101: Chapter 101: The Revision of the Law of the Jungle

East Brooklyn, Williamsburg.

Unlike Sunset Park, which is filled with dilapidated red-brick houses, the walls here are covered in cheap graffiti, and the air is thick with the smell of moldy malt and urine.

Irish territory.

These were a few alleys where even the police didn't like to linger; the Shamrock Gang had been burrowing here like rats in the sewer for decades.

Two o'clock in the morning.

An unmarked black Ford Explorer was parked at the mouth of the alley, its engine cut.

The window was rolled down a crack, and smoke drifted out from inside.

"Are you sure the information is accurate?"

Sergeant Miller, sitting in the driver's seat, flicked his cigarette butt away. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the bar deep in the alley that still had its lights on— "Old Patrick's Pub".

"My informant never lies." Chen Mo sat in the passenger seat, fiddling with a glock 19, ejecting the magazine, checking the rounds, and sliding it back in with a crisp click.

"Informant?" Miller snorted, casting a sidelong glance at Chen Mo with that all-knowing look.

"Your informant has been a bit too active lately, Robert. Every time, they manage to precisely deliver competitors... I mean, deliver criminals right to the muzzle of our guns."

Chen Mo smiled but didn't respond.

Of course, he wouldn't tell Miller that this information had come from Richie, who had called him half an hour ago with a tearful face.

This bunch of reckless Irishmen actually wanted to bypass the newly established Legacy platform and distribute goods privately.

And what they were distributing was green devil—that failed waste product that turns ordinary people into lunatics.

"That's green devil, Boss." Chen Mo holstered his gun back into his shoulder holster.

"We saw the power of that stuff in Queens last week. If this stuff flows into schools, the mayor will skin us alive and use us as rugs."

Mentioning the mayor, Miller's face twitched.

He exhaled a breath of stale air and grabbed the walkie-talkie.

"Attention everyone, target is Old Patrick's Pub. Suspects are heavily armed; free fire is authorized. Move out."

The car doors opened.

A dozen OCCB officers in tactical vests surged out from the darkness like a black tide, silently surrounding the two-story building.

"Bang!"

The battering ram slammed heavily into the oak door, sending wood splinters flying.

"NYPD! Get down! Everyone who doesn't want to die, get down!"

Roars, screams, and the sound of breaking bottles exploded into chaos.

Chen Mo followed Miller into the bar.

There were only a few drunken barflies and two scantily clad waitresses here.

Seeing the SWAT team rush in, they skillfully covered their heads and crouched on the ground, clearly having experienced this kind of scene many times before.

"No one?" Miller frowned, sweeping his gun barrel across the bar.

"They're below."

Chen Mo pointed to the corner behind the bar that was blocked by several empty beer kegs.

His [Primary Investigative Intuition] was pulsing wildly; there was an unmistakable chemical acid smell coming from there.

Miller waved his hand. Two burly officers rushed over and kicked the beer kegs aside roughly.

Sure enough, there were gaps in the floor tiles.

Prying open the tiles revealed an iron ladder leading to the basement.

A flurry of panicked footsteps and the sound of bolts being pulled came from below.

"Cops! Damn it, who led them here!" someone roared from below.

Chen Mo didn't wait for Miller's order; he pulled a flashbang from his belt, pulled the pin, and threw it down.

"Bang!"

The muffled explosion made the floor under their feet shake. This was immediately followed by screams.

"Go!"

Chen Mo was the first to slide down the ladder.

The basement was filled with smoke, and several burly Irishmen were rolling on the ground clutching their eyes. The table was piled high with green pills and sealing machines.

In the corner, a burly man with a full red beard was swaying as he raised a sawed-off shotgun—it was the gang leader, Red Dog O'Hara.

"Go to hell, you..."

"Bang! Bang!"

Two gunshots rang out.

Before the red-bearded man could finish his sentence, two bloody holes appeared in his forehead and chest.

The shotgun dropped to the floor and went off, shattering the wine rack nearby, with red wine mixing with blood flowing all over the floor.

Chen Mo lowered his muzzle, the barrel still emitting faint wisps of smoke.

The basement fell silent.

The remaining Irishmen were terrified, kneeling on the ground with their hands raised, trembling all over.

Miller came down the ladder, took a look at the corpse on the ground, and then looked at Chen Mo.

"He couldn't even keep his eyes open just now." Miller walked over and kicked the shotgun aside. "Was it necessary to headshot him?"

"He had a gun in his hand, Sergeant." Chen Mo stepped over the corpse expressionlessly and picked up a bag of green pills from the table.

"And he already had his finger on the trigger. This is called self-defense."

Miller stared at Chen Mo for several seconds; his eyes held suspicion, disgust, and a trace of helplessness.

Of course, he knew what this was about; it was a purge.

Using the name of the law, using a police badge as cover, to clean up small fry who didn't follow the rules for some unknown big shot.

But looking at the dozens of kilograms of drugs on the table, enough to ruin half the teenagers in Brooklyn, Miller swallowed the curse that had reached his lips.

"Clean up the scene." Miller turned around, no longer looking at Chen Mo.

"When you write the report, remember to include his gun. And, don't forget to add 'the suspect attempted to resist'."

"Yes, sir."

Chen Mo threw the bag of pills back onto the table.

He walked over to a trembling underling in the corner and crouched down.

"Don't... don't kill me..." The underling's crotch was already wet.

"I won't kill you." Chen Mo's voice was very soft, audible only to the two of them.

"After you get out, tell the others. Doing business in Brooklyn requires following the rules. If you want to sell goods, go register on the specific platform. Whoever dares to distribute goods privately again..."

He pointed to the red-bearded corpse on the floor.

"This will be the outcome."

Chen Mo stood up, brushed the dust off his hands, and turned to walk toward the ladder.

Behind him, the underling, as if he had seen the devil, banged his head against the floor, making a thumping sound.