Advanced chapter at patreon.com/caleredhair. its already in chapter 350+
Director Charlie was not surprised when Lukar said he would investigate Lance’s territory. He felt this way because he seemed to have some unresolved connection with Lance previously.
He was now curious about what Lance had done to him, as he always focused on Lance and not others. He then posed the question.
“I remember there didn’t seem to be any conflict between you and Lance. Why are you focusing on him?” Lukar did not evade the question, stating, “It’s not that there’s no conflict at all; he played a trick on me.”
“Once…”, he began to recount his first meeting with Lance. Lance invited him for coffee and they chatted for a while. This led him to believe Lance was a good person, and he even returned the invitation later.
However, no one could have predicted that the two foolish brothers would be eliminated by Lance. Furthermore, the Camille gang also became a thing of the past due to Lance’s retaliation. Each time he recalled these events, he found it amusing and felt a desire to compete with Lance.
“I want to know who is stronger, the cat or the mouse!” Director Charlie couldn’t help but laugh heartily after hearing this.
“Your story is much more interesting than I imagined, and I can truly understand your feelings,” he said. “Imagine finding the killer you’re searching for standing right in front of you, chatting casually, and even treating each other to coffee.”
“That feeling… Oh, my God, it’s truly fascinating!” He could sense that Lukar wasn’t angry, but rather driven by a competitive spirit. Lukar himself found the situation amusing and funny.
After laughing for a while, his laughter subsided, and he said, “The situation is a bit delicate now, Lukar.” “I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but sometimes in society, when we feel powerless, we can only go along with the crowd.”
“After the Camille gang was finished, most of their businesses were taken over by Arthur ,” he said, looking at Lukar for any lingering emotions. Unfortunately, he found none; Lukar was more mature and composed than before.
He whistled, “What an extraordinary fellow!” Everyone knew that Arthur was the Senator Williams’ son. His taking over these businesses implied facing difficulties when investigating him.
Judicial support would be hard to obtain, despite the Federation government’s promise of an independent judiciary, local governments significantly influenced the judicial department. They were unlikely to readily approve search warrants for Arthur’s businesses, including arrest warrants and other legal documents. Simultaneously, he keenly perceived that Director Charlie was using this method to inform him that Lance was currently providing services for the mayor.
If he were to investigate Lance in the Empire District, it would be tantamount to challenging the mayor. If it were his past self, he might not have dared to do so. At that time, he was merely an ordinary police officer, even as an officer in the city police department’s criminal investigation unit and a minor leader, he remained within the police system.
A phone call from the mayor, a municipal councilor, or even some social elites would make his life very difficult. Now, however, everything has changed. He is a senior agent, and the President’s office and Congress have invested significant effort and high hopes in this department.
During their training, their state office superior informed them that they could request support if they encountered any insurmountable issues. If necessary, they could even directly communicate with a Senator! This authority bolstered Lukar’s belief that he possessed the courage and determination to confront such corruption and darkness.
Of course, he wouldn’t be reckless; it was like the time his partner gave him a whistle during his first stint as a police officer, telling him to blow it if he ever got stuck. However, he never once blew the whistle, even up until his transfer from the patrol department. That whistle represented a deep reserve of confidence, a trump card.
It could be many things—an offensive or defensive card—but it was never meant to be a mere tactic. For when it descends to being just a tactic, it becomes the most inferior and petty of methods! Lukar looked at his “mentor,” saying, “Charlie, I’ll use my wits; I certainly won’t touch him without concrete evidence.”
“I have a question now: will you stand by me?” Director Charlie considered it carefully.
“I’m retiring in three years,” he said, “If you don’t mess things up, I’ll continue to support you as before.” This statement clarified his stance: if Lukar truly went astray, he would not blindly support him.
With his retirement as police chief, his substantial pension, and his accumulated savings, he could anticipate a perfect retirement in his later years. Although he, too, was drawn to power, he would not gamble his future on it.
Lukar received the answer he sought; in truth, Director Charlie’s support wasn’t paramount. He merely desired… a reason. During their training, he and several local senior agents were summoned for individual conversations.
Some Senators expressed dissatisfaction with the superficial enforcement of prohibition in various regions, desiring significant news breaks across the country.
They urgently required a symbolic sacrifice of individuals to demonstrate that the recently enacted constitutional amendment on prohibition was a serious matter.
This was not a “trick constitution” that granted voting rights to cotton-picking experts while imposing numerous restrictions; this time, it was genuine.
Only by severely punishing a group of people could society be steered back onto their intended course. What Lukar was unaware of was that some Senators, increasingly fanatical in their political views, had even proposed a gender segregation bill.
That madman believed that romantic relationships would diminish labor efficiency.
He also thought that sexual activity would cause individuals to expend excessive physical energy on worthless pursuits.
They provided numerous examples, such as only a minuscule number of animals in nature engaging in sexual behavior for pleasure.
The vast majority of animals only reproduce through sexual activity; this is the true purpose of a species, not to squander significant physical and mental energy for fleeting pleasure!
They believed that maintaining a robust physique, unburdened by sexual influences, would provide more energy for work.
This, they argued, was preferable to constantly thinking about returning home for intimate relations with the opposite sex.
They even coined the slogan, “Love is as incurable as alcohol,” and were nearly ready to form lobbying groups! Of course, such an absurd proposal was unlikely to become a bill, much less pass, just like those equally ridiculous proposals that once claimed prohibition would inevitably boost productivity.
Well, sometimes it’s unclear whether these Senators act absurdly to gain notoriety, or if they simply aim to be politically distinctive, thus transforming themselves into something inhuman.
In the evening, Lukar and several colleagues sought out a quiet restaurant with a serene atmosphere. The melodic music discreetly muffled any accidental eavesdropping between different tables. Nine people, including Lukar, sat around the table.
The director had not yet arrived, still processing paperwork at the state government.
A new department with new enforcement powers required layer upon layer of paper documentation and various authorized signatures for official confirmation.
This particular day marked the scheduled liaison between the senior agents and the deputy director.
Interestingly, a bottle of wine was on the table. Out of the nine people, only three were locals; the rest had been transferred from other areas or were from the state government.
The unique environment of Golden Port made everyone believe it was a profitable location where achieving results would be easier.
deputy director held the wine bottle, identifying it as “Dima Distilled Red Wine…” After examining some standards, he placed it back on the table, stating, “I’ve found that the situation we’re facing is more severe than we initially imagined.”
He had arrived first, so he had ordered the meal, and the others gradually joined him. The deputy director may not have genuinely desired his current position, but regardless, he had to exhibit certain qualities before formally commencing his duties. The others glanced at the wine bottle. Lukar also took it, tapping it gently.
Distilled red wine usually has a slightly paler color, but its alcohol content is noticeably higher. This significantly surpasses the legal definition of wine, which is “alcohol content exceeding five per thousand”—by dozens of times! Sometimes, just a bite of fermented bread could have a higher alcohol content than that.
“They tried to sell me this wine, and I asked the manager, ‘Isn’t this during the prohibition period?'”
“He told me that I had previously stored a bottle of wine here, but they couldn’t recall which wine it was, and needed me to remind them!”
As the deputy director spoke, the smile on his face had almost vanished. “A very clever tactic, gentlemen,” he noted.
“They aren’t selling these wines ignorantly, but have identified legal loopholes, as consumption and storage are not illegal.”
“They successfully exploited a loophole, not only selling us wine but also permitting us to consume it publicly, because it was supposedly stored here by us.”
“There is no transaction; it is entirely legal.” The expressions of several senior agents, including Lukar, also grew solemn.
During his state training, he initially believed this task wouldn’t be overly difficult. This was because it was a constitutional amendment, meaning it was a law to be enforced in every region, with no exemptions.
People would cease illegal activities out of fear of the law, and only criminals would engage in selling such alcohol.
However, he now realized that not only criminals but also ordinary people were involved in sales! He turned to look around. In the quiet, upscale restaurant, almost every table had a bottle of wine.
Someone asked, “Then how do they charge us?”
“If they don’t charge money… which is impossible, of course, but if this money is linked to the wine, then we’ll have a way to punish them.”
Even before official work began, they had caught a clear violation, which would surely please the higher-ups with their progress.
The deputy director shook his head, “Do you see the band over there?”
The group simultaneously turned to face the small stage at the front of the restaurant hall, where several individuals were playing music; the restaurant’s background music emanated from them. It is quite common now for almost all mid-to-high-end restaurants to feature live bands.
“The band charges a fee for entertaining us, and the waiters also charge for their service, as do the chefs.”
“The manager informed me that there would be a service fee, ensuring everything was secure.”
He picked up the wine bottle and poured a glass for everyone, saying, “Don’t be so serious. Once we catch a big fish, these problems will be easily resolved.”
“When people discover that the benefits gained from breaking the law are far outweighed by the legal penalties, criminal behavior will naturally be curbed.”
He laughed, adding, “If you’re going to be hanged for stealing a dollar, I believe that after a few people are hanged, no one will be a petty thief anymore!” He then lowered his voice, “This is our last time drinking. Don’t tell the director when he returns.”
“Here’s to a great start, cheers!” All of them raised their glasses, just like the surrounding patrons. In a brief moment, everyone’s complexion became a little flushed.
Outside, heavy snow fell. Nothing felt more comforting than enjoying a drink in such weather. Through the restaurant’s display window, a homeless man’s eyes, filled with envy, jealousy, and resentment, watched the diners enjoying their food.
Today, he had not begged for much money, only a little over thirty cents. Yet, here, the cheapest dish might cost fifty cents or even a dollar.
These people never lowered their gaze to acknowledge him, sitting in the snow and ice, so stingy that they wouldn’t even give a five-cent coin. Why didn’t God unleash his wrath and burn them all to death?
Then, all that delicious food would be his! His mouth began to water with a sour taste, though he was unaware that his mouth was comparable to a biochemical laboratory.
Just as he was fantasizing about the taste of those dishes, a waiter with a displeased expression emerged, holding a stick. “If you appear here again and disturb our guests’ dining, I promise I will break your legs!”
“Now, get away from our storefront!” The homeless man scurried away as if startled, only to mutter curses once he was far enough.
Perhaps he cursed the affluent individuals lacking empathy and compassion, or perhaps the servile waiter who wouldn’t even permit him a glance, or perhaps… God himself? Cars sped past on the roadside; he failed to avoid them, and the kicked-up ice and snow splashed all over him.
He felt a bit saddened, but more so, he was filled with dissatisfaction and anger, muttering, “Motherfucker!” He extended his middle finger towards the passing cars.
But the next second, the car stopped, and the homeless man froze. Just as he was about to move, two individuals in black trench coats, with red armbands on their left sleeves, exited the vehicle. One of them gestured for him to approach.
“Fuck!” He didn’t dare to run; this was the Empire District, and he knew who these people were! He could only slowly approach, hunching his back and feigning a ingratiating smile, while also removing his worn-out fisherman’s hat and holding it in his hand.
He seemed to feel his hair was a bit disheveled, so he used his calloused and dirty hands to smooth his sparse, few, and yellowed hairs. “Sir, I wasn’t cursing you…”
“Come over here.” The young man pointed closer, and he approached, no longer able to force a smile. He had heard many stories about the Lance Family and knew how formidable they were!
He wouldn’t be like ordinary people who considered the Lance Family good; they were still a gang, still bad people!
And they were worse than the Camille gang; only by being worse could they defeat them, but ordinary people didn’t even grasp this logic!
This made him even more terrified, unable to discern whether his trembling legs were due to fear or the recent icy water.
The car window slid down, revealing half of Lance’s face. He turned his head to glance at the homeless man, drenched by the icy water, and said, “Sorry, I got your clothes wet.”
The homeless man was somewhat flattered and also a little scared, wondering if they intended to play a trick on him. Nevertheless, he could only continue to play along.
“No, no, sir, it was my own carelessness,” he insisted. “I usually could avoid it, but I was distracted, so it’s not your fault!”
Lance could see he was terrified. “Do you know me?”
The streetlights provided limited illumination, and heavy snowflakes drifted between them, maintaining a distance of about one meter. The homeless man awkwardly shook his head, a large puff of hot breath escaping with each word; he was truly cold!
“I haven’t met you, sir, I’m sorry…” Lance shook his head slightly and turned to Elvin. “Give me some money, ten dollars.”
Elvin felt in his pocket; aside from a few dollars in loose change, he mainly had twenty-dollar bills. Lance didn’t bother watching him count, so he pulled out one and held it between his fingers, extending it. “My name is Lance. I’ve already apologized, but I still want to apologize for our actions. I’m very sorry for getting your clothes wet.”
“Here’s twenty dollars. Go buy some new clothes, then find a hotel, take a hot bath, and get a good night’s sleep. Everything will be fine.”
The homeless man was a bit dazed, his gaze quickly focusing on the money. He hesitated slightly, “I… can I?”
He truly desired the money. Lance twitched his fingers. “The snow is heavy.” This was a gesture for him to hurry.
The homeless man quickly tucked his worn fisherman’s hat into his arms, bent down, and rubbed his hands together in the snow.
Then, he cautiously accepted the banknote. He suddenly choked up, perhaps because having these twenty dollars on such a cold winter night meant he wouldn’t freeze to death, at least this month, or even this winter.
It was also possibly due to the long-lost sense of respect, which made him feel human again! “Mr. Lance… you are a good person; no one has ever been as kind as you!”
Lance smiled, “There wasn’t before, but now there is.”
“Alright, we should go. You also need to change your clothes; be careful not to get sick.”
“Good luck, Mr. Homeless Man!” The car window slowly closed, and the two young men returned to the car. The convoy then departed.
The homeless man chased a few steps, his eyes red, waving his hand, “Good luck to you too, Mr. Lance!”
(End of chapter)