In less than a second, Henry re-holstered his two guns.
Everyone hadn't reacted yet, so there was no panic.
"These six are assassins, and they're all dead. Don't panic, everyone," Henry said in a deep voice.
"Pete, you go back to the police station, arrange a carriage to take these people back, and then come back for dinner."
"Alright."
Pete immediately left and walked towards the police station a few dozen meters away.
"You, go call Drummond over," Henry said, pointing at a bar guard.
The guard nodded and quickly pushed the door open, leaving.
Henry approached the burly white man and the knife-faced man who had fallen on the stairs and quickly searched them.
Aside from twenty-six us dollars in change and coins, there were two daggers, two Colt Revolvers, and over a hundred .44 bullets. There was nothing else special.
Henry then checked the other four assassins; they had similar items and were all paupers, totaling about one hundred us dollars.
Henry tossed 10 us dollars to the red-faced bar girls—this was their average weekly income—and then gathered all the wallets and pistols, asking the bartender to put them in a cloth bag.
In reality, he had already put most of the bullets and all the wallets into his spatial storage.
By this time, Pete had driven the carriage over. Henry called a few strong men to help, and they threw the six bodies into the carriage.
"Pete, go back and deliver this bag to the warehouse, then come back for dinner. We'll deal with them later," Henry instructed.
"Yes, Sir!" Pete jokingly saluted and drove back to the police station.
Drummond hadn't arrived yet; Henry didn't know what he was doing.
Henry walked back to his seat and loudly urged, "Hurry up with the food!"
At this moment, everyone was excitedly discussing, and a young cowboy with a full beard couldn't help but ask, "Sheriff, how did you know they were trouble?"
Everyone quickly quieted down; they also wanted to know the answer.
These gunmen were undoubtedly assassins; their guns were already drawn. If Henry had acted any later, who knows which unlucky person would have been killed.
Henry smiled faintly and said calmly, "I'm the Sheriff; of course, I know."
Everyone was momentarily choked, but since Henry wasn't willing to say, they had no choice.
No one dared to continue chattering and asking questions.
Not to mention Henry being the Sheriff, even for others, asking too many questions like that could easily lead to a violent death on the street.
Curiosity in a bar meant impoliteness.
If you kept asking questions, dying on the street was perfectly normal.
Everyone could only discuss in low whispers.
The food was quickly served, even Pete's, and Henry ate heartily.
By the time Pete returned to the bar, Henry had already finished his portion and felt almost full.
Drummond finally arrived late when Pete was halfway through his meal.
He was around forty years old, but his hair was completely white. He had a good relationship with Brian and knew the original Henry, though they weren't close.
Henry told Pete to eat slowly and followed Drummond up to his office on the third floor.
After they both sat down, Drummond said, "Henry, thank you. Fortunately, you were here; otherwise, someone would have died in the bar today."
Henry leaned back in his chair and slowly asked, "Tell me, what's their background, and why did they ambush me?"
Drummond hesitated, then noticed Henry's expressionless face, and his heart skipped a beat.
He suddenly realized that the person opposite him was not the ordinary police officer he had always had little impression of, but the newly appointed formidable Sheriff.
He was a killing god who had slain over a hundred people in two days, and he had just instantly reaped 6 heads in the bar!
"Someone in the Black Market has put a bounty of ten thousand us dollars on your head!" Drummond said decisively.
"Can you find out who or where the bounty was originally issued?"
"I don't know. The information between our bars doesn't have a source, but to claim the bounty, you have to go to the Denver Black Market."
"Where is the Denver Black Market? How do you get in?"
"You need someone you know to lead you in and pay 50 us dollars. If not, you have to go to the Hamlet Tavern in the East End and pay 100 us dollars. They will arrange someone to take you in. Everyone in the Black Market wears masks or face coverings."
Henry showed a gentle smile and said, "Thank you for the information. How do you cooperate with Brian?"
"Aside from the discounts for the police station, it's 30% of the net profit each month, which is about 500 us dollars," Drummond replied.
That's 6000 us dollars a year. If Brian didn't have to share with others, this bar had been open for 6 years, meaning 36,000 us dollars in extra income.
He was so fond of Linda, so he probably handed over all the money.
This amount of money is equivalent to about 4 million us dollars in purchasing power in 2024, so Linda's family doesn't have to worry about their livelihood.
However, Brian should probably share some with the officers who actually do the work.
"What does Brian need to do?"
Drummond looked at Henry and said in a deep voice, "Ensure the bar is not damaged or that there is sufficient compensation if it is damaged. Ensure the bar is not affected by major external factors and can operate normally every day."
"Tell me, what are the bar's business operations?"
"Food and drink, moonshine, girls, lodging, card games, and intelligence trading."
"Intelligence trading?"
"Helping guests post buying and selling information to facilitate transactions. Sometimes we provide information obtained from the Black Market, and sometimes we even accept guest commissions to post or submit tasks in the Black Market through the bar's internal network."
Drummond thought for a moment and added, "We don't directly participate in these tasks; we just act as agents for posting or submitting them. Brian sometimes even uses us to post wanted bounties."
"What about Black Market intelligence that Brian needs?"
"You still have to pay the Black Market, but the agency fee is halved because we have to pay for certain parts of the process. The agency fee depends on the value of the intelligence, usually 10-20%."
Henry pondered for a moment and said, "Alright, let's maintain this cooperation, but with one condition—if there's any information detrimental to me, you must inform me promptly and proactively, and the fees will still apply."
"Okay, this information today is a public bounty from the Black Market, Henry, you don't need to pay for the intelligence."
"Very good. My first intelligence commission is for information on the McKinley Family members and their assets, especially those in and around Denver, the more detailed the better."
"Okay, I will provide it to you as soon as possible, and we'll calculate the fee then."
"Very good. I hope we have a pleasant cooperation in the future." Henry stood up and extended his right hand.
Drummond quickly extended his right hand to shake Henry's hand.
Then the two went down to the first floor.