm not even eighteen yet."
George turned and pushed the door open. "I'll get you a permit later."
Locke blinked as he watched George leave.
What should he do?
Suddenly, Locke felt a sense of guilt.
But the next second...
Locke was at peace with it. This was the second time George had snatched his prey. The first time was the Textile Factory, though George hadn't succeeded then. This time, although it was partly due to Locke's own reasons, George had still successfully snatched his prey regardless.
Fine.
We're even.
Locke thought to himself, forgiving George for the transgression of stealing his prey this time.
Trading one prey for a legitimate gun permit... and it seemed George had just authorized him to open fire at will in the house.
Wait.
Open fire?
Locke turned and looked at Gwen, who was getting up from the sofa. "By the way, where are Little George and the others?"
It couldn't be helped.
Those three little brats in George's family had such a low presence that sometimes they didn't even qualify as background characters. It was perfectly normal for Locke to forget them.
Gwen tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, hung up her call with Cindy, and looked at Locke. "Early this morning, Helen took Little George and the others to Jeff's house. They're looking after the kids together."
Locke gave an 'oh'. No wonder he hadn't seen Helen when he came over; he had thought she went to the hospital.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. By the way, did you talk to Cindy?"
"Yes, we'll reschedule for tomorrow."
"Alright."
Locke smiled and approached Gwen, then hugged her, a smile on his face. "Guess what George just told me?"
Gwen, held in Locke's arms, gazed at his somewhat different smile. "What... did he say?"
Locke leaned down and whispered into Gwen's ear.
Gwen was slightly stunned.
"What 'open fire at will'..."
"Ah! Put me down!"
With a startled cry, Locke used both arms to lift Gwen up, letting her wrap herself around his waist, and then quickly walked toward the stairs to the second floor.
From this moment on, he had obtained permission from his father-in-law to 'open fire' in the house.
And... he had evidence!
However, George and the others were just as they had said; they had no evidence—at least, no direct evidence whatsoever.
In New Amsterdam Hospital.
After George stepped out of the elevator, he immediately saw a large wave of Police Officers in the hallway turn their gazes toward him.
Regarding a cop-killer, most officers throughout the NYPD shared the same attitude.
If they could be shot dead, they would never be taken alive.
This cop-killing drug addict clearly could have died, yet he survived, and was even receiving treatment at the hospital.
This was incomprehensible to most of the officers here.
If they hadn't been familiar with and respectful of George, any other officer coming through would likely have been collectively cursed out.
But even so, the looks the many officers gave George still conveyed one meaning: why save this piece of human trash?
Kate and her two Agents were sitting on the chairs outside the ward.
They couldn't leave.
Once they left, God only knows if the human trash inside would drop dead on the spot.
"George."
"How is it?"
Kate looked at the approaching George and pointed at the ward. "His lawyer is here."
George grunted in response and pushed the door open.
Over there, Barry the drug addict, already in a cast, was leaning against the bed. His lawyer, dressed in a suit and looking presentable, sat nearby.
The lawyer looked at George as he entered and spoke directly, "The NYPD has the right to detain my client for forty-eight hours. During this time, you either charge my client or release him."
George laughed outright and looked at the drug addict on the bed. "If we release you, would you even dare to step out that door?"
Drug Addict Barry looked directly at the lawyer.
The lawyer said, "The Peerless Assassin is a major wanted criminal by the FBI and the NYPD. My client's personal safety is currently under serious threat. The NYPD has both the right and the obligation to protect my client."
Goodfellas.
George's brow twitched.
Drug Addict Barry looked at the lawyer again.
The latter seemed to think of something, stood up, and handed George a document that had just been printed and signed by his client. "My client intends to sue Jason Blout for intentional injury and threatening personal safety, and is also filing a joint lawsuit against the NYPD..."
George frowned and expressionlessly took the document. "We have a few questions we'd like to ask your client."
The lawyer spread his hands. "Of course, but my client has the right to remain silent. I will be here for these forty-eight hours until you either intend to charge my client or release and protect him."
This lawyer was ambitious.
The TNT&G Law Firm had become famous overnight by suing the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security, helping their clients obtain astronomical compensation.
The lawyer felt he could follow in the glorious footsteps of his predecessors.
The FBI and the Department of Homeland Security had both lost their cases.
The NYPD would surely be no exception.
If he succeeded this time, even if he only got one-tenth of the compensation, that would be a million dollars—enough to make a name for himself.
Unfortunately... the lawyer's idea was good.
But he forgot one thing.
He wasn't a top-tier Wall Street firm like TNT&G; he was just a bottom-feeding lawyer who made quick money by helping lowlifes with their lawsuits.
And besides...
Suing the NYPD in New York City?
Heh!
160. Who are our friends?
George had seen too many rogue lawyers trying to climb the ladder by stepping on the NYPD.
He wasn't impressed in the slightest.
Ignoring the lawyer's smug, triumphant expression, which clearly read, 'Let's settle this privately,' George looked directly at the drug addict Barry on the hospital bed.
But... the drug addict Barry not only didn't answer, he even closed his eyes, lying on the hospital bed.
He was certain that with a lawyer present, these police officers wouldn't dare to use violence against him.
Moreover...
He was even more certain that these police officers had no direct evidence to prove his involvement in the case.
An hour later.
George and Kate walked out of the hospital room.
"What's the result from forensics?"
"Ms. Casey has already called, and forensics said they'd work overtime to finish, but there's no result yet."
"What about the homeless man? Have you found him?"
"Not yet."
"Find him quickly."
George said in a deep voice, then checked the time on his watch. It was already five o'clock in the afternoon, about three hours until eight o'clock.
He was certain that the Peerless Assassin would be on time, just as he was certain that the drug addict Barry inside was the murderer in the copycat killing.
But... for the former, he had ample evidence but couldn't catch him; for the latter, he could catch him, but lacked sufficient evidence to convict him.
At Gwen's house.
Helen had already returned home, arriving just after Locke and Gwen's intense session. If Helen had come home a bit earlier, she might have walked in on them.
But Helen looked at her daughter's wet hair, and her lips seemed to twitch as if they could speak.
Gwen threw a doll she was holding at Locke, who was sitting on the sofa, then gave him a reproachful glare.
Locke caught the thrown doll, looked at Gwen, and blinked in confusion.
What just happened?
Locke, who had walked down the emergency stairs behind Gwen's apartment, avoided the patrolling police officers at the apartment entrance, found a seven-tenths new Audi in the street parking lot, and sat inside. Feeling the images from his clone, he blinked and muttered to himself.
The next second.
Locke glanced at the time on his watch, took out his satellite phone, and dialed directly.
The call was answered instantly.
"Hello!"
The voice on the other end was deep, and if listened to for a while, it would sound quite pleasant. It was Guo Dasen, no, it was Jason's voice.
Locke smiled, started the car, and left the parking lot.
"Good afternoon, Officer Brent. Do you know who I am?"
"Peerless."
"Yes, Officer Braut."
"What do you want?"
"To pick up the goods."
Locke said bluntly, "Officer Braut, have you seen the news preview on New York First TV?"
At noon, New York First TV had already released a news preview.
Tonight, at the hotel.
Peerless would once again be a guest on the TV station, and would also bring a special guest.
This preview had only been broadcast for less than half an hour, and instantly, it dominated New York City's trending topics for the day. In fact, at this moment, some people had already turned on their TVs and locked the channel to New York First TV, so as not to miss tonight's program.
Jason naturally knew about it: "George kicked me out."
Locke smiled: "Officer Stacy is someone who prefers to stick to principles, who believes in the law. To put it bluntly, I feel George needs a good beating from society."
Jason on the other end couldn't help but chuckle at that.
After laughing.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Officer George Stacy might think that any criminal can only be judged by the law, but I, and you, Jason, I think we are the same kind of people. In our view, some scum cannot be judged by the law, and some scum are simply not worthy of receiving the grace of the law, don't you agree?"
...I agree.
"Very good."
Locke parked the car one block away from New Amsterdam Hospital, holding his phone, and said with a smile, "I need you, Jason, to do two favors for me."
Jason was currently downstairs at New Amsterdam Hospital: "What can I help you with?"
"Two things!"
"First, this drug addict has not only provoked the NYPD, but also me. The NYPD can't retaliate due to regulations, but I can, and I promise, after you hand him over to me, you'll see what his fate will be."
"You're going to kill him live?"
"Of course not."
Locke chuckled, "That would be too bloody, don't you think, Jason? And what if there are children watching TV?"
Jason frowned.
Locke said, "However, I can assure you, Jason, that this drug addict will be delivered to you alive. At that point, whatever you want to do with him, I think, will be fine, unless the animal welfare society bothers you."
"Animal welfare society?"
"Mm."
Locke chuckled, then without waiting for Jason to think further, he said directly, "Jason, at 7:30, I will enter the hospital. My bullets will be tranquilizer darts. I hope that at that time, the officers won't shoot at me, after all, this time, the officers and I have a common enemy, don't we?"
Jason frowned.
"It's seven o'clock now, you have half an hour to relay this message and let them know. Of course, if there are officers like George, I won't kill them. That's my promise."
...I'll figure something out.
"Very good."
Locke nodded: "As for the second thing, I need you to transfer George and that beautiful detective away. As for how to transfer them, I think you can do it, right?"
...And then?
"There's no 'then'."
Locke smiled, "Then you can find a TV, turn it on and watch the live broadcast, or go to New York First TV to watch the live broadcast on site, that's not impossible, I don't care."
Jason stood downstairs at the hospital building, looking around, then said in a deep voice: "...When should I have them come down?"
"Seven twenty-nine."
"Okay."
"Thanks."
"No need!"
Jason said directly, "My cooperation with you is solely to avenge my brothers. If I encounter you next time, I will still arrest you."
"I understand."
Locke finished speaking, then directly hung up the phone and switched his consciousness to his clone at Gwen's house, enjoying Helen's delicious feast.
Time ticked by.
Soon.
The time reached seven twenty-nine.
In a secluded corner of a utility room near the back door, some distance from the inpatient building of the hospital.
Jason walked there, opened his walkie-talkie, and drew his pistol.
"Click!"
Jason directly chambered a round in his pistol, then shook his head, aimed at his leg, took a deep breath, and then pulled the trigger: "Bang!"
Instantly.
A gunshot rang out.
"Ah!"
The first officer to hear the sound and arrive at the scene, seeing what happened, grabbed his walkie-talkie and shouted: "Oh my god, officer down, repeat, officer down."
George and Kate, who were in the eighth-floor corridor of the inpatient building, planning to repel the invading Peerless Assassin, froze slightly upon hearing the words from the walkie-talkie.
"George..."
"George..."
Jason lay on the ground, blood flowing freely: "He's here, he's heading towards the power room..."
As he spoke.
Jason's face turned pale and he collapsed directly to the ground.
"Jason!"
George heard the fading words from the walkie-talkie and immediately stood up with Kate, pointing out five officers from the ones in the corridor, then headed towards the elevator.
The elevator descended.
Thump!
Locke walked directly out of the emergency exit nearby.
He walked into the corridor.
Locke and the twelve police officers standing in the corridor stared at each other.
The twelve police officers looked at Locke and instantly drew their pistols, but they didn't perform the NYPD's unique skill of emptying a magazine in one second.
The officer closest to Locke grinned: "Don't hit the neck..."
"Thump!"
"Sorry."
Locke looked down at the officer clutching his neck, rolling his eyes and falling to the ground, apologized, and then walked past him.
"Pfft!"
"Pfft!"
"Pfft!"
"Thump!"
Instantly.
In the corridor, the remaining twelve police officers were all clutching various parts of their bodies, collapsing to the ground unconscious without any ability to fight back.
And in the nurse's station.
Two nurses, it seemed, didn't even need Locke to act, and just collapsed to the ground.
One nurse looked at Locke, who walked over and tilted his head to look at her, then opened her eyes and handed him a whiteboard she had prepared: "Mr. Peerless, the first officer just now was my husband, could you sign it for me?"
Locke raised an eyebrow: "Of course."
After speaking.
Locke squatted down, took the pen the nurse handed him, and signed his name, Peerless, next to a Q-shaped Locke on the whiteboard.
"My name is Chris."
...Okay.
Locke listened to the whispered words, nodded, and added a line, 'To my friend Chris,' next to it.
The nurse named Chris took the pen and drawing board, and contentedly fainted again.
"George, oh George."
Locke stood up, shaking his head internally: "Look at what you're doing. How many days has it been since you became detached from the public? And you already don't understand what they truly want?"
What these police officers wanted was very simple.
Money was secondary.
An attitude was the most important thing.
That is, whoever helps them is their friend.
Clearly.
Locke was a friend to these officers, while George was merely their superior.
Locke walked to the hospital room door, where it seemed they were still discussing how to sue the NYPD.
He raised his wrist.
Locke checked the time.
Seven fifty-eight.
Hmm.
Not late.
Locke raised an eyebrow, pushed open the door, and walked in, looking at the lawyer who turned to face him, and the drug addict scum on the hospital bed, a faint smile on his face: "Time's up. Are you ready to go?"
Drug addict Barry: "..."