Chapter 183 Battle, Exhilarating!
"Waaaaah—waaaah—"
Just as Lyon was frowning and preparing to go deeper into the laundromat, a sharp siren suddenly came from the main road outside the alley.
The sound grew louder as it approached, and at least two patrol cars were speeding closer.
It was clearly the gunshots that had just rang out in the laundromat that alarmed the nearby residents suffering from nervous breakdowns, or perhaps some unlucky passerby dialed 911.
Lyon raised an eyebrow slightly as he heard the approaching sirens.
He immediately abandoned his plan to continue searching the laundromat for clues about the possible top assassin.
Lyon is now the head of the Anti-Crime Task Force (ACU), and just half an hour ago, he received supreme on-site command authority over all patrol officers in the West Precinct from Chief Sterling.
If he were standing in the middle of this pile of rotting flesh, waiting for the local police officers who would arrive in their patrol cars to break down the door.
Following the Seattle Police Department's nauseatingly cumbersome bureaucratic procedures, as the first officer to arrive at the scene, even if he was just passing by, he had to cooperate with the homicide detectives to complete a preliminary scene investigation report that was dozens of pages long.
This mess, which is a complete waste of time and offers no real benefit, should be left to the patrol officers who are being driven to frantically meet their KPIs by Sterling today.
"Let whoever wants to write the report write it."
Lyon cursed inwardly and turned away without looking back.
He stepped over the broken glass shards mixed with rainwater and blood, retraced his steps, and walked straight out of the damaged roller shutter door of the laundromat.
In less than ten seconds, his figure disappeared into the dim night at the alley entrance, leaving the bloody mess to the patrol officers who were about to arrive at the scene.
at the same time.
Eva, who had been pressed tightly against the back door of the laundromat, in the shadow of the rusty trash can, also heard the increasingly piercing siren.
Her grey-blue eyes were fixed on the direction of the alley entrance, and she caught the sound of the handsome man's footsteps quickly disappearing into the distance.
"Gone?"
Eva quickly checked the other person's movements in her mind.
She assumed that the top cleaner had chosen to retreat because he was afraid of the police's arrival and didn't want to have a direct confrontation with the cops on the streets of Seattle.
She finally relaxed a little after the footsteps completely disappeared into the rain.
The wound on my waist, which had just been stitched up, started to bleed again due to the intense exercise and muscle tension, and a trickle of warm blood slid down the lining of my windproof jacket.
She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath of the cold air, which smelled of rust.
Eva also did not want to have any contact with Seattle's official law enforcement agencies at this time, in a seriously injured state.
If she were to be stopped by the police at the crime scene, even if it were just a simple identity verification at the police station, her forged documents would be exposed immediately.
Eva put the Glock 19 pistol back into the tactical holster on her waist.
She glanced up at the night sky above the alley, blurred by the rain, then pulled down the hood of her windbreaker and instantly disappeared into the other side of the intricate, dark alley, where even the streetlights couldn't reach.
……
The next day, night fell once again over Seattle.
On Block 8, the neon sign outside the Pink Swan strip club flickers with an ambiguous pink glow.
Tonight, the club announced its closure. The dance floor and booths on the first floor were cleared out, leaving only a few bartenders wiping glasses behind the bar.
The atmosphere in the VIP room on the second floor was so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.
Darrell stood in front of the huge one-way window, looking down at the empty street below, his face with a long scar hidden in the shadows.
"How's the mess over with Tyron going?" Darrell turned around and looked at Jimmy and Fat Mike sitting on the leather sofa.
"Don't even mention it."
Jimmy exhaled a puff of smoke from a woman's cigarette, his face grim.
"Those cops not only arrested Tyrone, but they also ransacked his underground parking garage. His elite gunmen have all scattered and are completely out of contact."
Fat Mike's massive body sank into the sofa, the gold chain around his neck bobbing up and down with his heavy breathing.
"I transferred twenty of the casino's bouncers to take the blame."
Fat Mike complained in a muffled voice.
"But these idiots have barely fired a gun. If it really comes down to a fight, I'm afraid they'll wet their pants. Today's main force still needs to be your men, Darrell."
Darrell gritted his teeth, walked to the table, and slammed his finger heavily on the surface.
"We have to keep going even if we're short-handed! Tonight's plan can't be changed."
Darrell's voice carried a hint of ruthlessness.
"Once that little bastard Lamar brings his men up, as soon as he sits down, we'll take action and shoot him to death."
Trey sat on a single sofa in the corner of the private room, holding a glass of untouched bourbon whiskey.
He was wearing an ill-fitting black suit, which Darrell had someone find for him at the last minute, saying it was to make him look like a "surviving boss."
But Trey now only sees the suit as a shroud.
Darrell walked up to Trey and patted him on the shoulder with such force that Trey almost spilled his drink.
"Listen, Trey. When Lamar comes in, you'll sit in the head seat."
Darrell pointed to the large, genuine leather boss's chair.
"You need to pretend that Boss Marcus is still alive, but too badly injured to show his face. You will represent him and negotiate with Lamar and the other leaders."
Trey swallowed hard, forced a smile that looked more like a grimace, and nodded.
But in his mind, he was already cursing wildly.
Maria, that jerk, refused to send Mexican gunmen to support them, and Darrell and his gang made the outer defenses look like paper because Tyrone was captured.
Once that madman Lamar walks in and these guys open fire, Lamar's gang of desperados will definitely retaliate fiercely.
If I sit in the most conspicuous seat, I'll definitely be the first unlucky one to be riddled with bullets.
"I'm going to the restroom to tidy up my clothes." Trey stood up and slipped out of the private room under an excuse.
He strode to the restroom at the end of the corridor, locked the door, and immediately pulled out the encrypted phone he used to contact money laundering operations on the dark web.
Trey's fingers flew across the screen, cold sweat trickling down his forehead.
He couldn't just sit in the private room and wait to die.
He had to let the fighting start outside the box.
He found the number of one of Lamar's underlings who was in charge of distributing goods and sent him an anonymous text message.
Marcus is dead. The second-floor boxes are full of gunmen. Darrell plans to kill Lamar at the negotiating table. Don't let them upstairs; storm in from the first floor.
After sending the text message, Trey immediately took the SIM card out of his phone, threw it into the toilet, and flushed it away.
As long as Lamar's men open fire downstairs, Darrell and his men will be forced to fight back, allowing Darrell to hide in the bathroom or find an opportunity to slip away in the chaos.
Meanwhile, in a billiards hall a few blocks away.
Lamar was sitting on a dilapidated billiard table, fiddling with a modified Glock pistol with an extended magazine attached to the barrel.
He looked to be in his early twenties, wearing a flashy hoodie, and his eyes held a kind of euphoria that came from taking an overdose of synthetic drugs.
The billiard room was filled with twenty or thirty equally young, hot-tempered black thugs, each carrying an automatic weapon, and the air was thick with the pungent smell of cheap marijuana.
"Beep beep beep".
A henchman next to Lamar glanced at his phone, and his expression instantly changed.
"Boss, we've received a tip."
The leader handed over the phone.
"Marcus is really dead. Darrell and his old bastards have gunmen lying in ambush on the second floor of the Pink Swan, ready to take you out."
Lamar glanced at the screen and suddenly burst into a piercing, maniacal laugh.
"Hahahaha! I knew it! That old bastard Marcus definitely got crushed by his underworld enemies!"
He suddenly jumped off the billiard table and kicked over an empty wine bottle next to him.
The sound of shattering glass echoed in the empty billiard room.
"Those old dogs, Darrell, are they trying to intimidate me using Marcus's name? Are they trying to set me up?"
Lamar's eyes turned fierce. "Then I'll just smash their place up!"
Lamar turned to look at the group of thugs who were eager to try their luck.
"Brothers! Put on your meds! Load up your bullets!"
He raised his Glock pistol and roared:
"Tonight, we're not going to have that damn banquet on the second floor! We're going straight in through the front door! We'll wipe out all the security guards on the first floor and those old geezers hiding upstairs!"
"From now on, I'm the one who calls the shots in the Blood Gang's western district!"
The thugs below erupted in a frenzied howl, pulling out pills and stuffing them into their mouths, while the sounds of bolts being pulled echoed throughout the room.
……
The back alley of the Pink Swan Club.
Rainwater dripped down the rusty fire escape.
Eva was still wearing that black waterproof jacket, the hood covering most of her face, and she was quietly pressed against the shadows in the corner of the wall.
Her grey-blue eyes swept coldly across the club's back door.
There should have been two gangsters guarding the place, but now, the two men were leaning against a trash can by the door, passing each other a marijuana cigarette and chatting about which stripper had the nicer ass, their guns not even on safety.
"A bunch of amateur idiots."
Eva mentally gave her an assessment.
Clearly, due to internal reshuffling, the club's perimeter defenses were not only weak but also extremely lax.
She drew her silenced Glock 19 from her waist, crouched low, and, using the trash cans and discarded cardboard boxes as cover, moved swiftly closer like a ghost.
"Pfft! Pfft!"
Two soft gunshots rang out.
The two henchmen who were smoking marijuana didn't even have time to turn their heads before they each had a bloody hole between their eyebrows and collapsed limply next to the trash can.
Eva stepped over the corpse and pushed open the back door.
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