Chapter 12: Killers Don't Have Vacations
A garbage truck slowly drove into the Brotherhood's textile factory, which looked like a castle from the outside.
Soon, a body was unloaded from the truck.
The Butcher's.
"Damn!"
"How could this happen?"
The repairman, the pharmacist, Firefox, and the newly released killer Wesley stared at the Butcher's body. He had been shot not only in the leg but also in the chest, and even had a bullet through his eyebrow. They fell silent.
The Cross... This must be his work, Wesley thought, though he wanted to kill the Cross himself.
Clearly, Wesley believed the Butcher was another victim of the Cross.
However, a garbage worker, seeming to have thought of something, took out a card from his pocket and handed it to Factory Manager Sloan, who was expressionless as he took it: "Manager, this was found next to the Butcher's body."
Sloan took the card. Firefox, the repairman, and the pharmacist also looked over.
The card was pitch black, like a business card.
**"Criminal Notice"**
"..."
"This is..."
"Texas Sin Hunters?"
"What's a Sin Hunter?"
Firefox glanced at the ignorant Wesley and briefly explained, "A killer who has been active in the Texas killer circle for the past two years, codenamed Wushuang, known as the Crime Hunter by the police because his targets are all guilty individuals. He likes to leave this card after killing someone. His name, age, and even gender are unknown. It seems this Wushuang made a move in New York City a few days ago."
The last sentence was directed at Sloan.
However, why did this Wushuang suddenly target the Butcher?
Firefox frowned. "What did the Butcher do today?"
The small-built killer, who always seemed more like a victim in front of the Butcher, glanced at Sloan and answered, "He went to execute destiny."
Firefox looked directly at Sloan.
Sloan raised an eyebrow.
Ten minutes later, Firefox obtained a document.
**Locke Broughton's.**
"Him."
Firefox looked at Locke's information, then at the textile cloth with Locke's name written on it and the specially decrypted codebook. She almost figured it out immediately: "Is he the Peerless Assassin?"
"What?"
The repairman laughed as he looked at the photo of Locke, dressed in a casual suit and appearing mature but actually only sixteen years old. "Firefox, he's only sixteen. Two years ago, the Wushuang assassin was already active. If this kid is the Wushuang assassin, then he started killing at fourteen?"
Right.
Firefox considered the repairman's answer.
"Besides, Wesley died at the New Jersey Water Works. I checked this Locke Broughton's phone signal. He hasn't left New York City today."
"Then..."
"I don't know."
Factory Manager Sloan's face turned sour.
The trouble caused by the Cross hadn't been resolved, and now another unparalleled assassin appeared?
How to deal with this?
Using the Brotherhood as a springboard to make a name in New York City?
At this moment...
"Wow wow wow wow!"
"..."
An employee, who was also a killer intern, called out: "Director, Sheriff George Stacy of the NYPD and Sheriff Curran of the Jersey City Police Department want to see you."
Sloan looked at Firefox, who was holding Locke's information: "This fate is handed over to you and Wesley's trial."
Firefox nodded.
Soon, everyone left one after another.
A while later, Sloan forced a smile onto his wrinkled face, got up, and shook hands with Sheriff George Stacy and Sheriff Curran, who were brought in. His smile was one of practiced hospitality.
The New York Police Department, as the largest police agency in the entire federal government, held significant authority.
Put it this way, the New York Police Department's sheer number of employees dwarfed the FBI's.
Elsewhere, the FBI might dominate, but in New York City, the New York Office of the FBI was almost invisible. To take a case, it wasn't about whether the FBI wanted it but whether the NYPD was willing to give it.
As for why George and Sheriff Curran were here, the reason was simple.
The cases overlapped.
Yesterday, the identity of the remains that smashed Locke's car was identified as an employee of the textile factory.
In the afternoon, the body of the taxi driver wasn't retrieved by the factory people. The textile factory found the body, but it had already been taken to the Jersey City Police Station.
Similarly, the taxi driver was also an employee of the textile factory.
Although New Jersey across the Manhattan River might seem like a country to New York, George and Sheriff Curran, both from Texas, had a good relationship.
When Curran spoke to him this afternoon, George keenly sensed a connection between the two cases.
The textile mill where the two worked had issues.
George had planned to come over tomorrow but remembered he promised his daughter he'd drive Gwen to an interview at Osborn Bio. Curran had just come to find him, so they decided to come tonight.
If there really was an issue, they would investigate immediately.
What? Dangerous?
Ha ha.
No one dared to confront the NYPD on their turf.
Not openly, anyway.
Not even the FBI.
---
Outside the textile factory, Locke held a Super Magnum and watched a police car parked at the open factory gate.
Good grief.
"I was just about to start my operation, and my father-in-law shows up?"
"Nonsense!"
"George is out so late; does Helen know?"
Locke was speechless.
In his scope, he had just aimed at the textile factory employees. He was about to pull the trigger when a police car arrived.
Looking closer...
Oh!
George.
Locke's eyebrows twitched as he turned off the safety to avoid accidentally shooting George.
But...
Why were there so few people in the textile factory?
Locke put down the thermal imaging telescope, stared at the dozen or so people in the textile factory, and raised his eyebrows, feeling puzzled.
Wait.
Tomorrow...
Saturday?
---