"Where are you?"
"Guess."
"...Lake."
"Fine, I'm drinking at a bar."
"Which one?"
"..."
Lake hung up the phone he'd just remembered, smiled, and pointed at his empty glass toward the bartender behind the counter, signaling him to hurry up and refill it.
Actually...
Lake had originally planned to give himself a day off and get a good night's sleep. But then he remembered that he'd already slept in the afternoon, and more importantly, one of Maureen's words had changed his mind.
Another agency had gotten involved?
Those words weren't a deterrent to Lake. They were filled with temptation.
Lake wanted to see what this other agency was really like. If it truly was what he thought it was, then without a doubt, Lake suddenly felt that his girlfriend, Maureen, had become a stranger.
Come to think of it...
Lake suddenly remembered the several times Maureen had gone out onto the balcony to answer her phone.
Inside Budan Community.
"Bang!"
"Ah!"
"Don't move. If you move, I'll kill you."
Lake had already blasted his way through the door. Looking at the agent whose palm he'd shot through, yet who was still trying to hold a gun in his left hand, he waved casually and said lightly, "Don't think I wouldn't dare kill a federal agent."
If he was truly provoked, Lake even dared to kill the man living in the White House.
Cold sweat poured from the federal agent's forehead through the hole in his palm, but he continued to stare at Lake with a strange look in his eyes. It seemed that it wasn't just because of Lake's badge.
Lake frowned, then his gaze settled on a framed photograph sitting by the bar in the living room.
The next second.
Lake understood.
So they were a family.
"Bang!"
"William—"
"Heh."
Lake holstered his gun. Hearing a cry of pain from the second-floor staircase, he curled the corner of his mouth into a cold smile.
Since this wasn't a grudge between opposing factions, it had to be a personal vendetta. When it came to personal vendettas, Lake had always liked to root out the problem completely. Mercy? That would only give his enemy a chance to kill him in return.
He went upstairs.
Bang bang bang bang!
Bang bang bang bang!
Clang clang clang!
More than a dozen bullets fell from midair.
Jefferson Orr, the senior lawyer, held the gun he'd kept hidden in his home. His pupils contracted as he looked at Lake, who had effortlessly knocked all the bullets he'd fired out of the air. "Don't come any closer. How much money do you want? I'll give it to you."
Lake smiled. "Counselor, do you think I'm short of money?"
In truth, Lake really was short of money.
Unfortunately...
That damn cheat system wouldn't accept dollars obtained through fraud, deception, or cheating as top-up funds. If it did, Lake had even considered going to a gambling city with his clone skill to farm money, or controlling his clones to rob banks.
But the cheat system didn't accept that kind of money. Technically, black-on-black theft belonged to the same category. Still, the final say wasn't Lake's—it was in the hands of that damn cheat system.
Lake glanced at the pistol in Orr's hand, thought for a moment, and said, "How about I give you another chance? Change magazines and try again. Let's see if you can kill me."
Like hell I will.
Orr's mind replayed what had just happened, along with the sight of nine federal agents being unable to stop Lake. He took a deep breath, raised both hands high, and, under Lake's watchful gaze, dropped the pistol in his hand. "Hey, maybe we can talk."
The corners of Lake's mouth lifted. "You're smart."
If he'd known this guy was so smart, he wouldn't have come here to beat down the door. Wouldn't it have been enough to make a phone call?
Orr showed no reaction to Lake's praise. He merely kept his hands raised. "Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you. Just don't kill me. We can talk."
Lake tilted his head, remained silent for a moment, then tucked the pistol behind his waist.
Fine.
They could talk.
Lake wasn't some bloodthirsty person.
Although the Black King could, in a sense, be considered Lake's dark side, fundamentally, Lake was a simple good person. It was just that his lack of belonging in this world, combined with the déjà vu from the movies that sometimes appeared, made it difficult for him to regard some of the people here as real human beings in the true sense.
"Sit."
"...All right."
Lake sat down on the sofa in the study, then gestured invitingly toward Orr, who was standing stiffly in place.
Orr glanced at Lake hesitantly. Only after Lake spoke a second time did he hesitate for a moment before choosing to sit on the sofa at an angle across from Lake.
Just then.
The wail of a police car rang out.
And there was an FBI vehicle too.
"Heh!"
The corners of Lake's mouth lifted. Under Orr's watchful gaze, he rose directly to his feet, drew his pistol from his waist, walked over to the window, opened it, and fired repeatedly at the police cars already parked outside the door.
The officers who had rushed over in response to the emergency call hurriedly sought cover.
"Don't come any closer!"
With a click, Lake pulled a sweet potato-shaped grenade from his pocket, pulled the pin, and tossed it outside. "I've got a hostage. Be careful, or I'll kill him."
Boom!
The grenade exploded, instantly sending a law-enforcement vehicle flying.
Lake gave a cold laugh, sat back down on the sofa, casually placed the pistol on the coffee table, and said to Orr, "Now you can talk."
Orr's gaze lingered on the pistol between them for a while. Then he steadied himself, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, and asked, "What do you want to know?"
Lake said, "What do you think? I thought you were a smart man."
What did he want to know?
That was a stupid question.
Orr said, "You want to know why I took the case involving those two people who were beaten by a New York police captain and accused of intentional assault?"
Lake shrugged. "I don't really understand the terminology of the legal profession. I'm a hitman—I get paid to do a job. You're a lawyer—you get paid to do a job too. So... want a drink?"
Orr blinked. "...What?"
Lake was silent for a moment, waved his hand, and rose to walk toward the liquor cabinet in the study. "I wasn't talking to you. I was asking if you wanted a drink."
Orr opened his mouth and watched silently as Lake left the pistol behind and headed toward the liquor cabinet.
This man...
He was fishing.
That was what Orr thought. Although his eyes involuntarily kept drifting toward the pistol on the coffee table, he desperately controlled himself, preventing his body from entertaining any improper thoughts about it.
Lake glanced at the liquor cabinet, then shook his head. It was all whiskey. Although the bottles looked expensive, Lake still preferred bourbon, with both cheap and exorbitantly expensive varieties.
He turned around.
Lake smiled faintly at Orr. "So, have you made up your mind? Are you ready to tell me who paid you to take this case?"
Orr remained silent.
He seemed to be engaged in some kind of profound internal struggle.
Just then.
Click!
The power went out.
In an instant, the study was plunged into darkness.
The next second.
The lights suddenly came back on.
But...
Lake found it somewhat amusing to see Orr aiming his own pistol at him. "I thought you were a smart man. I didn't expect you to be an idiot."
Orr had completely shed his former cold-sweat-covered appearance. His right hand was wrapped around the trigger. "Is that so? If I'm an idiot, then what does that make you, a hitman who carelessly tossed away his weapon? An imbecile?"
Lake kept both hands in his pockets, a smile on his face. "Then pull the trigger. I bet there are no bullets in the gun."
Orr: "..."
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