Ch: 216-223
216. Let's Have Dinner Sometime
After all, the assassin business is unlike other professions.
Although there is respect for the old and love for the young.
But... the relationships are far from as solid as outsiders imagine. These days, news of apprentices killing their masters is not unheard of, and while it exists in other industries, the assassin profession is simply a high-risk area.
According to the orthodox master-apprentice tradition of Assassins, when an apprentice graduates, the master needs to retire to avoid all unnecessary trouble.
Just like Locke Broughton and Chester.
When Locke Broughton graduated, Chester successfully retired, brought his belongings to New York, and unreservedly ceded the battlefield to Locke Broughton.
Actually.
Locke Broughton took the bourbon handed over by the attendant. After the attendant walked away, he looked at Arthur sitting opposite him and shook his head, saying, "Chester had originally planned to retire with Harry."
Hearing this, Arthur also shook his head and gave a wry smile.
His master Harry had originally wanted to retire, but he ran into some trouble in his private life. In short, he needed a large sum of money, and without it, even retirement wouldn't bring him peace.
And the amount of money was quite significant.
Therefore, Harry postponed his retirement until now, collecting intelligence for Arthur and the like. That company was also quite humane, arranging a seemingly respectable job for Harry, even as an Office Director, where he just punched the clock every day. He was essentially semi-retired, just not as carefree as Chester.
After three glasses of alcohol.
Over there, Tyler Jin also walked out of the elevator.
Locke Broughton recovered his thoughts and looked at Arthur: "Let's find a time and have a meal."
Arthur nodded: "Okay."
Locke Broughton stood up, threw two Continental Gold Coins on the table, and then turned and left.
He and Arthur were acquainted.
But they weren't close enough for Arthur to know his true identity—that he was only seventeen. Even Arthur's master, Harry, didn't know, because if Locke Broughton didn't want it, no one could even take off his glasses.
Returning to Room 1208.
Tyler Jin's attendant had already packed and organized the items.
Soon.
Locke Broughton wrote his name on the letter of authorization commissioning Tyler Jin to auction the voodoo compendium for him.
The next second.
Locke Broughton put down the pen and looked up at Tyler Jin: "How about I just give you a blank notice? I imagine no one would dare impersonate me now."
Tyler Jin paused slightly, immediately broke out in a sweat, and managed a strained smile.
The smile was very forced.
Locke Broughton chuckled, patted Tyler Jin's shoulder, and said, "I'm just joking. I'll wait for your good news, Mr. Tyler Jin."
Tyler Jin twitched the corner of his mouth and let out a dry laugh: "Please rest assured, Peerless Assas..."
With a bang.
Locke Broughton had already left the Room again.
He wasn't afraid that Tyler Jin would embezzle his auction proceeds, just as he wasn't worried that Tyler Jin would switch his genuine item for a fake after he left.
The Jin Family is built upon reputation. Furthermore, given the current status of the Peerless Assassin, he wouldn't dare try any tricks or cleverness with Locke Broughton's possessions.
When Locke Broughton returned to the Starlight Tower, he called Chester and mentioned meeting Arthur at the Continental Hotel tonight, suggesting they find time to gather.
Chester laughed heartily on the other end: "Of course, I haven't seen that old guy Harry in ages. I heard from someone else that he's in a wheelchair now."
His retirement was clean and complete.
Except for the one time Locke Broughton asked for his help to find the Giant Farmer, he had no connection whatsoever with the Criminal World. Now, he was merely the most renowned chef in New York City.
It was a pity... Chester always regretted not finding out the whereabouts of the Chef Hannibal whom Locke Broughton admired. He had planned to discuss food pairings with him if he ever located him.
He hung up the phone.
Locke Broughton took a Shower and went to sleep.
The Jin auctions are usually held based on the number of items up for bid. This particular auction will be held at the end of next month, around the end of August.
During this time.
He continued to relax.
For instance, by the sixth day, the yacht Locke Broughton purchased, the Gwen, had been delivered.
To be precise, it arrived yesterday. Locke Broughton had someone inspect it and, while he was at it, had the liquor cabinet inside fully stocked.
Manhattan Port Dock.
"Wow!"
Gwen, wearing a sun hat, gazed at the yacht—the most silver-white among the fleet at the dock, complete with a Little Bird helicopter and the large name 'Gwen' printed on its hull—her face full of surprise and excitement: "It's so beautiful."
Rebecca, who had been staying at Gwen's house these past few days, smiled and whispered to Helen, who was also dressed casually: "Are you regretting not accepting that millionaire's pursuit back then?"
George, who was not far away, holding a fishing rod and telling Hank about Locke Broughton's good luck, paused slightly, then couldn't help but turn around, his face dark: "Hey, hey, hey, Rebecca, I can hear you, you know?"
It's just a yacht.
What's the big deal?
George said to Hank, "If I had been a little more flexible, I'd have a private jet by now."
Hank nodded: "I believe that."
He felt the same way.
However... compared to George's strong principles, his own principles were actually quite flexible, otherwise, he wouldn't have been targeted by Internal Affairs.
Fortunately.
Thinking about the deal he made with the Department of Homeland Security, Hank thought to himself. He looked at George and joked, "Why don't you just let it go and accept it? Remember how badly your father-in-law cornered you back then? This isn't good."
George twitched the corner of his mouth.
It was precisely because he had been so helplessly cornered by Helen's father that now that it was finally his turn, how could he not try to experience that feeling?
But Locke Broughton hadn't given him a single chance, not even one, to corner him.
Fishing?
The fish were practically jumping onto his hook as if possessed.
Hunting?
They went hunting, and it turned into a story where Locke Broughton saved his life. He even felt that the deal he made with the Department of Homeland Security was thanks to Locke Broughton.
Think about it.
If it weren't for Locke Broughton, what would he have used to negotiate a deal with the Department of Homeland Security? At the very least, the Department of Homeland Security had absolutely no interest in discussing secrets with an urn of ashes.
Therefore.
George had been holding it in. Initially, he just wanted to corner him once and feel satisfied. Now, he didn't know if Locke Broughton was annoyed, but he felt like he himself was choked up with frustration again.
This wasn't right.
Wasn't it supposed to be the son-in-law who got the short end of the stick? How come, in his case, he got cornered when he was the son-in-law, and now that he was about to become a future father-in-law, he was still the one getting cornered?
Why, exactly?
George frowned and looked at Hank, who showed signs of betraying him for the second time: "I warn you, Hank, you are on my side. Don't be a traitor. Otherwise, I might worry about upsetting my daughter and not throw her overboard, but I will throw you overboard. Rebecca won't mourn for you. Eileen will be sad, but I don't care, so remember that."
Hank wiped his face and looked speechlessly at his old friend: "I just offered a friendly suggestion, old buddy. Cutting your losses is the best choice."
George grunted twice and shook the fishing rod in his hand: "Look, Pure Titanium Fishing Rod. I paid a huge price for this."
His failure to catch anything wasn't a matter of skill.
It was the equipment.
So, taking advantage of Hank's visit this time, George had an excuse to replace a new batch of equipment. He let Hank use the old stuff, while he used the new, ensuring nothing went to waste.
Soon.
Boarding the yacht, the group was undoubtedly captivated by the interior's somewhat futuristic, minimalist layout.
Gwen poked Locke Broughton's waist with her finger, then directed his gaze toward the bourbon fully stocked in the liquor cabinet.
Locke Broughton chuckled.
Gwen said to Locke Broughton, "Even a yacht has to follow federal laws, as long as you haven't left international waters."
Locke Broughton smiled: "I know. So, to circumvent that risk, the boat is temporarily still under the yacht company and the transfer of ownership hasn't been completed yet."
As he spoke.
Locke Broughton looked at George over there: "Mr. Stacy, in that case, it's not illegal, right?"
George was speechless.
Hank next to him couldn't help but laugh.
When they first came in, Hank noticed his old friend's eyes light up, fixed on the fully stocked liquor cabinet. Then, as Locke Broughton and Gwen explained, the light in his friend's eyes rapidly faded.
Damn it!
As hateful as the Peerless Assassin!
George watched Locke Broughton, who, after finishing his sentence, immediately pulled Gwen toward the control Room, thinking fiercely to himself.
Someday, I will catch you!
George wanted to catch the Peerless Assassin to bring a perfect end to his Detective career. Now, he had an extra goal: he absolutely had to win an argument against Locke Broughton in his capacity as a future father-in-law, or he would never acknowledge Locke Broughton, even if it killed him.
Never.
Absolutely never!
Just then.
Buzz.
"Gentlemen and ladies, please find a seat. The Gwen is about to set sail."
...
In the control Room, Gwen put down the walkie-talkie, her face beaming with happiness. Then, as if remembering something, she found a Captain's Hat placed nearby, tilted her head, and looked at Locke Broughton, who was starting the yacht.
The next second.
Gwen walked over, stood on her tiptoes, and carefully placed the Captain's Hat on Locke Broughton. Then, she said with a look of pleasant surprise: "You look so handsome."
Locke Broughton's lips curled up!
Inside the cabin.
George looked up, listening to his daughter's happy and sweet voice coming through the speaker.
Hank sighed, patted George's shoulder, and walked toward the liquor cabinet. Seeing the high prices of the bottles, he could only pick the one that looked cheapest. Then, he took a few glasses and handed them to Eileen, who had walked over to stand nearby.
These past few days, Eileen had been undergoing comprehensive testing in what was supposedly a Department of Homeland Security laboratory...
217. George: Fishing? I've given up!
However, the results of the detection were actually the same as the first detection.
Only CPH4 was detected.
As for the others?
There was nothing at all, just like Irene's current physical condition, clean and pure, as if she had just walked out of a sterile space.
However, apart from this, there were no other test results indicating that Irene might encounter any kind of crisis.
So, after three consecutive detection results were the same, yesterday, scientists from the Department of Homeland Security took two tubes of her blood, asked her to keep in touch, and then no longer required Irene to go there.
Locke was not surprised by this result.
However, Irene's current immunity to all poisons won't last much longer, at most, about two years, and the additional effects of the antidote will disappear.
As for S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Locke was very curious if S.H.I.E.L.D. would research something interesting after discovering CPH4.
He was very much looking forward to it.
"Got one, Locke, got one!"
"Whoosh!"
On the lower deck, Locke came back to his senses, his right hand moved slightly, and then another hooked sea fish was pulled up by Locke.
With a thud.
A large Atlantic salmon, with a somewhat large head, directly unhooked and fell onto the deck, dancing with full vitality.
Gwen's eyes lit up, and she looked at Helen: "Mom, maybe we can make some salmon."
Helen chuckled, looking at the three fishing gear that were almost overflowing, and shook her head, looking at Rebecca next to her: "Stay a few more days, otherwise, I have nowhere to put so much."
These words sounded very harsh to George's ears.
"Shit!"
George couldn't help but whisper to Hank, who was next to him: "Damn it, didn't you say you were the champion of the Chicago Police Department Fishing Competition? Is this your skill? I've caught more than you."
It was like this again.
Locke's side, from casting the hook until now, seemed to have never stopped.
And he and Hank's side?
The situation was simply tragic.
Hank was silent for a while.
"George?"
"What?"
"Let's find another hobby."
"...What do you mean?"
"Knowing you can't win and still going for it isn't bravery, it's stupidity."
"..."
George's mouth twitched: "Damn it, do you think I haven't tried? Target practice, you've seen his improvement in shooting. Hunting, don't even talk to me about hunting anymore."
Speaking of which, George only now belatedly remembered that Locke was from Texas, and a cowboy at that.
Competing with a Texas cowboy in hunting?
What the hell was I thinking at the time? After one hunt, not only did I not regain my face, but I lost even more face.
George regretted it very much.
"Wait?"
George suddenly froze, looking at Hank: "You didn't go all out, did you? You're holding back?"
Hank rolled his eyes: "Go jump down and see for yourself, do we have any fish down there?"
Actually, Hank didn't believe what George said before, after all, how could fish only bite Locke's hook and not George's in the same spot?
But now?
Hank had to believe it.
But it made sense when he thought about it.
Hank said to George: "To survive in an environment like Texas, and not go astray at all, so gentlemanly, good luck is inevitable. Let's find another hobby. Oh, you could try mountain climbing or rock climbing, or even skydiving?"
George gasped.
Hank frowned.
"What's wrong?"
"Old man, do you think I haven't thought about it?"
"You have?"
George chuckled. These past few days, he had gone through all the leisure activities suitable for his age.
When he came across these activities, to be honest, George was very tempted.
But... a tricky problem lay before him.
George said faintly: "You said he has good luck, which means my luck is bad when I'm with him. What if I lose my grip while rock climbing, or the rope doesn't open when I'm skydiving? What then?"
Hank: "..."
Directly game over?
Or, rely on Locke to save him again?
Both of these options were unacceptable to George. The thought of the former made George's hair stand on end, and the thought of the latter made all of George's hair bristle.
Hank looked at George's faint gaze, opened his mouth, and was silent for a moment: "It's okay, his luck can't always be this good. There will always be a time when it declines."
George nodded. If he were the only one being watched, he would have already thrown away this expensive fishing rod.
Luckily.
George looked at Hank with a strange look, full of gratitude and excitement: "Luckily, I have you."
Right.
I refuse to believe this guy's luck will always be this good.
It's not scientific.
But... George and Hank were clearly disappointed.
Locke's luck was constant.
Max value twenty, constant five points!
Eternal five points!
By the afternoon of the next day, when the Gwen returned to Manhattan Port again.
Disembark.
With a snap.
George directly broke the expensive fishing rod he had just bought, in front of many fellow anglers, and shouted: "If I go fishing again, I'll feed myself to the fish!"
"Crazy?"
"Normal."
"So, if we come back empty-handed, we need to bring something back."
"I see."
"Don't worry, he'll be back in a few days."
"Once you enter the fishing gate, it's as deep as the sea!"
"..."
A few passing anglers watched George's appearance, whispering loudly.
George's expression was unreadable.
If these people knew what he had experienced these past two days, they would definitely quit fishing completely.
Gwen looked at her crazy father and couldn't help but say to Locke: "Locke, you should have let Dad win."
Locke raised his hands: "I swear to God, I even let you fish, weren't you happy when the fish kept biting?"
Gwen thought about her own fishing experience, she didn't know before that there was such a great sense of accomplishment when fish bit the hook.
"Then let's come again next week."
Gwen glanced at George, who was walking ahead, and whispered: "Without Dad, otherwise, Dad will get angry again because he can't catch anything."
Locke opened his mouth.
He felt that if George wasn't brought along, then Gwen would definitely be the one getting angry.
Unless?
The two of them shared a fishing rod, otherwise, Locke felt that his and Gwen's relationship might have problems because of fishing.
The group didn't go home directly.
Instead, they drove to the NYPD.
"My goodness."
Kate Beckett opened a few insulated containers she had brought, looking at the contents, which were almost devoid of water and full of various fish, and looked up at George: "Didn't you say you went sea fishing? This looks like you went to the seafood market..."
At this point, Kate Beckett got stuck.
Nothing else.
She saw Locke.
Then.
She had an epiphany.
She couldn't say any more, or she might be getting into trouble.
Soon.
All the catch from the two-day fishing trip was divided among the NYPD officers.
In fact, this wasn't even all of it; the fish caught on the first day, except for a few particularly beautiful ones, were all released that night.
Gwen posted a video of the release in her class group, which resulted in a lot of exclamations, insisting that it wasn't the sea, but some open fishing ground.
But when Gwen took another photo of the moon rising over the sea, there was a brief silence, followed by various exclamations of awe.
When they arrived at Gwen's house.
Helen and Rebecca carried the best few fish they brought back to the kitchen.
George and Hank hooked their fingers together, then rushed directly to the study on the second floor, and with a bang, the sound of the door closing for their secret plot was very loud.
Locke looked up at the stairs on the second floor, then at Gwen: "Do you think George will come down with a gun and shoot me?"
God could attest, Locke really wanted to hold back.
But... this wasn't like hunting. When it came to hunting, Locke had been very restrained that time, otherwise, if he wanted to, George would still come back empty-handed, and he wouldn't be able to find any reason for it.
After all, he was a cowboy, and being a cowboy was the best explanation.
But fishing, how could that be controlled?
Locke had intentionally cast empty hooks several times, but the fish still came up like they were on hormones. He even suspected that his luck value, when fishing with George, would directly add a zero, skyrocketing to fifty points.
He needed to try fishing alone sometime.
Locke thought to himself.
Gwen heard Locke's words and looked at him with some worry: "You have to let my dad win once, Locke."
She also felt the crisis.
If George continued to be provoked like this, she was afraid that her future wedding fund, like her mother's, would be held by George and would only be given if Locke gave in.
Locke opened his mouth: "Believe me, I really did let him."
George was angry, wasn't it because Gwen happily applauded after seeing him catch a fish with an empty hook, and then George saw it, and his face instantly turned green?
Locke said somewhat helplessly: "So, this is your fault."
Gwen's mouth dropped open as she looked at Locke, then whispered: "Okay, I can agree to your request from last night, but on the condition that you let Dad win once, otherwise, Dad will be sad."
If this continued.
Gwen felt that on her wedding day, it would probably be her godfather who would walk her down the aisle.
Locke's eyes lit up.
"Really?"
"Of course."
"Pinky promise?"
"...Okay."
Locke and Gwen pinky-promised, but he definitely wouldn't let George win; at most, it would be a tie, after all, his undefeated streak couldn't be broken.
If it was broken.
The consequences would be endless.
Dinner was another all-fish feast.
After dinner, Locke said goodbye. He also needed to think about what could allow George to achieve a tie with him.
However... as soon as Locke got into the car, he received a call from Chester.
One message.
Harry is dead!
Arthur did it...
218. Respecting Teachers, Arthur
This news... I wouldn't say it's incredible, but it's certainly unexpected.
The next day.
Chester's restaurant!
Locke got out of the Audi and nodded to Carrie, who was waving at him not far away.
He walked over.
"When did you get back?"
"The day before yesterday, I think."
Locke said, looking at Carrie, "How's your internship at New York's First TV Station, you and Betty?"
Carrie said, "It's great."
After moving to a different city, it really felt like a different life.
Compared to New York, Carrie almost always felt that Augusta was undoubtedly a hell, and a living hell at that.
They entered Chester's office.
He opened the door.
Smoke billowed out.
"Whoa!"
Locke waved his hand, and instantly, the smoke inside roared out like a dragon: "Old man, are you planning to taste cancer?"
Good heavens.
Locke immediately took a step back and pointed outside: "I'm not going in."
Chester emerged from the thick smoke, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his expression somewhat wistful.
Ten minutes later.
Locke learned the whole story from Chester.
Arthur had killed Harry.
But... Harry had first betrayed the assassin company he belonged to. So, the company let Arthur handle Harry himself, which was a way of preserving Harry's last dignity, and also giving Arthur some face.
If it had been left to others, there were too many assassins nowadays eager for promotion, and the tricks they played were simply beyond what traditional assassins like Locke could compare to.
If Harry had been handed over to a new generation of assassins, he would probably have died without any dignity.
Chester looked at the Hudson River below, sighed, and shook his head: "This guy was set up and framed. He leaked the information of over a dozen assassins in their company, causing them heavy losses."
Locke nodded: "Then he didn't die unjustly."
If you say the company wanted to kill you for no reason, that would be unjust.
But betraying your own people and leaking company secrets, no matter what, you were in the wrong first. So, can his death be called unjust?
Harry was doomed.
So, even though Arthur was reluctant to act, once he knew Harry was certain to die, he chose to give Harry a dignified send-off to prevent other assassins from making Harry die without dignity.
One shot to the head.
Locke put down the photo Chester handed him, showing Harry in a wheelchair, a bullet in his forehead, one shot, game over. He sighed: "The world changes too fast. Just two days ago, we were talking about having dinner together."
Just two days ago, everything was fine, and then in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
And, it was a suicide.
Suicide to avoid punishment.
Because he had embezzled company funds and the company had discovered it, Harry quietly went to the parking lot and then shot himself.
A mechanic, after all, loves to disguise things as accidents.
Locke puffed on his cigar, looking at Chester: "For the funeral, I'll go alone. You don't need to go. I'll take my regards for you."
Chester nodded: "I wasn't planning on going anyway."
He had retired.
Completely retired.
The reason he was somewhat melancholic was simply that one less old friend, who had walked the secret life with him in his era, was gone. That's why he felt melancholic.
That's all.
Five days later.
Locke appeared in a cemetery in New Jersey, glanced at Arthur beside him, placed the bouquet on the ground, and shook his head at the tombstone, which had no photo, only the name Harry McKenna written on it.
Chester and he were the type to completely separate their profession from their life.
But most assassins turn their profession into their life. Simply put, they don't have many friends.
Harry was like that.
There wasn't even a priest for his burial.
Only a few cemetery workers were silently shoveling dirt.
Besides that, there were only Locke and Arthur.
Arthur watched Locke place the two bouquets of flowers and said thank you.
"My condolences."
"Thank you."
Locke frowned: "I remember Harry seemed to have a son..."
Just as he was speaking.
At that moment, a man with a buzz cut, a full beard, and a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette, walked over from not far away. He had just paid at the cemetery management office and was stuffing the remaining change and receipt back into his pocket.
Then, he saw Arthur by the tombstone.
"Oh, sh*t!"
Harry McKenna's son, Steve McKenna, saw Arthur, dropped his cigarette butt, and shook Arthur's hand: "Damn it, Arthur Bishop, long time no see."
Arthur's face was expressionless: "My condolences."
Steve McKenna forced a smile: "No need. He spent more time with you than with me."
Then.
Steve McKenna left directly.
He walked away freely. After all, Harry was dead, but there was still a lot of aftermath to deal with: bank matters, house matters.
A lot.
Very messy, and also very complicated.
Arthur turned and watched Steve McKenna leave, his gaze flickering slightly.
Locke walked out again, looking at Arthur: "I thought you were a proper assassin, but I guess not. Feeling guilty?"
That's not good.
A cold-blooded assassin, suddenly having other emotions, either has broken character, or is up to something nefarious.
Arthur glanced at Locke: "If it were you, would you?"
Locke shook his head: "No."
Because Chester wouldn't betray him. Locke was very certain of this. As long as Chester didn't betray him, Locke had said he would take care of Chester until his death. Anyone who dared to stop him from doing so, he would make them understand what human suffering was!
No one could stop Locke from fulfilling his promise, not even the person involved.
Besides.
The nature of it was also different.
Locke looked at Arthur curiously: "What exactly happened?"
Chester had only briefly mentioned that Harry had been set up, lost a large sum of money, and so he had to betray company information to make some money.
Arthur's face was expressionless: "Harry participated in a gambling game and was fleeced. Half a month ago, he was also diagnosed with cancer. To leave some money for Steve, he decided to take a risk and get some money to leave to Steve."
Locke shook his head, offering no comment.
After all... let the dead rest in peace.
Locke gazed at Steve, who was pacing back and forth in the parking lot outside, and then looked at Arthur beside him: "Alright, I'm leaving. If you need help, you have my number."
Arthur nodded, watched Locke turn and leave, and then, gazing at the person in the parking lot, he walked towards the parking lot, not knowing what he was thinking.
Half a month later.
Early August.
Locke saw a strange death case published in the New York Daily newspaper.
Of course.
To others, it was just a very unfortunate accident.
Without a doubt.
This group of people must have been the others involved in that gambling game. After all, after Arthur killed Harry, he would eventually need someone to vent on. So, who better than the guy who led Harry down the path of no return with gambling?
However... what interested Locke more was something else.
Arthur called Locke and told him he had an apprentice.
The apprentice's name was Steve, Steve McKenna.
WTF?
What was he thinking?
Locke thought to himself, and the next day, driving his jet ski, he arrived at Arthur's residence on a small island in a lake in Maryland. He saw Arthur waiting for him at the dock and asked him the same thing: "Are you out of your mind?"
Did he really think that killing a master felt good, so he planned to train an apprentice and kill them too, just to try it?
"He came to me."
"Heh heh."
Locke went straight to the island, and hearing that, he just laughed: "If you were really guilty, just give him a million. For you, a million isn't much, right?"
Arthur didn't respond, just smiled: "As agreed, he's my apprentice, so I'm counting on you."
Locke's face was expressionless.
Behind his sunglasses, Locke rolled his eyes.
This was the downside of the master-apprentice inheritance model.
After all, training an assassin isn't just about having one master. At the very least, teachers are also needed. If you rely solely on one master, there will be some specialization, and you won't be able to develop fully.
However, although Locke didn't really need it, he had at least received systematic training in accidental killings from Arthur's master, the deceased Harry.
According to the ancient rules of agreement, if Arthur had an apprentice, then, just as Chester's master trained Harry, and Harry trained Locke, Locke would need to be responsible for training Arthur's apprentice.
Similarly, when Locke had an apprentice, Arthur would also need to come and help with the training.
However, Locke felt that he probably wouldn't have an apprentice in this lifetime.
But... Locke listened to Arthur's words, scoffed, and understood what trick Arthur was trying to play: "You're not guilty, you're disheartened and planning to retire."
Arthur's blood was cold.
Colder than his own blood.
So, Locke would never believe that Arthur would truly take Steve as an apprentice out of guilt.
Moreover, he had seen the movie "The Mechanic."
In a word.
Arthur wasn't guilty; he was disheartened and planning to retire.
Unlike other professions, assassins can't just retire. After all, retiring as an assassin isn't difficult; the difficulty lies in dealing with former enemies and rivals after retirement.
The reason Chester was able to retire cleanly was actually because he staged a grand play of faked death. That's how he retired cleanly.
Even so, it was thanks to Chester being a freelance assassin, not a company assassin, which made retirement a bit easier.
But Arthur?
If Arthur wanted to retire, even if he agreed, his company probably wouldn't agree...
Two Hundred Nineteen: Helping Arthur Escape
Arthur killed his master.
To be precise, Arthur chose to kill his master after receiving a kill order from the Company targeting Harry.
Now?
Forget about letting Arthur retire. Chances are, people from that Assassin Company are already considering whether they should eliminate Arthur, who has become an unstable element.
Assassins are actually quite similar to Agents.
In the eyes of certain people, they are all tools, and even tools that might turn against them are bad tools that need to be fixed or cleaned up promptly.
Now, Arthur has become an unstable tool.
Even if the source of this instability was created by themselves—Arthur accepted their mission and personally ended his master's life.
Therefore, retiring through official channels is impossible.
That leaves only one way to retire.
Faking one's death to escape.
However, faking one's death to escape is not easy to pull off, especially since their Company specializes in Accidental Killing; whether a death is faked can be known almost instantly and clearly.
Therefore... Arthur sought out Harry's son, Steve.
"I checked."
Arthur turned his head to glance inside the house, then wiped his face, looked back at Locke, who was wearing sunglasses, sniffed, and asked, "I asked those who set the trap. Do you know why Harry went gambling?"
Locke replied, "Because his son Steve was the mastermind?"
Arthur was slightly stunned and glanced at Locke.
Locke shrugged, "New York is still my territory, after all. Maybe I don't know things I don't care about, but if I want to know something, no one can hide it from me."
Arthur came back to his senses, didn't dwell on it, and nodded, "Yes, Steve was the one who set the trap."
Locke gave a disdainful laugh.
Why Harry's son Steve set the trap wasn't very important anymore; he did it for money, and after Harrydied, Steve withdrew all the money from Harry's bank account.
But... when Arthur drove him back to Harry's old house, what did he tell Arthur? That there was no money left in the bank account, and the house would even be repossessed by the bank because he couldn't afford the Inheritance Tax.
Steve seemed unaware of how much money Harry had, but as an Actuary, Arthur knew perfectly well.
So Arthur became suspicious right away.
Then, he learned from the bad guys running the gambling ring that the 'fat sheep' (Harry) had actually been introduced by Steve.
"He owes a few million to a casino in Las Vegas."
"Impressive."
"Heh, that casino knew who his father was, which is why they dared let him rack up the debt."
"I know."
Locke nodded. The subsequent plot was easy to guess: faced with the gambling debt of his son—who had been separated early, lived with his mother until she died, and only then came to live with Harry—Harry immediately lost control, stating he wouldn't pay a single penny for Steve, and would even document this in his will.
Arthur recalled how Steve had specifically stressed that Harry hadn't even left a will; he wanted to laugh, but couldn't.
Harry spoke tough, but in reality, if he hadn't been trying to find a way to help Steve pay off his gambling debts, would he have walked right into the rigged gambling trap? And would he have risked selling the Company's mission files and personnel list out of fear that the casino people would harm his son?
So.
Arthur looked at Locke: "Since you already know, will you help with this favor?"
Locke smiled, "The ancient Assassin Contract. But let's be clear, once I teach this one, if you take another Apprentice, I can either refuse directly or charge a steep price."
This kind of contract between traditional assassins can't be endless; they are always targeted at one person. You can't say, 'You teach me one Apprentice, and then I have to teach you five Apprentices,' right?
Arthur said, "Only if you come here will he believe that I don't suspect him."
Although Steve is not an assassin, his father Harry was, and he was an older generation assassin, so naturally, he would have told Steve about some of the traditions of the assassin world.
If Arthur takes Steve as an Apprentice, but no other assassin comes to fulfill the Assassin Contract, it can only mean one thing: he is not a genuine Apprentice.
This would be detrimental to Arthur's plan.
Locke smiled, looking at Arthur, "Fine, but be careful yourself. Don't lose control in the end."
He didn't mind; he considered it a vacation.
After all, Locke had gone out twice and run into trouble twice. Maybe coming out wearing sunglasses and the title Peerless Assassin would be better?
It would also be nice to fish for crocodiles on this island.
Entering the living room, Steve, who was seriously watching the U.S. drama "One Hundred Incredible Death Cases" on the sofa, looked up, saw Locke—who was wearing sunglasses—enter, was slightly startled, and immediately rose from the sofa: "Peerless..."
Steve was very excited.
After all, for a new assassin joining the industry with a mentor, the first thing they must do is recognize the top assassins in the assassin world, lest they foolishly offend a big shot by accident.
Without a doubt.
Given Peerless's current reputation, he could certainly be called a big shot.
What's more, the name Peerless is known not just by assassins, but by most of the citizens of New YorkCity.
Locke glanced sideways at Arthur, walked straight over, used his right hand, which was covered in a leather glove, to pinch Steve's chin, turned his head to examine him, and then looked at his hands: "Barely acceptable, just so-so."
If Arthur wanted to act, Locke would play along.
After all, he and Arthur were friends, but Steve was not his friend.
This statement was also intended to give Steve the idea that since his aptitude was mediocre, he shouldn't dream of learning Locke's ultimate profound skill, Peerless Dance of Chaos.
Arthur stood behind him and said, "You make the decisions; I won't interfere."
Locke grunted, walked toward Arthur's backyard, and said without looking back, "Find a glock and come to the backyard to find me."
Steve froze in place.
Arthur spoke up to remind him, "Why aren't you going quickly?"
Steve snapped back to attention, looked at Arthur with a trace of palpable gratitude, quickly got up, and ran toward the Gun Room. After a moment, he retrieved a glock and walked out into the backyard.
At this moment, Steve believed that Arthur was truly training him as his successor and Apprentice.
For some reason, Steve let out a sigh of relief.
Soon.
The news that Arthur the Mechanic had taken an Apprentice spread throughout the assassin world. Many people watched silently, refusing to make any comments until the parties involved made a statement.
However, Arthur's Company exchanged glances after hearing this news.
Originally, their Company's assessors believed that Arthur's loyalty to the Company would decrease after he killed his master following the Company's order.
But now?
Arthur seemed not to have lowered his loyalty; he even submitted an employment report for his Apprentice, Steve McKenna.
This move was somewhat unexpected.
It must be known that once Steve enters the assassin world, it means Arthur has personally handed the Company leverage that can restrict him.
But... "Auderson?"
Locke, who had been staying with Arthur for a week and was preparing to leave today, looked at the photo and documents in an envelope that had just arrived and smiled, "The test has come."
Auderson is the middle-aged man in the photo. He is also an assassin and a Mechanic, though he was a Mechanic whose professional skills were subpar and transitioned into being an Administrator.
He has a competitive relationship with Arthur's Company. Put it this way: the intelligence and personnel lists that Harry sold were all consumed by this guy.
Undoubtedly, this is a test; otherwise, they wouldn't have left a message specifically designating Steve McKenna to complete it if Steve wants to successfully join the Company.
Arthur remained unfazed: "It is indeed time for him to graduate."
He was also worried that if the plan dragged on, things might go wrong. Furthermore, they are Mechanics, specializing in Accidental Killing, so no one would discover them unless absolutely necessary.
As long as their knowledge and theory are up to standard, their inherent combat strength isn't that important.
Moreover... Arthur looked at Locke with a strange gaze: "You are truly putting effort into training him."
Locke replied, "As you said, if we're acting, we have to commit to the whole show."
Over this past week, Steve's marksmanship has progressed quickly, all thanks to Locke's effective training.
However.
Locke glanced at the jet ski that Arthur's friend had driven over, and patted Arthur's shoulder: "Don't worry, my friend, I haven't taught him my most prized Peerless Marksmanship. His shooting skills are, at most, comparable to a Sharpshooter in the NYPD."
When he was in Texas, he relied on extremely accurate marksmanship to make a living.
After coming to New York, he relied on the Gun-Flicking Technique, which was like a meteor from the heavens, to make a living.
Now?
Locke has reached the point where having no moves is better than having moves. With Gun Kata in hand, every punch, palm strike, and attack is as precise and fierce as a bullet.
Having said that.
Locke took the key for the jet ski, immediately stepped onto it, turned around, and looked at Arthur on the dock: "Goodbye, my friend."
"Goodbye."
"Vroom!"
Locke twisted the throttle, and instantly, the jet ski shot out like an arrow.
After Locke took a Black Flight, arrived at the suburban airport in New Jersey, and replaced the Clone at home, he opened the computer in the study and logged onto the Continental Hotel website.
A piece of news had already popped up.
Auderson, while eating at a restaurant, was directly blasted into a beehive by an assassin using dual glocks. His death was truly miserable...
220. Time for Punishment
With a corpse like that, even if the Five Overlords all swore it was suicide, no one would buy it.
Still… accidents on a first-time hit are par for the course. After all, this Steve isn't some prodigy assassin; you can't expect a flawless debut.
Besides, after Locke reviewed the diner's surveillance, he was quite satisfied.
At the very least, Steve's marksmanship was solid.
His teaching.
Locke smiled as he watched the footage: Steve turned Auderson into a human honeycomb, sprinted to the body, retrieved something, and retreated without leaving a single frame that could be used to track him.
Right then.
Arthur's message arrived in the inbox.
"My plan has begun. You know my other email; if you need me, send a message."
"Got it."
Locke replied, then shut the computer.
This was Arthur's story, not his; he'd only dropped in for a cameo—he couldn't hijack the lead role.
The next day.
When Locke arrived at Gwen's house as usual, he saw George hustling with a pancake in mouth: "Honey, where'd I put my badge?"
Helen's voice drifted from upstairs: "Check the laundry room."
George zipped toward the laundry room.
Locke blinked, then looked at Gwen opening the door: "What's going on?"
Gwen shrugged: "Case dropped."
"Didn't George get promoted to chief inspector last week?" That had been S.H.I.E.L.D.'s deal; not only George—Hank's internal-affairs probe in Chicago had also been halted.
Locke watched George dash out of the laundry room. "George, you're—"
Out in public it's "Mr. Stacy"; at home, if Locke still called him "Mr.", Helen would bristle.
George glanced at Locke: "We've got a lead on the Peerless Assassin."
Locke blinked. "Seriously?"
George nodded. "Last night we nabbed a guy trying to swim the Hudson into Manhattan. He says his smuggling buddy was a man who wore shades even at night."
The Peerless Assassin was back in the New York area.
"This time!"
George clenched his fist, eyes blazing. "I'll nail that outlaw!"
Locke's heart spasmed.
Gwen chimed in: "Dad, I believe in you. You can do it—go get him."
Locke recovered and nodded. "George, I believe in you too. Persistence pays off."
George shrugged on his jacket and, with Locke, Gwen, and the three background-kids led by little George watching, strode out.
Locke had only said persistence pays off—not that persistence would let George catch him.
Still… what was that smuggler thinking?
You'd already made it to New Jersey—couldn't you just walk into Manhattan like normal folk? Why swim the Hudson at night? Did he think Manhattan needed smuggling too?
Locke was speechless.
Great—one idiot had now implicated the eight or nine others who'd flown in last night. Another black-flight operator would probably vanish after this.
To keep George from tracing his boarding in Maryland and derailing Arthur's plan, Locke excused himself to the restroom after he and Gwen reached the poseidon survivors' monthly brunch restaurant and called Arthur.
If George turned that fervor toward spotting what Locke and the Peerless Assassin had in common, Locke feared he might actually notice something.
Fortunately,
his cover had held up pretty well so far.
A short while later,
the poseidon survivors began trickling in.
Once a month since leaving the ship, they'd agreed to meet, chat, and swap stories.
Like Locke and Gwen's hunting trip.
Cindy and Kahn's Vegas run.
Dylan and Maggie taking Connor to Hawaii.
Robert smiling as he mentioned he was eyeing a New York State assembly run.
Pepper perked up; Stark Industries' current assembly backer was on the way out, and they needed a new ally in Albany.
In minutes, Pepper and Robert had set a meeting for tomorrow at his office to talk details.
Then there was Kahn.
Pepper turned to him: "Kahn, Dr. Wallace is keen on your patent and would love a prodigy like you on his shark-research team."
Dr. Wallace—the country's top shark expert.
Perfect timing.
The patent Kahn had sold back then was related to shark serum.
Kahn was slightly stunned. "Really? That's wonderful. Thank you, Pepper."
Pepper smiled. "You're welcome. In fact, Dr. Wallace is also interested in talking with you, so I didn't really do much. Dr. Wallace says you're welcome to join his research group—anytime."
Kahn was a bit excited. "I'll go tomorrow."
They were straight-A students anyway, and their credits were almost finished. The only reason they hadn't headed to university yet was to use the relatively relaxed high-school environment to prepare for the future.
Gwen was the same. These days she'd gone back to working in Dr. Connors' lab, and she'd even been promoted.
Right now Gwen was Dr. Connors' research assistant.
Of course,
there was also a full-time assistant, unlike Gwen, who was part-time.
Locke thought to himself.
Then… he suddenly remembered something.
Come to think of it, when the fall semester starts next month, someone from Brooklyn would be transferring over—Peter Parker among them—and Gwen had become a research assistant.
So… Little Spider was about to appear?
Locke raised an eyebrow.
The next second,
Locke chuckled inwardly. So what if Little Spider shows up? Was he going to steal his girl?
Hah.
He had even chopped Nick Fury; a mere Little Spider wouldn't make Locke go soft. His blade could swing both hard and true.
With that thought, Locke tossed the matter to the back of his mind.
After all, this was a dinner party, a happy occasion; dwelling on bloody images now would be in poor taste.
Three o'clock in the afternoon.
They paid the bill and planned to stroll through Central Park and chat some more.
But as Locke stepped out of the restaurant, he heard someone call him from not far away.
Locke looked up.
In the distance,
a lawyer stepped out of a Volkswagen sedan—apparently one who'd just passed the bar and joined the District Attorneys Office.
How did he know?
It was the same way the FBI favors Chevy SUVs, S.H.I.E.L.D. likes Ford SUVs, and Locke prefers audis: some professions are obvious at a glance.
The lawyer trotted over and handed Locke his card. "Mr. Broughton."
Locke took the card and glanced at the name. "You're the unlucky lawyer the DA assigned to the Bell family?"
The lawyer gave a wry smile.
He was a licensed attorney, but he'd joined the DA to become a prosecutor; defending the accused was just a procedural requirement.
The bad luck was that he'd been assigned after Nina Bell's previous lawyer was also indicted by the FBI—and this was his very first case.
His debut case had ended in total defeat: three defendants, two death sentences, one life without parole. From any angle it was a crushing failure, and even some Black activists accused him of racial discrimination for not trying hard enough.
Don't be surprised.
New York has its poor who can't afford counsel, so the court appoints a free lawyer from the DA—usually a newly licensed rookie like this one.
Everyone has the right to an attorney; if you can't afford one, the DA gives you a freebie.
But the DA won't send their star attorneys; the free lawyer is there to showcase their justice, not to let you stage a comeback.
Still,
Locke studied the card, curious. "So you've taken a second case—are they planning to indict me?"
Gwen heard that and looked at the lawyer. "Really?"
Cindy suggested, "Locke, you should call your legal team."
The hapless lawyer was stunned.
The next second,
he shook his head hurriedly. "No, Mr. Broughton, I'm here at my clients' request this time."
Locke was intrigued. "Your clients?"
The lawyer nodded. "Yes—Mr. and Mrs. Bell, to be precise."
Gwen frowned. "Nina Bell's parents? What do they want with Locke?"
Cindy added, "Yeah, I thought they were about to… you know?"
The lawyer looked at Locke. "The Bells' execution date is set—August sixteenth, a week from now. They invite you to be there for their final moments."
Locke: "…"
221. Inviting Me to Watch Them Die?
"What the hell is this?"
"Mr. Broughton, this is a final..."
"I know what it is."
Locke cut off the lawyer in front of him and couldn't help but chuckle. "I mean, why me?"
If he were alone, he would have told this African-American Lawyer to get as far away as possible.
But they were in public, and his friends were there too.
Most importantly,
Locke was now the president of Midtown High School.
A man of culture!
A highly educated elite!
Besides... Locke's image had always been that of a gentleman with refined speech and manners. At most, Gwen would occasionally see him show his wolf-like side.
He naturally knew what the lawyer wanted to say.
A final farewell.
Simply put, a death row inmate would call their family or friends the day before their execution to gather together and enjoy one last day on earth.
Also, on the day of the execution by electric chair, people could watch from the outside, looking on with relief as they ascended to heaven in the chair under a priest's prayers.
Inviting me to watch them get roasted by the electric chair?
Interesting!
But... what the hell does that have to do with me?
Locke was somewhat speechless. He handed the business card back to the African-American Lawyer. "Sorry, I think there might be some misunderstanding. I don't know them."
Aside from having a screw loose, it was likely ill-intentioned.
Locke couldn't think of any other explanation.
A pity.
Locke was never the type of person to be bursting with curiosity.
Just like back in Texas, when he heard a local old house was haunted and many classmates bet on visiting it, Locke stayed far away, even when passing by for a mission.
When on a mission, going all out, he never stepped over a corpse without a finishing blow; he only moved on after confirming death.
There were many such instances.
In short, outside of missions, he stayed as far away from danger as possible, just like when he moved from the poseidon to the argo.
Tony Stark and the others wanted to go inside to find a phone, but Locke ignored the "percussion" of the blue-ringed octopus below and chose to stay on deck.
So.
Locke looked at the African-American man, who didn't seem to intend to take the card back, smiled, and let go with his right hand.
The business card fell straight to the ground!
"Let's go."
"Mhm."
Locke spoke to Gwen beside him, preparing to head to Central Park with everyone. He checked the time; maybe before taking Gwen home, they could stop by Starlight Tower for a couple of hours—take a shower or something?
But... the African-American Lawyer, looking at the card on the ground and Locke walking away, quickly shouted, "Mr. Broughton, Ms. Nina Bell committed suicide in prison half a month ago."
"What?"
"No way."
"..."
Locke's steps halted. Don't misunderstand; he only stopped because Gwen beside him did. Besides Gwen, the one who voiced surprise was Cindy.
Girls, after all.
They are very emotional, which is understandable. Although they weren't close to Nina Bell, they still knew her. Suddenly hearing this news would naturally cause a shock.
But Locke preferred to think rationally.
He didn't like being led by his emotions; he had a comprehensive plan for his future.
Working hard to earn points—aside from missions, he'd only do things if he were interested. If not, sorry, Locke didn't have the time to waste.
And.
Locke looked down and chuckled, then turned to face the African-American Lawyer with a playful expression. "Mr. Lawyer, what exactly are you trying to say?"
The lawyer looked at Locke and shrugged. "I'm saying, she was your classmate, wasn't she, Mr. Broughton? Ms. Nina Bell left some belongings..."
Locke interrupted again. "Mr. Lawyer, I'm asking you what you mean by that statement. I didn't ask about anything else. Furthermore, only those I acknowledge are my classmates. Those I don't are just strangers—strangers with no connection to me."
What's the point of this?
Whether Nina Bell is dead or not is none of my business. Or rather, how she died has absolutely nothing to do with me.
Locke never regretted any of his decisions.
The ones who should regret are those who oppose him.
Locke gave almost everyone a chance to live, but despite the opportunity, none of them were useful; not a single person had ever seized it.
If Nina Bell hadn't tried to smear him with accusations of racial discrimination, would things have turned out like this?
Obviously.
Locke was just giving her a taste of her own medicine.
This lawyer is something else.
Moral kidnapping?
As expected, even in a suit, he's still the same old piece of work.
Locke narrowed his eyes. "I'll say it once more, Mr. Lawyer: I have absolutely no connection to your client."
The African-American Lawyer opened his mouth: "..."
Locke directly pulled his phone from his pocket.
Instantly.
The man's expression changed. With a quick "sorry" to Locke, he turned and left without any hesitation.
After all, Locke Broughton was a celebrity.
Only seventeen, yet he already had a Dream Team of Lawyers.
"Heh."
Locke looked down at the business card on the ground nearby, then watched the dark-skinned lawyer open the door of his beat-up car, his eyes narrowing.
"Nick Reis!"
"I've remembered Your Name.
Locke watched the Volkswagen sedan speed away, paired the name with the man's face, and entered it into his database.
This guy seems very eager for him to go there.
Why?
A rookie lawyer from the District Attorney's Office—the case was lost anyway, so why work so hard? What was he trying to do?
Planning to overturn the case?
You must be dreaming.
Do you think you're Daredevil?
Even if Daredevil showed up, he wouldn't be able to overturn this case.
Not to mention the Federal Bureau of Investigation doesn't want this case reopened, and the District Attorney's Office wouldn't want to see it either. After all, this is the first time in fifty years the District Attorney's Office has finally secured the death penalty by electric chair.
Why do you think the execution is happening so soon this time?
It's because they want the dust to settle as quickly as possible.
Otherwise, although New York State hasn't explicitly abolished the death penalty and still retains it, in practice, most people sentenced to death there end up dying of old age while waiting in line.
So here's the question.
Why is this guy working so hard? What does he stand to gain from this effort?
Because of the same skin color, hence the same dream?
Don't make me laugh.
American-born blacks look down on African immigrants even more than Texans do, just like American-born Chinese look down on mainland Chinese even more than native Americans do.
So, is it for a promotion?
If this guy actually found a way to overturn the case, he'd be guaranteed not to see tomorrow's Sun. Forget the Federal Bureau of Investigation; the District Attorney's Office would clean house themselves.
They sent you to go through the motions to show procedural justice, and you actually took it seriously?
His boss might just let him experience what the penalty for disobedience feels like.
So... why?
Locke's eyes flickered.
In the afternoon.
Gwen, drying her freshly washed long hair which carried a pleasant scent, walked into the study. She saw Locke sitting in his computer chair, chin in hand, surfing the web. "What are you looking for?"
Locke glanced at Gwen as she walked up beside him.
Gwen looked at the computer screen; the search results were exactly the information on Nick Reis.
After all, the Nina Bell trial was quite a sensation. How could the media pass up the chance to report on Nick Reis? Not only did they report on him, but they did so in great detail.
You wouldn't know without looking.
But once you look... this guy is actually quite inspirational.
This Nick Reis stumbled along, taking the exam for five consecutive years before finally obtaining his law license in New York State.
Tsk, five years in a row. That's more than just ordinary inspiration.
Gwen had the same thought, but she had another perspective: "Is the bar exam that hard? Can't you just pass it easily? I looked at last year's questions; they weren't that difficult."
Locke smiled. "You're a Top Student; he's a bottom-tier student."
Gwen laughed. "Skin color aside, he's very inspirational."
Locke nodded. "I agree with that, but do you know what I see?"
"What?"
"Ambition!"
"Hmm?"
Locke found a photo published in the New York Daily of Nick Reis posing in front of the Statue of Liberty after receiving his professional certificate. Pointing at the photo, he said, "Everyone has ambition. But we can control our ambition because we are confident we can get what we want."
Gwen pursed her lips. "Isn't he the same?"
Locke smiled. "Think about it. Why did he take the exam for five consecutive years? Someone like that won't be able to control their ambition like we do. Once he has the pass to exercise his ambition, he will use any means necessary to climb up for his own promotion."
Gwen's eyes lit up as she looked at Locke. "Have you been reading psychology books too?"
Locke gave a 'ha' laugh. "Do you see any books on that in my study?"
He had clearly unlocked Reverse Psychology.
Specifically for Gwen.
Just in case.
Gwen nodded; she indeed hadn't seen any such books in Locke's home. "Then how did you figure it out?"
Locke chuckled. "You're the best at psychology between us. You tell me—what motive would make him risk offending the entire Federal Bureau of Investigation and the District Attorney's Office to persist as the bell family's defense lawyer? He was even practically on his knees begging me to go. Why?"
Gwen was slightly stunned. "Now that you mention it, you're right. It seems he has no reason to be so enthusiastic. It doesn't make sense."
Even Gwen wouldn't believe he was doing it for the "same skin color, same dream" reason—it sounded too unreliable...
222. The Bizarre Promotion of the Little Black Guy
However... no matter how the two of them guessed, they couldn't come up with the correct answer.
So, they had to call for outside assistance.
Eight o'clock in the evening.
After a day of hard work, George, who hadn't found a single trace of the Peerless Assassin but had instead found an undercover agent for a human smuggling organization, opened his front door with a mix of satisfaction and disappointment.
The next second.
"Dad!"
"..."
George was startled. Then, he saw his little cotton ball... his former little cotton ball, who now looked like black-hearted cotton no matter how he saw it, Gwen, greeting him with a smile and hugging his arm.
Hmm.
A different scent of body wash.
Not the one from home.
George smelled the scent on Gwen's hair; he didn't even need to go to the bathroom to check because their family couldn't afford such expensive body wash.
"Speak, what do you want?"
"Dad, I missed you."
"Heh."
"..."
Gwen looked at George's expression and blinked. Something was wrong. Before, when she hugged George, he would smile like a happy camper: "Dad, what's wrong?"
George looked at his 'black-hearted cotton' daughter's expression, set his hat aside, and gave a fake smile: "Think carefully. Since you got a boyfriend, when have you ever been like this? Last time I gave you hot cocoa, you said you were watching your figure."
Gwen's face flushed: "Dad, I'm really..."
Locke walked out of the kitchen at that moment, holding a cup of hot cocoa: "Gwen, the hot cocoa Helen just made..."
As he spoke,
Locke saw George entering the door.
Gwen's face turned even redder.
The expression on George's face was a very bright, very unusual smile.
Very good.
The black-hearted cotton had finally evolved into drafty, no-longer-caring black-hearted cotton.
I hope the fourth child is a little daughter.
George prayed silently in his heart.
Yes.
Helen was pregnant again.
Or rather, it was just as Gwen had predicted back then. After all, Gwen had said that Little George and the other two background characters were all conceived after George and Helen had a cold war.
It seemed...
Only when Helen was in a cold war did George's 'little tadpoles' have a particular desire to fight. Usually, when they weren't in a cold war, George's 'little tadpoles' seemed to be in hibernation.
Quite miraculous.
George looked at his daughter, who sheepishly let go of his arm and lowered her head as if humbly admitting her mistake. He chuckled again, took off his coat, glanced at Locke as a greeting, and then rolled up his sleeves and walked into the kitchen.
Locke handed the hot cocoa to Gwen and blinked: "What's wrong?"
Although his senses were very sharp,
He didn't keep them on all the time. He only activated the'Sharp Sixth Sense' function when needed. Otherwise, if it were on all the time, Locke felt his head would explode.
Gwen watched George enter the kitchen and then seemingly say something to Helen. Both parents looked over here in unison. She stuck out her cute tongue and then looked at Locke: "It's all your fault."
Locke raised an eyebrow.
An innocent face!
However, this was just a small interlude.
Soon.
In the study, after listening to Locke and Gwen talk about the District Attorney's lawyer they met this afternoon, George was also curious. He took out his computer to inquire on the spot about what was going on.
Locke and Gwen glanced at each other. Seeing George on the phone, they chose not to disturb him.
But... Locke's eyes lit up. He walked to the wine cabinet in George's study, staring at a bottle of bourboninside, and asked curiously: "This wine..."
Gwen said from the side: "What about it? A friend gave it to Dad the day he was promoted to Police Superintendent."
Locke rubbed his chin: "This is a '92 thunder bourbon."
Gwen shrugged.
Locke said: "For thunder bourbon, besides the first year's production being a masterpiece, the best-tasting one is universally recognized as the '92."
Gwen gave an 'oh': "Is it that good?"
Locke nodded and then shook his head: "I heard Tony Stark mention it when we were on the argo last time."
While on the argo, waiting for the rescue helicopter, the few of them had relaxed and chatted about many things. However, Tony Stark was, after all, of too high a status. Perhaps while stranded together on the argo, they could talk and chat, and he could put away his condescending attitude.
But after leaving the argo, Tony Stark was still Tony Stark.
They weren't from the same World; they weren't on the same path after all.
Locke licked his lips, turned to look at George who was on the phone, and pointed to the bottle of '92 thunder bourbon in the wine cabinet.
George, who was on the phone, looked up, glanced, and then nodded.
Locke opened the wine cabinet.
*Pop!*
George was slightly stunned. He looked up, his eyes narrowing sharply.
Goodfellas.
Does he really not see himself as an outsider?
Locke took two glasses from the cabinet, poured two drinks, and then handed one to George.
George was silent for a moment. Listening to the voice on the phone, he took the glass, took a sip, and resumed his phone call posture.
Locke also took a sip.
Gwen asked curiously from the side: "How is it?"
Locke said: "About an eighty."
After all, his preferred vintage was the first year. He had a black market broker who specifically helped him collect it. Most of his money was spent on buying first-year thunder bourbon.
A moment later.
George said goodnight to the person on the other end and hung up the phone.
Seeing this, Locke and Gwen sat back down.
Gwen asked: "Dad, how is it?"
George looked at the phone in his hand and frowned: "Nick Reis is not a lawyer for the District Attorney's Office."
"What?"
"He was appointed as an Assistant District Attorney half a month ago."
"..."
Locke raised an eyebrow at this answer and looked at George: "Impressive."
How could it not be impressive?
When helping Nina Bell's family with the lawsuit, he was just a nobody lawyer at the D.A.'s office. After the lawsuit ended with deaths, good heavens, he ascended to heaven in one step and became an Assistant District Attorney.
This promotion speed could probably rival George's own.
Eh?
S.H.I.E.L.D.?
No.
Nick Fury is already gone, completely gone, his soul has even settled down in the Hell Dimension. The one in power now, to put it harshly, is at most a female boxer type.
Also.
Locke looked at George with a slight frown: "Since he's already an Assistant District Attorney, why is he still so concerned about this case? It even seemed like he was going to cry for me if I didn't go."
Not to mention, he even tried to morally kidnap him.
Wait.
Locke's eyes brightened slightly.
Could it be Nina Bell's family helping him?
The thought occurred to Locke, and then he shook his head, feeling as if he were dreaming.
However... his senses twitched abruptly.
Locke raised an eyebrow. Following his Sixth Sense, he pulled this answer back out.
Well, well.
Is that actually a possibility?
But.
If Nina Bell's family really had that much power, how could they have just sat there and waited for death?
It didn't fit common sense.
Even if Nina Bell's family were true Voodoo sorcerers, so what? Performing Voodoo requires a soul as a price.
The next second.
Locke looked up at George: "George, you just said, when was he promoted?"
George looked at Locke: "Half a month ago."
Locke said thoughtfully: "Half a month ago, Nina Bell committed suicide in prison."
Half a month ago, Nina Bell committed suicide.
Half a month ago, this Nick Reis went from a nobody lawyer to an Assistant District Attorney.
Hearing Locke mention this, Gwen looked at George: "That's right, Dad. Why would Nina Bell suddenly commit suicide?"
George said: "Half a month ago, at the New York Women's Prison, when they opened the cell doors in the morning, they found Nina Bell had strangled herself on her bed with a towel. A suicide note was found on her bed, stating the reason for her suicide. The prison authorities were worried that a leak would trigger public outcry, so they didn't give much notice."
Moreover, with Nina Bell's family as the leaders, every single member of the 'zero-dollar shopping' organization was either already in prison or about to be. So, there was no need to notify anyone; if it could be handled quietly, it would be.
Locke was curious and prepared to ask what the state of the corpse was like.
He needed to confirm something.
But... Locke's thoughts spun rapidly. After weighing it, he still didn't speak. For no other reason than that it didn't sound like a question he would ask.
After George finished speaking, he saw Locke's expression and thought Locke was worried about what the District Attorneys Office might do. He said directly: "Don't worry, no one will be forced into anything regarding this matter."
Locke snapped back to reality and smiled slightly: "I know."
Setting aside that he always preferred the carrot over the stick, just based on that skin color alone, even if his whole family knelt before Locke, they shouldn't expect Locke to even take a look.
It was the same old saying.
Knowing it's a trap and still going—you're either an idiot or a fool.
Fortunately,
Locke was a smart man.
Half an hour later.
Locke chose to say goodbye and go home. However, because he had been drinking, Locke gave the car keys to Gwen. Then, he glanced at George, who had followed them out and hadn't said a word to remind them, but who was clearly disappointed after seeing Locke give the car keys to his daughter. Locke's brow couldn't help but twitch, and then he got into a taxi.
George sighed as he watched the taxi drive away.
Driving your own car after drinking was definitely a no-go.
But taking a taxi after drinking was perfectly reasonable and legal.
This guy is indeed on guard against me too.
George thought so in his heart, his disappointment undisguised. Gwen, standing nearby, wanted to say something but ultimately didn't.
After Locke returned home, he directly took out his Continental Hotel laptop, logged in, and sent a text message to Red Reddington.
By the time Locke finished his shower, Red's call came through right on time.
"Hahaha!"
As soon as it connected, Red's signature laugh came through: "My dear friend, long time no see. What can I do for you?"
Locke said directly: "Half a month ago, New York, Women's Prison, a woman committed suicide. I want the surveillance, photos, and if there's a body, even better."
Red: "..."
223. Annabelle?
Red Devil.
Raymond Reddington's power was actually not that great; in fact, according to the Red Devil's daily routine, any famous assassin could basically assassinate Raymond directly.
If Locke were to take action, it would be even less of a challenge.
But... the Red Devil has never survived on power alone; he relies on connections and relationships. It is because of these connections and relationships that he is honored as the Administrator of the Criminal World.
He knows everyone, and everyone knows the Red Devil, and most of the time, people are happy to give the Red Devil face.
Locke was the same.
Ever since the last live television broadcast, the Red Devil had made a special call saying he owed a favor, wanting to use Locke's name and hoping to borrow a blank Notice, which Locke agreed to immediately.
He later found out that the Red Devil used his blank Notice to intimidate a leader of the Albanian Mob.
Locke felt it was a bit beneath him, but that's how relationships are used, aren't they?
The next afternoon.
When Locke received a text from the Red Devil, he was at Chester's home.
He hung up the phone.
Chester, having heard Locke's call just now, looked at Locke as he stood up from the sofa: "What did you ask the Red Devil to buy?"
Locke smiled: "A corpse."
Chester: "..."
Locke laughed. Seeing Chester's expression, he shook his head and explained Nina Bell's suicide and the strange promotion of that African-American Lawyer: "I suspect Nina Bell sacrificed herself, so I asked the Red Devil to find the body and surveillance footage to confirm it."
Sitting not far away with long hair, Carrie, who had been looking down at her extracurricular book, heard the keyword Voodoo, looked up and asked: "Voodoo, are those the ones who make deals with Hell?"
Locke looked at Carrie and nodded.
Chester glanced at Carrie and then looked at Locke: "Then you should take Carrie with you."
Locke smiled: "Although the Red Devil has guessed that I have countless ties with Peerless, after all, there's no..."
Carrie raised her hand, showing the purple bracelet on her wrist: "I can disguise myself."
As she spoke.
The purple Witch Power flickered, and immediately, her black hair turned into White strands, her outfit became a cool dress, plus those knee-high boots; just by appearing, she caused the temperature of the entire Room to drop by at least two degrees.
Chester looked at Locke: "Any more problems?"
Locke thought for a moment.
It was for the best.
If it really involved the power of Hell, then having Carrie as a Witch by his side was not bad, so he wouldn't need to switch to his Witch form.
Still the same thing.
Although switching classes didn't require a disguise, that name, no matter how he looked at it, was unacceptable to Locke's straight-male nature.
Half an hour later.
In an audi that was about to be reported missing.
The car speed whistled, and then it drove steadily into an abandoned Water plant on the outskirts of Jersey City.
At the entrance of an abandoned warehouse, two men in suits who were just hanging around looked at each other when they saw the silver audi driving in, and then walked over.
The audi had almost become another signature identity for Peerless.
"Mr. Peerless..."
The two henchmen looked at Locke as he stepped out of the car, and just as they were about to greet him, they were slightly stunned to see the disguised Carrie, looking like an iceberg in sunglasses, stepping out from the passenger seat.
A woman?
A stranger, someone they hadn't seen before?
Locke saw the expressions of the two henchmen but didn't explain. There was no need to explain anything to irrelevant people. He said directly: "Is the item inside?"
The two henchmen snapped back to reality: "Yes, please follow me."
As they spoke.
The two henchmen regained their survival instincts—don't ask, don't tell, don't answer. They were just delivering the item here according to the boss's instructions and waiting for Locke to come for the handover. Now that Locke was here, other matters were none of their business.
In that abandoned warehouse, an ordinary coffin was inside a van. Then, the two henchmen whistled, and two more people came to take the coffin, which still smelled of soil, out of the van.
"Mr. Peerless, we'll be going now."
"Alright."
Locke nodded.
The henchmen looked at each other, then got into the van and drove away from the place.
In front of the coffin.
Locke tilted his head and looked at Carrie beside him.
Carrie gave an 'en', her right hand reaching out as her Witch Power surged.
Crack!
A very clear, crisp sound rang out, and then, with a bang, the coffin in front of them began to be covered with splitting cracks. In the blink of a Kung Fu Hustle, the cracks covered the entire coffin.
The next second.
Boom!
The coffin instantly shattered into pieces as if it had been weathered away.
Locke raised an eyebrow: "A new ability."
Carrie explained: "Mr. Chester found me many legends and descriptions of abilities related to various Witches. Those were things I hadn't found in the library, and a few of them even had the aura of a Witch on them."
Locke smiled.
Chester was indeed well-traveled; after all, that old guy's lovers included a Succubus back in Texas.
Locke always found it miraculous. Other men, let alone being with a Succubus for three years, would be drained dry in just two nights, but for Chester, it was the opposite.
The dust settled.
A corpse lay quietly on the ground.
Dark.
Shriveled.
Undecayed.
Locke looked at it and snorted with a smile: "It really is a sacrifice."
Sacrificing one's life to a demon has a characteristic: after they sacrifice their life, their corpse will not rot.
Because... demons from Hell will occupy their corpses, or rather, connect them as a transit station between Hell and the mortal world, allowing the demon who lent the power to come and go between the mortal world and Hell through their corpse.
"Roar!"
A sudden dark howl came from Nina Bell's corpse. The next second, clouds of black mist whistled out, transforming into the shape of an angry Evil Spirit.
The Evil Spirit looked at Locke and Carrie in front of it, let out an angry roar, opened its claws, and attacked Locke and Carrie with bursts of foul stench.
Locke was expressionless.
He had no interest in taking action.
"Carrie!"
"Bang!"
As soon as Locke finished speaking, Carrie, who seemed shocked to see a demon for the first time in reality, also snapped back to her senses. In an instant, White strands surged, carrying Witch Power, and directly shot the manifested angry Evil Spirit in front of her into a honeycomb.
Locke, who had lent his power to Carrie, did not place any restrictions on the Witch Power Carrie used.
If it weren't for the fact that Carrie's Sea of Consciousness was only so large, she could actually be like Locke—with just a look, she could rely on infinite Witch Power to directly strangle the angry Evil Spiritin front of her, which wasn't even worthy of being called a demon and didn't even have the qualifications to be at the bottom of the barrel in Hell.
That angry Evil Spirit let out a shrill, low cry.
Instantly.
It turned into scattered black mist and shattered. Along with the destruction of the Evil Spirit, the undecayed corpse on the ground also gradually began to change, starting to rot rapidly.
The scent in the air became increasingly unpleasant.
Turn around.
Get in the car.
Drive away.
Half an hour later.
At Chester's home.
The bearded Chester looked at the returned Locke and Carrie, slightly stunned: "That was fast."
Locke laughed: "Just a low-level Evil Spirit, did you expect us to fight for three hundred rounds?"
Who are you insulting?
Him or Carrie?
On the sofa, Locke took out a tablet and began playing the surveillance footage from the New York Women's Prison, which the Red Devil had also sent to him.
Chester glanced at Locke, who was watching the prison surveillance, and then looked at Carrie: "Was that Evil Spirit killed?"
Carrie nodded: "Very weak."
Chester opened his mouth: "Did you find out what deal that Evil Spirit made?"
Carrie shook her head.
She also thought Locke would ask, but to her surprise, Locke didn't even have the interest to ask. When Locke called her, she naturally took action.
In fact, being able to help made Carrie quite happy.
Locke said without looking up: "Is there a need to ask? Considering that African-American Lawyer with the strangely fast promotion speed, it's obvious there's also an Evil Spirit helping him."
Chester walked over: "Nina Bell?"
Locke gave an 'en', turned the tablet around, and the screen froze on a frame of a prison guard taking a dark-colored Antique Doll out of a cell: "Do you see this Antique Doll?"
Or rather.
A voodoo doll.
Chester frowned: "You suspect Nina Bell is parasitic inside this voodoo doll?"
Locke smiled: "It's not a suspicion, it's a certainty!"
According to normal procedures, since Nina Bell committed suicide, her belongings in prison should have been given to her parents. But the information from the Red Devil showed that this Antique Dollwas taken out by the African-American Lawyer and was not handed over to her parents.
After all, even if they wanted to give it, they couldn't.
One is the New York Women's Prison, and the other is a high-security prison for death row; the management intensity is different. The management of the women's prison is relatively loose. If you have a good mindset and don't mind being a lesbian, there's basically not much difference between being inside and outside.
Hearing Locke's words, Chester shook his head: "Then why did you kill that Evil Spirit? Now that you've killed it, Nina Bell will be alerted when she realizes her creditor has disappeared."
Locke gave a 'ha' laugh.
Chester looked up at the laughing Locke.
The corners of Locke's mouth curled up: "Klint, do you think I need to consider her feelings? Besides, I think she should be happy."
"Happy?"
"Yes, happy that she has gained her freedom, or rather, happy that after that Evil Spirit died, she became a free Evil Spirit."
"But..."
Locke looked at Chester with a smile: "After she's happy, she will find that she is free, but she has become a free Vengeful Spirit trapped inside a voodoo doll."
Chester: "..."