A Place Without a Trace

The Tinkerer's briefcase was taken by the FBI agents and thrown into the trunk. Before putting it away, they carefully searched the inside to see if anything was amiss.

However, these are all simple medical devices and some tablet-shaped medications. Unless they are in pellet form, it's difficult for the average person to directly associate them with drugs. Problems only arise if they carefully investigate the origin of the medications.

The Tinkerer sat in the middle of the back seat, flanked by the other side's men. Agent James drove, taking detours along back roads towards the suburbs.

Although he didn't know the other person's destination, the Tinkerer was certain that they weren't planning on going to the FBI's Los Angeles office. That was in the city center, not the suburbs.

This strange behavior made the Tinkerer pay closer attention to the two people beside him. Through his X-Ray Vision, he discovered that the two men did not have FBI identification in their wallets. There were also no other identification documents in their other pockets.

These two aren't FBI agents? But the agent driving, Agent James, his identification is genuine. At least compared to the FBI Agent I've seen when I was with Ms. Hepburn, there are no obvious flaws in the regulations.

So what's going on here? The Tinkerer was a bit confused.

Kryptonian have a wide range of abilities, but they can't read minds. So the Tinkerer can only patiently try to figure out their intentions. Otherwise, he wouldn't even know how to respond.

The feeling of passively waiting for someone to expose you is actually quite unpleasant, but you have no choice but to cooperate because there are quite a few cases of entrapment by United States police.

First, using some inexplicable reason to cause trouble for someone—everyone knows this approach isn't necessarily legal or compliant. But if the person causing the trouble reacts with emotional physicality, then that becomes irrefutable evidence against them.

This is why United States law enforcement agencies lack credibility with certain groups—it's all because they've been scammed too many times. Looks like I need to change my attitude and stay far away from these guys.

The people in the car remained silent, creating a somber atmosphere. The Tinkerer wasn't exactly talkative to begin with, and the two men sitting beside him resembled prison guards escorting prisoners, their taciturn demeanor exerting an invisible pressure.

Agent James, who was driving, was the only one who was a bit busy. He would occasionally peek to the left and right through the windshield and then choose to take a detour. When they reached the suburbs, they kept taking back roads, and eventually even turned onto a road leading into the forest, the kind of road that wasn't even paved with asphalt.

The Tinkerer had gained some insight, yet remained unmoved.

The car eventually stopped where it couldn't go any further—deep in the forest. Although it didn't snow in the Los Angeles area's forests during winter, the temperature was extremely low. Breathing directly into the air would produce a puff of white mist.

In this very spot, Agent James, in the driver's seat, said, "Get out."

The Tinkerer feigned surprise and asked, "Is this a suitable place to talk?"

"Perfect." Agent James turned his head, flashing two rows of large yellow teeth at the back seat, and then winked at his colleague.

One of them got off the bus first, while the other person pushed and shoved the Tinkerer off the bus.

Before he could even regain his footing, a blow with the butt of a pistol sent him sprawling to his knees.

This was, of course, due to the Tinkerer's excellent acting skills and good teamwork... otherwise, that slap on the back of the head would have been only slightly more noticeable than a mosquito or fly landing on the skin.

The man who had been hitting someone with the butt of his gun asked impatiently, "Tell me! Where did you hide the 600,000? Don't even mention that you've spent it all in just two months."

Although he was kneeling on the ground, the Tinkerer straightened up and asked, "Is this an FBI operation? Can I file a complaint about illegal interrogation and torture?"

Agent James grinned and said, "Do you think you'll leave here alive and have a chance to appeal to the FBI about me? Because you pulled some old tricks on me at your clinic, which made my boss hold a grudge against me."

"You can't imagine what kind of life I've been living these past two months. I was transferred to a sinecure guarding the database, and since I can't go on fieldwork, I don't get any duty pay, and I never get any bonuses."

"The family loan, the alimony from my ex-wife. Those debts that just appeared out of nowhere. I've been working so hard all this time, all in order to live a better life."

"But God didn't respond to my efforts, so I had to find a way myself. You can understand that, right? Regarding your situation, I can only say I'm very sorry. You are a criminal, and that was ill-gotten gains."

"I am simply exercising my power to maintain social order. I want money to be used by good people, instead of letting good people starve while bad people go unpunished and live enviable lives."

"So I suggest you just tell me where the money is. That way you'll suffer less, we can save ourselves some trouble, and it's a win-win situation."

The Tinkerer was dumbfounded by this absurd logic. His eyes widened as he asked, "Sir, you're a government law enforcement officer. Is this permissible? Do you think you can hide these things?"

Agent James and his two companions exchanged a smile and said, "Why not? Nobody knows what I'm going to do, nobody will see us take you away, and this place is deserted; not many people know about it."

"In other words, no matter what happens to you today, you'll just be a missing person. Do you know how many people go missing in the US every year, and how many of them are ever found?"

"As long as there are no bodies, there are no murders. Without murders, there won't be any major investigations. In the end, in our eyes, you're just an insignificant number."

"I'm not afraid to let you know that these two friends of mine were comrades-in-arms in the military. It's just a pity that they left the army in a dishonorable way because of the mistreatment of prisoners of war."

"Believe me, you don't want to fall into their hands. So obediently tell us where the money is, and you'll suffer less and die a quick death. Otherwise, you'll be begging us to end your life."

"Nobody knows any of this?" the Tinkerer asked, tilting his head.

Agent James said firmly, "Nobody knows."

How can you be so sure? You might have given yourself away somewhere.

Agent James and his partner laughed smugly, saying, "You're not expecting anyone to come and save you, are you? The Continental Hotel? That's impossible. Nobody knows what happened to you, or what happened here."