91: Chapter 91 Legitimate Violence

3:00 AM, the Anti-Gang Unit of the New York 127th Precinct.

Sergeant Miller was dozing at his desk, snoring loudly enough to shake the room.

Beside an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts sat half a half-eaten donut.

"Thwack."

A file folder stained with grease and unidentifiable grime was slammed down beside his ear.

Sergeant Miller sprang up like an old cat whose tail had been stepped on, his hand instinctively reaching for the holster at his waist.

After seeing who it was, he cursed and relaxed his hand.

"Damn it, you'd better be here to tell me you've quit."

Sergeant Miller rubbed his bloodshot eyes and glanced at Chen Mo standing in front of him.

Chen Mo hadn't changed out of his beggar's outfit, and he reeked of a nauseating, sour stench.

But his eyes were terrifyingly bright; he didn't look at all like a rookie who had been out on the streets all night.

"Search warrant."

Chen Mo slapped a handwritten application onto the desk.

"I want to raid the basement at 404 West Street in Sunset Park."

"Reason?"

Sergeant Miller picked up the paper, looking as if he were watching a joke.

"Just because your nose smelled something?"

"Illegal possession of automatic weapons, distribution of Schedule I controlled substances, and a murder."

Chen Mo pulled up a chair, sat down, and crossed his legs, completely ignoring the filth on his body.

"I didn't just smell it; I saw it."

"Where's the evidence?"

"The body is in a dumpster in the back alley, still warm."

Sergeant Miller stared at Chen Mo for a full ten seconds.

He wanted to find even a hint of fear or hesitation on the young man's face, but he failed.

There was only a cold calculation in the kid's eyes, like a butcher selecting pork.

"Do you know whose turf that is?"

Sergeant Miller lit a cigarette.

"The 18th Street Gang. They have AKs, even grenades. You're going alone?"

"If you send SWAT, they'll have already run off through the sewers," Chen Mo said.

"Sign it for me. If anything goes wrong, you can say I acted on my own."

Sergeant Miller exhaled a cloud of smoke, grabbed his pen, and signed his name fiercely on the application.

"If you die, don't expect me to collect your body."

"Don't worry," Chen Mo stood up and grabbed the paper.

"I'm not used to lying down."

...

Half an hour later. Sunset Park.

Chen Mo returned to that iron door.

This time, he didn't knock.

He took two steps back and kicked it with full force.

"Bang!"

The rusted iron door, as if made of paper, flew in along with the doorframe and slammed heavily into the tattooed brute who was about to open it.

The music came to an abrupt halt.

Dozens of eyes turned to look in unison.

"NYPD! Vice Squad!"

Chen Mo shouted, and before his voice had even faded, the gun in his hand had already fired.

It wasn't a police-issue glock, but an M1911 he had procured from Marcus's armory.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Three gunshots rang out, rhythmic like a pile driver.

The skinny monkey behind the bar, who was just about to reach for a shotgun, had his head explode like a watermelon.

Two thugs attempting to flip a table for cover simultaneously gained a blood hole in the center of their foreheads.

"Damn it! It's a cop! Take him out!"

The dreadlocked leader jumped out from behind a sofa, frantically pulling the trigger of his modified glock.

Bullets flew across the narrow basement, causing plaster to splatter and liquor bottles to shatter.

Chen Mo didn't dodge.

He moved the moment the shots rang out.

It wasn't that slow-motion bullet-dodging from the movies, but an incredibly precise Tactical Evasion.

He sidestepped and slid, using a load-bearing pillar as an axis, his whole body moving like a grey ghost.

[Gun Kata] activated.

In his vision, the trajectories of the incoming bullets were clearly visible, and every enemy's movements were slowed down.

He even had time to judge which person's gun safety was still on and who was just bluffing.

Chen Mo flashed half his body out from behind the load-bearing pillar.

He raised his hand.

"Bang!"

The dreadlocked leader's wrist was shattered, and his pistol flew away.

Immediately followed by a second shot.

"Bang!"

The bullet pierced through his knee.

The dreadlocked man screamed and fell to his knees.

The remaining few thugs were completely terrified.

They were fine bullying honest people on a normal day, but when truly encountering a ruthless character who treated killing like eating, they couldn't even hold their guns steady.

"Drop your guns! Hands on your heads! Kneel down!"

Chen Mo's voice echoed in the basement, carrying an unquestionable penetrating power.

That lackey, who had been shouting just a moment ago, dropped his Uzi submachine gun with a "clatter," put his hands on his head, and knelt on the ground with a thud, his crotch instantly soaking wet.

Chen Mo walked across the chaotic casino, his leather boots crunching on broken glass and blood, making a creaking sound.

He walked up to the kneeling dreadlocked leader and pressed the muzzle against his forehead.

"Where is the doctor?" Chen Mo asked.

The dreadlocked man was covered in cold sweat from the pain, gritting his teeth: "Fuck you... kill me if you have the guts..."

"Bang!"

Chen Mo pulled the trigger without hesitation.

The bullet grazed the dreadlocked man's ear and hit the floor behind him.

"The next shot won't miss."

Chen Mo's voice was so calm it was chilling.

"I'll count to three."

"One."

"Don't, don't kill me!"

The dreadlocked man broke down; he had never seen a cop who started shooting right away like this.

"He's at a cold storage facility in Queens, delivering goods on the 15th of every month, really! Don't kill me!"

Chen Mo put away his gun and kicked him over.

"Very good."

He looked around.

The floor was covered with gamblers and thugs crying with their hands on their heads.

But behind a slot machine in the corner, Chen Mo saw a pair of eyes.

It was a young man who looked less than twenty years old, skinny as a bamboo pole.

He wasn't trembling in fear like the others, nor were his eyes unfocused from drug use.

He was clutching a switchblade, staring fixedly at Chen Mo, with a beast-like vigilance and... hunger in his eyes.

Chen Mo narrowed his eyes.

[Basic Recon Instinct] told him that this kid was different.

He wasn't on drugs, and during the shootout earlier, this kid had even tried to pick up a dropped pistol, only failing because Chen Mo was too fast.

Chen Mo walked over.

The young man gripped the knife tighter, his knuckles turning white.

"If you don't want to die, drop the knife," Chen Mo said.

The young man hesitated for a moment, then let go, and the knife dropped to the floor.

"What's your name?"

"Richie."

"Very good, Richie."

Chen Mo took a coin out of his pocket and tossed it to him.

"Go to the back door and wait. If you run, or try to pull anything, I will find you. You know I can do it."

Richie caught the coin, looked at Chen Mo, and then at the corpse on the ground.

He didn't speak, turned around, and disappeared into the shadows at the back.