Half an hour later.
The entire apartment building had been surrounded layer upon layer by NYPD forces, with the police cordon extending all the way to the street corner.
On an ambulance.
Lake, his right arm exposed and his gold-rimmed glasses back on, was receiving treatment with disinfectant from a cute young nurse.
His Immortal Body only guaranteed that he would not die and that his body would remain intact, but he could still be injured. Unless a bullet hit him in the head and was expelled by itself, other bullets would not come out on their own.
And the pain did not disappear, either.
"Tsk!"
Lake's right arm trembled slightly. He instinctively pulled it back, only for the cute nurse to yank it back into place.
The youthful and beautiful nurse did not even look up. "Don't move."
Her voice was quiet, but unquestionable, as if a powerful force of law had descended.
Lake opened and closed his mouth. "..."
Not far away.
Joe, whose forehead had also been bandaged, walked over. He happened to hear Lake and the nurse's exchange, and found it somewhat unbelievable. It was difficult to connect the Lake before him, who complained of pain after suffering only a minor scrape, with the fierce man who had traded gunfire with the killer in the corridor and even kicked away a grenade.
Joe shook away his miscellaneous thoughts. "Are you all right?"
Lake looked up at Joe as he approached, gauze wrapped around his forehead, and asked in return, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"That's good."
Joe was silent for a while before saying to Lake, "Thanks."
Lake glanced at Joe. "It's nothing. Once George's assignment is over, just hurry up and report in."
Joe: "..."
At that moment, two bodies and three wounded people were carried out from the apartment entrance. The old woman in 502, opposite 503, and her son, who lived with her, had unfortunately died in the explosion.
After Inspector Montgomery finished answering reporters' questions by the cordon, he walked over with a grim expression.
Joe greeted Montgomery. "Sir!"
A trace of helplessness showed on Montgomery's dark face as he looked at Lake sitting on the ambulance. "You were suspended for a month, and I'd forgotten that your catchphrase was 'the bigger the scene, the better.'"
Lake shrugged. "Sir, my catchphrase is, 'I am irreconcilable with evil.'"
What bigger scene?
This had been completely uncontrollable. After all, the NYPD's Major Crimes Division dealt with some of the most vicious criminals around. Unlike Divisions One and Two, Division Three had only Lake, so shootouts were naturally unavoidable when apprehending criminals.
If anyone was to blame...
It was all the National Rifle Association's fault.
Who told them to let guns become so widespread across the country? Forget firearms—even ordinary people could find a way to buy an RPG if they really wanted one.
"Oh, so you're saying I blamed you unfairly?"
"I don't mind."
"I mind!"
Montgomery raised his voice slightly. Looking at the hole blasted into the fifth floor of the apartment by the grenade, he felt a vein throb in his brow. "You just got reinstated, and on your first assignment, you blew half of this year's remaining public-damage compensation budget. And what did you find?"
Joe cut in from the side. "Sir, we..."
Lake looked directly at Montgomery. "That John Doe belonged to a killer organization, one operating on New York soil."
Joe blinked.
The angry expression on Montgomery's face changed. He looked at Lake but said nothing.
Lake climbed down from the ambulance, moved his right arm around a little, and said to Montgomery, "That John Doe, David Commers, also belonged to this killer organization. I got word from an informant that a killer defected from the organization some time ago. The organization wanted to make an example of him, so..."
As he spoke, Lake shrugged and did not continue.
An informant?
No such person existed. Lake claimed to have an informant merely so that, after everything was over, he could apply to the precinct for an informant fee of up to two thousand dollars.
Two thousand dollars was a drop in the bucket when it came to drawing prizes, but it would at least cover Lake's living expenses for the month.
No one would probably believe it if he said it.
The head of NYPD's Third Major Crimes Division actually had to rely on embezzling informant fees to support himself.
"Your informant?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is the information reliable?"
"One hundred percent."
Montgomery looked at Lake, fell silent for a moment, then turned and walked outside. "I'm giving you ten days. Give me an explanation, or I'll give you one."
Having blown through the Major Crimes Division's entire remaining public-compensation budget in a single operation, Montgomery's heart was bleeding. Without this incident, the money could have been handed out as bonuses at the end of the year.
But...
If the second-half public-compensation budget could be traded for taking down a killer organization, then heck, Montgomery would not be heartbroken. He might even make a profit.
Soon.
After most of the officers who had been clearing the apartment after the explosion withdrew, Lake and Joe walked back inside.
A huge hole had been blasted through the corridor on the entire fifth floor.
When they entered Apartment 503, the fire had already been extinguished. The entire apartment had been burned beyond recognition, and at a glance, nothing of value remained.
Several officers searched through the wreckage the fire had swept across, looking for anything they considered valuable—for example, the address of a killer organization.
But...
Lake did not need to search at all, because the Assistance Society's address was obvious. It was on the riverbank near New Jersey, in a former castle that had been converted into a textile factory.
However...
The textile factory was registered as a company, paid its taxes properly, and employed a group of deaf-mute workers. It provided roughly three hundred jobs for New York City.
So...
Even though Lake knew the Assistance Society's address, it would be difficult to lead a team there and storm the place directly.
Because there was no evidence.
Sure enough.
When they returned to the office, Montgomery's face turned completely dark after hearing Lake's request to move against the textile factory.
"You want to lead a team to surround a textile factory that donated nearly five million dollars during the World Trade Center incident last month—and one that both the mayor and the governor visited half a month ago?"
Lake nodded. "Yes."
Montgomery set down the fountain pen in his hand, wiped his face, then let his gaze drift away, as if he could not quite believe what he was hearing. "Do you have any evidence?"
"Evidence?"
Lake said, "No. But that place is the headquarters of a killer organization called the Assistance Society. If I take the Special Operations Team there now, I can put the evidence in front of you by tonight."
Montgomery felt as if his entire world had gone wrong. "You want me to hand the Special Operations Team over to you without any evidence, then follow you to a textile factory that provides jobs for the New York Disability Association, so you can go 'spread warmth' there?"
As he spoke,
Montgomery's face turned pitch-black. "Don't even think about it!"
Lake: "..."
Before you continue