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"did you find it?"

"We searched everywhere and couldn't find a single hair. Did the FBI make a mistake?"

"I hope so."

Peron exhaled a long puff of smoke. For some reason, he felt that this case was full of strange things.

The plainclothes policeman quickly finished his pork burger, glanced around, and said in a low voice...

"Captain, have the police powered armor manufactured by Tesla arrived yet?"

Belon glanced at him and chuckled, "What, you want one too?"

"Who wouldn't want that!"

The plainclothes policeman grinned warmly: "I've heard that police armor is impervious to knives and bullets and has extremely high performance. With it, these criminals will be a piece of cake to catch, right?"

"not that simple."

Belon threw his cigarette butt on the ground and stomped his foot angrily: "The police armor is indeed good, but it's too expensive. A set costs 90. Damn, it's a total rip-off."

"Tesla is too greedy."

How many sets of armor can we get?

"Only four sets are allowed, otherwise the bureau leaders will forcibly take them away."

"It shouldn't be!"

The plainclothes policeman scratched his head, a puzzled look on his face: "Didn't the mayor order more than two thousand sets of police powered armor from Tesla? How come we only have four sets on hand?"

"Do you think these power armor suits are all for the police?"

Thinking of this, Belon took a breath: "Security guards want to wear them, the armed police and special police want to wear them, the procuratorate doesn't want them to take action, and there are also guards from prisons and departments, anti-drug teams, criminal investigation teams, and others. No one else will help them."

"They're all damned children who have no milk!"

At that moment, a commotion arose from the front of the stage. The strange circus ringmaster, László Valentine, a tall, imposing man with a broad forehead and wide-open eyes, who looked somewhat menacing but had a very infectious voice, went on stage to greet the 5.7 guests.

At his call, the audience erupted in waves of enthusiastic applause.

After the speech, the formal introduction began. To be honest, this peculiar circus performance was nothing special. Whether it was the equestrian performance, the monkeys riding bicycles, the grizzly bears tossing rings, the dogs riding motorcycles, or the clowns playing with a ball, it was all quite ordinary.

The reason so many guests came was because of the "charitable act" of the tour leader, László Valentin, who distributed bread to the poor, and the poor naturally embraced him.

There is no shortage of beggars in the world.

The show started at 7:30 p.m. and lasted until 11 p.m. After the show, people took their seats one by one, while some homeless people stayed in the temporary accommodations provided by the circus.

"let's start!"

Perón glanced at his men, who nodded and donned vagrant clothing to blend into the crowd.

Chapter 1335 Of course there is a problem!

This case was somewhat unusual, and it was difficult to find clues using ordinary methods, so Perón came up with the idea of ​​"entrapment".

A policeman disguised as a homeless man successfully entered the temporary accommodation provided by the circus, and all that was left was to wait. If László Valentine was really in trouble, he certainly wouldn't miss such a good opportunity.

The wait was long. Perón and a few others hid in a nearby building, smoking and observing the circus's movements with infrared binoculars.

Before he knew it, it was almost 2 a.m., and Belon, who was resting on the sofa, was woken up by his men.

"Captain, something's wrong."

Perón hurriedly got up and picked up his binoculars to observe. He saw that outside the tents where the homeless people lived, the unfamiliar circus ringmaster, László Valentine, was carrying a bag and seemed to be distributing food. After a while, several homeless people jumped out of the tents, ran to the truck, and said something to Valentine. Then, the group got into the truck and left the circus grounds.

"Of course there is a problem!"

Peron gave a cold snort, then beckoned his men to get into the truck and follow behind him.

　11 Tonight, they are going to retrieve the stolen goods.

The truck drove eastward, passing through the most chaotic crime alleys and boiler rooms, without stopping even when it reached the outskirts of the city.

Belon dared not follow too closely and ordered his men to keep a large distance from the vehicle to avoid being spotted. But just as they were crossing an overpass, a large truck suddenly appeared in front of them and stopped strangely in the middle of the road.

"What happened? Who parked their car here?"

The police officer in charge of driving hesitated and said, "Captain, I think this truck is about to overturn."

"To the side?"

Perón paused for a moment, then flew into a rage: "What did you say? You think it's a crab?!"

Several people ran to the front of the truck, only to find that there was no one in the driver's seat, no driver, yet the truck could still move?

This bizarre scene made everyone present tense, and one of the police officers muttered something under his breath.

"Could it be a ghost?!"

The air grew even colder as soon as he finished speaking.

Peron glared at his men, who were still in the mood for jokes: "Forget about the truck, the case is the priority. Carrick is still in the truck. If we lose him, his life will be in danger."

The crowd nodded in approval, murmuring their approval.

The road was difficult to travel, so everyone had to retreat and take the overpass next to them. This back-and-forth would waste a lot of time, but unfortunately, the madness was far from over.

The police car's tire blew out as soon as it entered the middle of the bridge.

Belon was both angry and helpless, so he could only call the nearby branch office and ask them to send a car.

Gotham in December was frighteningly cold. Everyone gathered together sat in the police car, quietly gazing at the water in the distance.

"Hopefully Carrick can hold on a little longer."

...

A truck full of homeless people drove through the suburbs toward a dilapidated slaughterhouse.

Laszlo Valentine opened the door and invited the homeless men into his room for drinks. After a few bottles of whiskey, the atmosphere became tense.

Valentine, who was well-traveled and knowledgeable, was impressed by a few stories. He went to the kitchen to prepare fine wine and food to entertain as many guests as possible.

The series of hospitality perfectly demonstrated the spirit of hospitality.

Even undercover cop Carrick was baffled: Could someone like this really be a kidnapper?

Could it be that the FBI has the wrong person?

As more and more empty bottles appeared, the homeless men, unable to resist the effects of alcohol, collapsed to the ground one by one. Valentine's face was flushed, but his eyes were unusually excited, his pupils wide open, with a burning flame faintly visible.

Carrick could no longer hold back. After finishing the last glass of whiskey, he collapsed onto the sofa and fell into a deep, unconscious sleep.

Everyone except Valentine was drunk. He sat up, grabbed a piece of steak with a bite taken out of it, put it in his mouth and tore it open. Blood gushed out of the meat and splattered all over his face.

He sat before the fireplace, the firelight illuminating his obese face, his rolling eyes revealing boundless greed and desire.

After eating and drinking his fill, Valentine picked up the key and went to the cellar behind the slaughterhouse.

As the heavy iron gate opened, a nauseating stench of blood assaulted the senses.

Valentine loved the taste. He took a deep breath and felt refreshed, and couldn't help but smile happily.

We went down to the basement and first saw rows of pork hanging there, but the further we went, the less pork there was. Hanging on the hooks were insect pupae, sealed in plastic bags.

Hair and bones were scattered on the ground, some still dripping blood.

At the far end of the basement was an iron door, behind which lay the slaughterhouse. Valentine took off his coat, put on a blood-stained apron, opened a cabinet, and took out a hideous, grotesque mask shaped like a pig's head sewn from human skin.

The mask made Valentine look like a completely different person, emanating an aura of ferocity and cruelty.

He walked to the mirror, looked at his pig-like face, a cannibalistic smile creeping onto his lips, and asked...

What's the difference between a human and a pig?

"Why? Look at them, the way they eat, and they're talking nonsense!"

Valentine grinned crookedly, picked up a curved knife from the table, held it to his neck, and brandished it back and forth, saying...

"There's no difference between humans and pigs; killing someone is like killing a pig."

I never imagined there were people like you in the world.

An unfamiliar voice came from behind, and Valentine's expression changed. "Who, who's there?"

Bang

13. Walk in under the lights.

"László Valentine, you damned beast."

"Another boring person."

Valentine snorted, stuck out his tongue and licked the back of his knife, eagerly examining the newcomer. His smile deepened as he looked, and finally he couldn't help but exclaim in admiration.

"Perfect, so perfect."

"Your flesh would taste really good with handcuffs on."

bang

The roof exploded, and a figure descended from the sky, kicking Valentine in the stomach. Visible waves of air surged through the air, Valentine's stomach caved in, and his face snapped backward 150 degrees. With a cracking sound, like a baseball being hit by a bat, he flew straight backward.

Bang