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american comcis _ tales of caltiveter _chapter_0295_part_01
Chapter 680
chapter 0295 part 1
## Chapter 294: Bucky's Death, Choosing a Scapegoat
Due to the increasing crime rate in Detroit year after year, in order to ensure the safety of citizens, the Federal Authorities isolated the city's most dangerous criminals, placing them in the infamous crime-ridden forbidden zone: the Red Brick Special Zone! Several communities within the city were cordoned off, their inhabitants designated as criminals. Aside from daily water and electricity supply, the State Government used this area as a Prison.
This happened in a Federation that had always advocated Freedom and Democracy, which felt somewhat unbelievable. However, this was Reality. The Freedom and Democracy emphasized by the Federation was more like a weapon of class structure than a genuine principle.
The establishment of such a crime special zone was a resolution of the Alabama State Government. According to the Federal Constitution, even the Federal Government, and the newly appointed Black President, had no right to interfere.
This kind of crime special zone, controlled by Gangs, could be said to be a Paradise for criminals. Some Normal People living in such a place constantly dreamed of escaping and moving out.
However, to move out of the Community, besides needing the agreement of the Gangs within the Community, they also needed to obtain "Amnesty" from the Detroit Police Department. Otherwise, even if they did move out to another Community, they would become a key surveillance target for the Police Station.
Therefore, many people in the Red Brick Community chose to become informants for the Detroit Police Department, helping them monitor the movements within the Community.
However, these people often met a bad end.
In the early hours of the morning, in the Red Brick Special Zone, a figure suddenly appeared on the high wall built by the State Government. He flexibly gripped the protrusions on the wall surface, climbing down through the gaps in the stone bricks, as agile as a monkey.
In just a few breaths, he had climbed down four or five meters of the high wall.
Below the high wall, the sky was dark and hazy, with not a single shadow of a person. The man wearing a hooded sweatshirt pulled the hood over his head and slipped into a Small Alley. After about three or four minutes, he reappeared on the Road, astride a dilapidated Motorcycle.
"Buzz buzz buzz buzz—"
When a Gang Guard on the high wall rubbed his eyes and looked towards the Road, he only saw the shadow of the Motorcycle's taillights. He cursed under his breath, rubbed his eyes, and lay back down on his makeshift single bed, hugging his AK47, and continued to sleep soundly.
The hooded man rode the Motorcycle for about an hour, turning onto a fork in the Road. After another half an hour, he finally found a run-down Motel by following the light of a faded and rusty neon Sign.
The Boss of the Motel was a bloated middle-aged Fatty, sitting on the Boss's Chair behind the glass Counter. His eyes were narrowed into slits, looking at a spicy magazine placed on the Counter, his hand under the Counter, fiddling with something unknown.
Hearing the wind chime at the Entrance, the Boss looked up at the hooded man walking in and said in a listless tone, "Ten US Dollars for a Room."
The hooded man silently took out a ten-dollar bill from his Wallet and slapped it on the table.
The Boss reached out his thick, fat arm from the small window of the glass Counter, took the bill, turned his Seat, took a string of Keys from the Shelf, and handed them to the hooded man.
"The Room is the third one on the left on the second floor."
The Motel Boss yawned and said, "If you need to relieve your physiological needs, there's a phone book in the bedside cabinet with numbers for girls. I also advise you to take good protective measures."
The hooded man took the string of Keys stained with an unknown white liquid, and silently walked towards the second floor. He went up the steps in a few strides and found the Room according to the door number.
The bedding smelled of decay, the Carpet was burned with cigarette holes, the outside window Glass was yellowed, and the fan was sometimes working and sometimes not, truly exuding an aura of decay and dilapidation, no different from the appearance of this Urban Area Motel.
The hooded man went to the mirror in the Bathroom, took off his hood, revealing a face and neck covered in letter tattoos.
Click click!
He took out a handgun from his back waist, chambered a round, held the gun, and sat silently on the Motel's somewhat yellowed bedding, waiting.
Time passed bit by bit. The old Clock on the Motel wall ticked for about half an hour, then a rhythmic knocking sound came from outside the Door.
The man quickly got up, holding the handgun with both hands, and stood sideways, aiming at the not-so-thick wooden Door of the Motel.
Years of Community living experience told him that in this situation, he must not stand at the Entrance, otherwise, a spray of fire from outside would easily turn him into a sieve.
"Lino, it's me, Damian!"
Just as the man raised his gun and was aiming, a deliberately lowered voice sounded from outside the Door.
The man sighed in relief, held the gun in his right hand, moved closer to the Door, and carefully opened the bolt with his left hand, pulling open a Door crack.
After confirming that the person at the Entrance was someone he knew, he fully opened the Door. However, the next moment, he immediately raised his gun and pointed it at the person named Damian.
"Who is he? Didn't we agree that you would come alone this time? You betrayed me!"
Lino pointed his gun at Damian and the long-haired man behind him.
"Calm down, Lino, he's our ally. The five hundred thousand US Dollars I promised you, he's the one who paid it! He's the Employer!" Damian spread his hands and explained to Lino.
Lino frowned: "He's the Employer? Didn't you say this money was from the Detroit Police Department?"
Damian gave a wry smile: "Hey, Lino, you should know the situation inside the Police Station. Those old masters won't bother dealing with the Red Brick Community matters!"
Lino knew that Damian was right. If the Detroit Police Department had actually done something, the Red Brick Special Zone wouldn't exist.
He sized up the man behind Damian. Black long hair, wearing a long-sleeved casual denim jacket, and a baseball cap on his head, with the hat brim pulled very low, clearly not wanting to be recognized.
"Come in!" Lino tilted his head, gesturing for the two to follow him into the Room.
In the old Motel Room, there was only one Chair. Lino tucked his handgun into his rear, motioned for Damian to sit on the bed with him, and gave the Chair to the Employer.
"Damian said that the drug lords in the Red Brick Special Zone have recently switched to the counterfeit money business. Do you have any leads?"
After the man wearing the baseball cap sat down, he first raised his arm and operated something on a wrist device a few times, then looked up at Lino.
Lino stared at the man's metal-colored prosthetic hand, quietly noting this characteristic.
"Does the five hundred thousand you promised me still count?" Lino didn't answer the man's question, but instead asked back.
The man looked at Lino. Lino could clearly feel the scrutinizing gaze from under the hat brim.
The gaze that seemed to see through the human heart made Lino tremble inside. He forced himself to stay strong and swallowed a mouthful of saliva.
Just as he felt he couldn't hold on, the man took out a check from his jacket pocket, held it between his fingertips, and showed it to Lino: "As long as you can satisfy me, this five hundred thousand is yours!"
## Chapter 294: Bucky's Death, Choosing a Scapegoat
Due to the increasing crime rate in Detroit year after year, in order to ensure the safety of citizens, the Federal Authorities isolated the city's most dangerous criminals, placing them in the infamous crime-ridden forbidden zone: the Red Brick Special Zone! Several communities within the city were cordoned off, their inhabitants designated as criminals. Aside from daily water and electricity supply, the State Government used this area as a Prison.
This happened in a Federation that had always advocated Freedom and Democracy, which felt somewhat unbelievable. However, this was Reality. The Freedom and Democracy emphasized by the Federation was more like a weapon of class structure than a genuine principle.
The establishment of such a crime special zone was a resolution of the Alabama State Government. According to the Federal Constitution, even the Federal Government, and the newly appointed Black President, had no right to interfere.
This kind of crime special zone, controlled by Gangs, could be said to be a Paradise for criminals. Some Normal People living in such a place constantly dreamed of escaping and moving out.
However, to move out of the Community, besides needing the agreement of the Gangs within the Community, they also needed to obtain "Amnesty" from the Detroit Police Department. Otherwise, even if they did move out to another Community, they would become a key surveillance target for the Police Station.
Therefore, many people in the Red Brick Community chose to become informants for the Detroit Police Department, helping them monitor the movements within the Community.
However, these people often met a bad end.
In the early hours of the morning, in the Red Brick Special Zone, a figure suddenly appeared on the high wall built by the State Government. He flexibly gripped the protrusions on the wall surface, climbing down through the gaps in the stone bricks, as agile as a monkey.
In just a few breaths, he had climbed down four or five meters of the high wall.
Below the high wall, the sky was dark and hazy, with not a single shadow of a person. The man wearing a hooded sweatshirt pulled the hood over his head and slipped into a Small Alley. After about three or four minutes, he reappeared on the Road, astride a dilapidated Motorcycle.
"Buzz buzz buzz buzz—"
When a Gang Guard on the high wall rubbed his eyes and looked towards the Road, he only saw the shadow of the Motorcycle's taillights. He cursed under his breath, rubbed his eyes, and lay back down on his makeshift single bed, hugging his AK47, and continued to sleep soundly.
The hooded man rode the Motorcycle for about an hour, turning onto a fork in the Road. After another half an hour, he finally found a run-down Motel by following the light of a faded and rusty neon Sign.
The Boss of the Motel was a bloated middle-aged Fatty, sitting on the Boss's Chair behind the glass Counter. His eyes were narrowed into slits, looking at a spicy magazine placed on the Counter, his hand under the Counter, fiddling with something unknown.
Hearing the wind chime at the Entrance, the Boss looked up at the hooded man walking in and said in a listless tone, "Ten US Dollars for a Room."
The hooded man silently took out a ten-dollar bill from his Wallet and slapped it on the table.
The Boss reached out his thick, fat arm from the small window of the glass Counter, took the bill, turned his Seat, took a string of Keys from the Shelf, and handed them to the hooded man.
"The Room is the third one on the left on the second floor."
The Motel Boss yawned and said, "If you need to relieve your physiological needs, there's a phone book in the bedside cabinet with numbers for girls. I also advise you to take good protective measures."
The hooded man took the string of Keys stained with an unknown white liquid, and silently walked towards the second floor. He went up the steps in a few strides and found the Room according to the door number.
The bedding smelled of decay, the Carpet was burned with cigarette holes, the outside window Glass was yellowed, and the fan was sometimes working and sometimes not, truly exuding an aura of decay and dilapidation, no different from the appearance of this Urban Area Motel.
The hooded man went to the mirror in the Bathroom, took off his hood, revealing a face and neck covered in letter tattoos.
Click click!
He took out a handgun from his back waist, chambered a round, held the gun, and sat silently on the Motel's somewhat yellowed bedding, waiting.
Time passed bit by bit. The old Clock on the Motel wall ticked for about half an hour, then a rhythmic knocking sound came from outside the Door.
The man quickly got up, holding the handgun with both hands, and stood sideways, aiming at the not-so-thick wooden Door of the Motel.
Years of Community living experience told him that in this situation, he must not stand at the Entrance, otherwise, a spray of fire from outside would easily turn him into a sieve.
"Lino, it's me, Damian!"
Just as the man raised his gun and was aiming, a deliberately lowered voice sounded from outside the Door.
The man sighed in relief, held the gun in his right hand, moved closer to the Door, and carefully opened the bolt with his left hand, pulling open a Door crack.
After confirming that the person at the Entrance was someone he knew, he fully opened the Door. However, the next moment, he immediately raised his gun and pointed it at the person named Damian.
"Who is he? Didn't we agree that you would come alone this time? You betrayed me!"
Lino pointed his gun at Damian and the long-haired man behind him.
"Calm down, Lino, he's our ally. The five hundred thousand US Dollars I promised you, he's the one who paid it! He's the Employer!" Damian spread his hands and explained to Lino.
Lino frowned: "He's the Employer? Didn't you say this money was from the Detroit Police Department?"
Damian gave a wry smile: "Hey, Lino, you should know the situation inside the Police Station. Those old masters won't bother dealing with the Red Brick Community matters!"
Lino knew that Damian was right. If the Detroit Police Department had actually done something, the Red Brick Special Zone wouldn't exist.
He sized up the man behind Damian. Black long hair, wearing a long-sleeved casual denim jacket, and a baseball cap on his head, with the hat brim pulled very low, clearly not wanting to be recognized.
"Come in!" Lino tilted his head, gesturing for the two to follow him into the Room.
In the old Motel Room, there was only one Chair. Lino tucked his handgun into his rear, motioned for Damian to sit on the bed with him, and gave the Chair to the Employer.
"Damian said that the drug lords in the Red Brick Special Zone have recently switched to the counterfeit money business. Do you have any leads?"
After the man wearing the baseball cap sat down, he first raised his arm and operated something on a wrist device a few times, then looked up at Lino.
Lino stared at the man's metal-colored prosthetic hand, quietly noting this characteristic.
"Does the five hundred thousand you promised me still count?" Lino didn't answer the man's question, but instead asked back.
The man looked at Lino. Lino could clearly feel the scrutinizing gaze from under the hat brim.
The gaze that seemed to see through the human heart made Lino tremble inside. He forced himself to stay strong and swallowed a mouthful of saliva.
Just as he felt he couldn't hold on, the man took out a check from his jacket pocket, held it between his fingertips, and showed it to Lino: "As long as you can satisfy me, this five hundred thousand is yours!"
