I Bet The Gun Has No Bullets

"Where are you?"

"Guess."

"...Lake."

"Alright, I'm at a bar, drinking."

"Where?"

"..."

Lake hung up the phone he'd just remembered, smiled, and gestured to the bartender behind the counter with his empty glass, signaling for a refill.

Actually...

Lake had originally planned to take a day off and get some good sleep. However, after sleeping in that afternoon, the main reason he changed his mind was a single sentence from Maureen.

Other agencies are involved?

This sentence wasn't a deterrent to Lake; it was full of temptation.

Lake wanted to see just what kind of "other agencies" they were. If it was truly what he suspected, then without a doubt, his girlfriend Maureen suddenly felt like a stranger.

Speaking of which...

Lake suddenly remembered how many times Maureen had gone out onto the balcony to take phone calls.

In the Budan Community.

"Bang!"

"Ah!"

"Don't move, if you move, I'll kill you."

Lake, who had already kicked down the door, looked at the agent whose palm he had just shot, who was still trying to hold his gun with his left hand. He waved his hand and said casually, "Don't think I won't kill a federal agent."

If he was truly provoked, Lake wouldn't hesitate to kill even the person living in the White House.

The federal agent with a hole in his palm was sweating profusely, but he still stared at Lake with a certain look in his eyes, not just for his badge, but seemingly for something else.

Lake frowned, his gaze then fixed on a photo frame placed on the bar counter in the living room.

The next second.

Lake understood.

So, it was a family matter.

"Bang!"

"William—"

"Heh heh."

Lake lowered his gun and looked at the cry of pain from the second-floor stairs, a cold smirk curving his lips.

Since it wasn't a factional hatred, it must be a personal vendetta. For personal vendettas, Lake always preferred to cut the weeds and remove the roots. Showing mercy would only give his enemies a chance to kill him.

He went upstairs.

Bang bang bang bang!

Bang bang bang bang!

Clang clang clang!

More than a dozen bullets fell from mid-air.

Jefferson Orr, the great lawyer, holding a hidden gun from the house, narrowed his eyes and looked at Lake, who had gone upstairs and skillfully shot down all his bullets. "Don't come any closer. Whatever money I have, I'll give it to you."

Lake chuckled, "Great lawyer, do you think I'm short on money?"

In fact, Lake was indeed short on money.

It was a shame...

The damn cheat system didn't accept US dollars obtained through deception or cheating. If it did, Lake would have thought about using his clone skill to go to Las Vegas to gamble or control his clones to rob banks.

But the cheat system didn't accept such money. Black-on-black dealings were theoretically in the same category. However, the final interpretation wasn't up to Lake, but to that damn cheat system.

Lake looked at the handgun in the great lawyer's hand and, after thinking for a moment, said, "How about I give you another chance? Change the magazine and try again, see if you can kill me."

I'll change your barrenness.

Orr, the great lawyer, recalled the scene that had just unfolded, and the fact that nine federal agents couldn't stop Lake. He took a deep breath, raised his hands, and dropped the gun in his hand under Lake's gaze. "Hey, maybe we can talk."

Lake's lips curved upwards. "You're very smart."

If he had known this guy was so smart, he wouldn't have come barging in; a simple phone call would have sufficed.

Orr showed no expression at Lake's praise, only keeping his hands raised. "Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you, as long as you don't kill me. We can talk."

Lake tilted his head, remained silent for a moment, and then tucked his handgun behind his waist.

Fine.

Let's talk then.

Lake wasn't the type to kill indiscriminately.

Although the Black King was, in a way, Lake's dark side, fundamentally, Lake was a good person. It was just that because he felt no sense of belonging in this world, and due to the occasional cinematic feeling, Lake found it difficult to truly consider some people in this world as genuine human beings.

"Sit."

"...Okay."

Lake sat down on the study's sofa and made an inviting gesture towards the lawyer, Jefferson Orr, who stood stiffly in place.

Lawyer Orr glanced at Lake hesitantly. Only when Lake spoke a second time did he, after a moment's pause, choose to sit on the side sofa opposite Lake.

Just then.

The wail of police sirens could be heard.

And those of the FBI.

"Heh!"

Lake's lips curved upwards. Under Lawyer Orr's gaze, he stood up, drew a pistol from his waist, walked to the window, opened it, and fired repeatedly at the police cars already stopped at the entrance.

The officers, who had just received the distress call, scrambled for cover.

"Don't come any closer!"

With a click, Lake pulled a sweet potato from his pocket, pulled the fuse, and tossed it outside. "I have a hostage here, be careful or I'll snap his neck."

Boom!

The sweet potato explosion instantly blew away one of the law enforcement vehicles.

Lake let out a cold laugh, sat back down on the sofa, and casually placed the pistol on the coffee table. He then said to Lawyer Orr opposite him, "Now you can talk."

Lawyer Orr's gaze lingered on the pistol between them for a moment before he steadied himself, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. "What do you want to know?"

Lake said, "What do you think? I thought you were a smart person."

What do you want to know?

That was a stupid question.

Lawyer Orr said, "You want to know why I took those two cases where the NYPD detective was beaten and accused of assault?"

Lake shrugged. "I don't understand the jargon in the legal world. I'm a killer; I do my job for money. You're a lawyer; you also do your job for money. So... want to have a drink?"

Lawyer Orr blinked. "...What?"

Lake was silent for a moment, then waved his hand and walked towards the liquor cabinet in the study. "I wasn't talking to you, asking if you wanted a drink?"

Lawyer Orr opened his mouth, watching Lake, who had left his pistol and was heading towards the liquor cabinet, in silence.

This guy...

He's fishing.

Lawyer Orr thought to himself. Although his eyes uncontrollably darted towards the pistol on the coffee table, he tried his best to control his body and not have any improper thoughts about the weapon.

Lake glanced at the liquor cabinet and shook his head. They were all whiskeys. Although they all looked expensive, Lake preferred bourbon, which existed in both cheap and sky-high price ranges.

Turning back.

Lake smiled slightly at Lawyer Orr. "So, have you decided? Are you ready to tell me who paid you to take this case?"

Lawyer Orr remained silent.

It seemed as if he was undergoing some kind of internal struggle.

Just then.

Click!

The power went out.

Instantly, the study was plunged into darkness.

The next second.

The lights suddenly came back on.

However...

Lake looked with amusement at Lawyer Orr, who was now aiming his own pistol at him. "I thought you were a smart person, but it turns out you're an idiot."

Lawyer Orr, shedding his sweaty appearance, had his right hand on the trigger. "Is that so? If I'm an idiot, what does that make you, a killer who carelessly discards his weapon, a complete fool?"

Lake stood with his hands in his pockets, a smile on his face. "Then go ahead and shoot. I bet there are no bullets in the gun."

Orr: "..."