The hotel is in Manhattan.
In the morning, there are not too many guests in the lobby, only one after another in the disguise of the FBI into the suits of the FBI walked to the front desk, eyes swept through the street outside, in the hospitality couch and waiting for the elevator colleagues, from his pocket to pull out a piece of identification, whispered, "FBI case."
The receptionist, thinking it was a name tag, reached for it, but shrank back as if it were a hot potato.
New York murders are frequent, there is no day without the sound of gunfire, the probability of citizens encountering unexpected cases is quite high, she is more calm, immediately pretending to receive a normal customer as low as the voice: "Uh, you, hello, may I ask what I need to do?"
Suit FBI retrieve not open at all, only revealed the FBI logo ID, and handed out a photo, "The gentleman in the presidential suite, check out?"
"How long has he not appeared."
The receptionist stared and saw Ichijō Mirai in the photo, she frowned, "Excuse me, this gentleman..."
"It's not on the registry," The suited FBI man knew what she was going to say, "You haven't seen him at all."
He rephrased the question, "Security access and separate elevators are in the presidential suite on the far east side of the hotel,"
"Any of the staff have been there regularly in recent times, is he still in the hotel?"
The elevator opened and closed, a handful of scattered FBI investigators had made their way up the stairs as if nothing had happened, the suited FBI glanced over, shared one last glance with his colleagues who had passed through the elevator themselves and made their way up the stairs in the normal way, and looked back at the front desk.
The receptionist was remembering and quickly loosened her frown, "Watson."
She replied, "Watson's been in charge of that area lately, he helps some of the cleaning staff with the presidential suite, and he's been going up there a lot lately to clean and eat, and just a little while ago, he went up there with breakfast!"
The tone of the answer was positive, it seemed that the receptionist had been watching 'Watson' before the suit's FBI arrival.
This is not the point, the point is: "...This morning, he even served breakfast?!"
The suited FBI agent immediately raised his hand and pressed the in-ear headset, whispering, "The target may not have evacuated, should we move?"
Jodie's voice sounded in the headset, "Mr. Akai is already on the top floor."
She and Akai Shūichi were both capable players that the FBI was currently in dire need of, but they didn't know each other very well, and because of the many different kinds of official business that the FBI had to deal with, they didn't usually work on many cases together, and had only heard the name in the rumors in the pantry.
This time, they were able to work together on the case because Akai Shūichi was the one who first discovered the 'master', and Jodie was the one in charge of this unusual case.
She chose to believe in Akai Shūichi's ability after only a moment's hesitation, "If the target is still alive, Mr. Akai will be in charge."
She added, "All hands are on the planned floors, continue your inquiries."
The elevator that had just risen descended again, once more with a crisp beep, and a bellhop bowed slightly, attentively guiding a gentleman in a suit, hat, and civilized stick out of the elevator.
Can make the waiter so attentive, certainly not rich or expensive, this point from the texture of the suit can be observed, as long as it is often wearing a suit, even if not specifically studied, can be roughly observed on a person with a suit in the general price range, the suit FBI will now be able to hasten to determine that the gentleman on the suit is customized.
As for the hat, civilized stick...
Suit FBI rough judgment: a more conservative UK gentleman.
Such a gentleman, generally has a deep-rooted family, the suit is just the most common link, suit FBI soon found a corroboration: the door has a special driver driving a sports car waiting.
Under the sunlight, the color of the whole body for the silver and white sports car almost shining.
Many of the FBI in the lobby looked over and were stung by the glint of money, adjusting their sitting and standing positions uncomfortably.
The suited FBI swept over the limousine and watched the suited gentleman nod slightly to the attendant who helped open the door and gracefully sat in the backseat, and couldn't help but secretly mutter a joke: 'FBI, open up!'
Then he asked the receptionist with a straight face, "OK, I see, Miss, when was the last time you saw Watson?"
The receptionist chattered her lips a few times, looked at the distinguished guest outside the door who had caught all the attention, and then at the suited FBI man, "Wa-Watson..."
"Yes," the suited FBI man raised an eyebrow, "When was the last time you saw him?"
"Or, have any of your other colleagues serving on the penthouse seen him?"
He explained, "Your hotel's CCTV has been down for a few days now, nothing's been captured."
And no one reported it.
It's probably something the 'Master' did.
It's not unusual for a guy who can scare a highway killer into peeing in his pants and avoid cameras with such precision to be able to destroy them and keep them down for a certain number of days. When the FBI remotely tweaked the cameras, they expected to find no clues, but when they didn't, they were still a little dismayed.
"Not," Said the receptionist, almost dumbfounded, "Watson!"
...What?
The suited FBI man furrowed his brow, somehow not understanding what was happening, when suddenly, a subtle, fleeting flash of light slipped through his mind, and he almost shuddered, unable to catch what felt like a lightning bolt of thought before he turned sharply and looked toward the hotel entrance.
The silver-white sports car had not yet driven away, the waiter stood respectfully at the rear door, bending down to talk to the gentleman in the car, not knowing what he said, the gentleman smiled, reached out his hand, patted his cheek with the back of his black-gloved hand, smiled and said something.
He then shifted his gaze slightly, looking through the slowly rotating glass door and locking eyes with the suited FBI man.
As if noticing the almost dazed look on the suit's face, the gentleman smiled again.
He removed his black bowler hat with his right hand, pressed it against his left breast, and nodded his head in a polite, silent gesture of greeting.
The short, wolf-tailed hair was revealed.
In the sunlight, the short white wolf-tailed hair that was almost the exact color of the sports car, glittering in the sunlight with a blinding, mocking light, was revealed.
The street seemed to have suddenly quieted down, and the FBI who were in the process of disguising themselves cast their eyes away.
The gentleman, seemingly unaware of this, casually placed his hat on one of the car seats, pulled out the handle of his civilized baton, and drew a small pistol.
He raised the pistol and pointed it vaguely at the FBI suit, still smiling in a dignified and friendly manner, but his finger pulled the trigger.
"Boom."
A flame popped out, jumping in the sunlight.