In the past, Curacao would not have cared about Bourbon's condition. At most, she would have checked whether he had done anything suspicious, so she could report it.
But now, ever since Bourbon had become some guy's "boss," then unknowingly been molded into a suicidal incendiary weapon that struck wherever it was pointed... whenever Curacao saw the codename "Bourbon," she would jolt alert and focus with two hundred percent of her attention.
—She had not forgotten that inexplicable chase, the sudden explosion in the sewer manhole, or the manhole cover that had nearly sliced her in half.
I remember that lone wolf Bourbon rarely uses peripheral members. Today's deployment is a little unusual. Alarm bells rang in Curacao's mind. Who caused this "unusual" situation?
After thinking it over, she opened one of the peripheral members' mailboxes and began typing, asking about the mission Bourbon had assigned.
Before long, a reply arrived:
[Bourbon told us to split into pairs. One group is to cause a disturbance at the Dessert Museum's luggage storage area, while the other takes advantage of the chaos to carry away one of the boxes.]
A secretly taken photo was attached in the middle.
Curacao glanced at the photo. Looking at the box, her brows slowly furrowed.
The peripheral member had thought of the same thing she had:
[He didn't tell us what was inside the box, but when an employee ran past in a panic just now, his calf bumped into it. The box barely moved—it's very heavy.
[Given its size, I suspect there might be a corpse inside.]
Curacao: "..." A corpse?
Was Bourbon going to become a suspect again?
Something about this felt far too simple...
She tapped on the keyboard and told the other side to keep watching and update her in real time.