On the third floor of the headquarters building, inside the office at the end of the corridor.
Lucas, the slicked-back leader of the Oak Gang, sat in a leather chair, carefully fiddling with the torture devices on his desk. He was trying to figure out how to pry the whereabouts of the film reel out of that kid, Gilan.
Then a sudden burst of gunfire sounded outside, making Lucas furrow his brow.
With a clatter, he tossed aside the pair of pliers in his hand and reached for a cigarette, only to find his pack was already empty.
Lucas cursed under his breath and bent down to rummage through a cabinet. A moment later, he pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes. As he opened it, he impatiently called out:
"Folk!"
Before long, the office door opened.
"Boss, what is it?" a man's voice called.
"What the hell is going on out there?!"
Lucas didn't look up. He pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips, but his hand froze as he struck a match.
Only then did he realize that the voice answering him wasn't Folk's at all!
He snapped his head up.
A pitch-black gun barrel was already aimed at his eyes.
Lucas's gaze traveled up from the Luger Pistol: a hand wrapped in bloodstained white bandages, a black coat, and a blood-speckled, expressionless face beneath a beige soft cap.
Gilan Iros?!
His pupils shrank.
After a brief moment of stunned silence, Lucas calmly struck the match.
Fss.
He lit the cigarette between his lips, flicked out the match, then leaned back against the soft leather chair and said evenly:
"Looks like you've already killed everyone downstairs, Gilan... Incredible. How did you pull it off? I didn't believe that fat bastard Hashem at first, but now I have to. You really did carve your way out of the police station all by yourself!"
Lucas blew out a stream of smoke and shook his head ruefully.
"Heh, I was naïve enough to think I could keep you under control. I never expected to invite a wolf into my home... You got this strong because of that black film reel, didn't you? No wonder the police station and the higher-ups are so desperate to get it back."
Gilan didn't answer Lucas's question. He simply said:
"Is that your last request?"
"My last request? No, no." Lucas smiled sincerely and spread his hands. "I know my earlier offense made you angry, and I sincerely apologize for it. I'll also give you compensation you'll be happy with! There are no eternal enemies in this world, only eternal interests. We can work together!"
"With your abilities and that film reel, I can persuade Mr. Layton Louis to use all his connections and resources to protect you. Then you won't have to hide anymore. You could even walk all over Black City! And if you ever want to leave, I can guarantee you'll be able to get elsewhere safely without the police stopping you!"
Lucas spoke with conviction, staring straight at the blond young man before him.
Gilan nodded.
"I can tell you're not lying to me."
"Of course not. You're worth far more than you realize, Mr. Gilan."
Lucas kept smiling, and couldn't help but feel a wave of relief.
Bang!!
His smile froze. A bloody hole appeared between his brows.
Lucas slumped into the leather chair. In the final moment before his consciousness sank into darkness, he was still confused. He couldn't understand why Gilan would kill him despite such a tempting offer.
"But a man must never forget the debts he owes."
Gilan holstered his gun and spoke softly.
"That's my creed. I'll leave it with you, too, Mr. Lucas Parr."
He strode over, grabbed the leather chair, and flipped it over along with the corpse.
Clatter!
Then Gilan began searching the desk. Before long, he found a locked drawer.
He couldn't be bothered to look for a key and kicked it open.
Bang!
The solid-wood drawer front shattered. Gilan reached inside without changing expression and pulled out a ledger, a roll of banknotes, and a gold watch.
He turned the valuable watch over in his hand and nodded to himself.
According to the original owner's memories, a clock was something ordinary families couldn't afford. Even the cheapest wall clock cost at least two or three Caesars, let alone a delicate little gold watch.
Working-class people who needed to get to work on time, or carters who hauled cargo in the early hours, would hire "window knockers" to wake them at a fixed time. Each wake-up call cost only one Melang.
As for being a "window knocker," all it took was scraping together enough money to buy a clock, investing in one, and getting a long bamboo pole. It could bring in a steady income for years.
Clearly, clocks were undeniably valuable luxuries in the eyes of ordinary people.
Lucas's gold watch should be worth around ten Caesars.
Gilan estimated its value and slipped it into his briefcase.
As for the roll of banknotes, when he counted it, it came to exactly fifteen Caesars.
That was no small sum, but Gilan frowned. He had personally been involved in selling liquor, and he knew the Oak Gang dealt in contraband as well as bootleg liquor.
Lucas shouldn't have had only this much dirty money.
Before the Bremen Empire enacted Prohibition, a bottle of whiskey cost five Melangs. But now, the Oak Gang's homebrewed Mr. Barley—diluted, low-quality whiskey—sold for one Pfennig a bottle, more than twice the price. It was pure profit.
Their other product, Miss Grape, homemade red wine, sold for three Pfennigs and ten Melangs a bottle. The Oak Gang should have been rolling in money.
Gilan frowned and opened the ledger.
He quickly found the answer.
"Dawn Era 1926, January 31: Delivered 53 Gold Caesars to Mr. Pa Louis. Business was good over the New Year."
"Dawn Era 1926, February 28: Delivered 29 Gold Caesars to Miss Beatty Louis. The police have been keeping a close eye on things lately. Two of the boys nearly got caught."
"..."
"Dawn Era 1926, May 31: Delivered 42 Gold Caesars to Mr. Kurt Louis. Sold a phonograph and gave the buyer a vinyl record."
"Thank goodness for Fortune Well. That's why the bootleg business is doing so well! It's why the old man values me so much! Should I send a few more men to guard it...? I'll think about it for a few more days."
Reading the notes and handwriting Lucas had left in the ledger, Gilan immediately understood: all the Oak Gang's money had gone to the Louis Family behind them.
It seems the ties between the Louis Family and the Oak Gang are even closer than I imagined.
Gilan closed the ledger, thought for a moment, then slipped it into his briefcase as well.
He had killed Lucas and the gang members who had framed him, and looted property worth about twenty-five Caesars. He was in an excellent mood.
Bending down, he grabbed Lucas's corpse by the back of the collar and strolled out of the office.
Some time had passed since the gunfight. Hearing the commotion, the gang members disguised as porters at the junkyard came running and crowded into the headquarters building's courtyard.
At the sight of corpses strewn across the ground, they drew in sharp breaths, choking on the smell of blood.
"My God! What... what happened here?!"
The gang members stared in horror.
Just then, someone noticed something and shouted:
"Look! There's someone upstairs!"
Everyone looked up. The next second, a dark shape plummeted from above and crashed heavily in front of them.
Bang!!
Dust billowed and blood sprayed.
When they looked again, they saw a corpse with twisted limbs!
A leather jacket, slicked-back hair, a full beard—wasn't that their boss, Lucas?!
"The boss... is dead?!"
The gang members were terrified, frozen by the sight.
Before long, a tall figure slowly emerged from the stairwell.
He carried a briefcase in one hand and a gun in the other, walking toward them at an unhurried pace.
A strong gust swept through the courtyard, blowing the beige soft cap off his head and revealing a mess of blond hair. Beneath it was a cold, smiling face.
Soon, the man raised his pistol toward them!
The dozen or so gang members felt their scalps prickle and screamed as they turned to flee.
"Gilan's gone mad! Run! Run!!"
But Gilan didn't fire.
He only killed those who tried to harm him.
Watching the gang members scramble away, Gilan slowly put his gun away.
"I'm not crazy." Facing the wind, he strode forward. "I'm a gentleman with manners."
Thanks to everyone for the monthly tickets!
Thanks to "Xingchen Ye" for the 500-point tip!
Thanks to "Tianxia Zhi Renjian" for the 500-point tip!
Thanks to "Yuanhuo Kaoniangao" for the 500-point tip!
Thanks to "Xingmang Hanxuepiao" for the 100-point tip!
A quick aside: the first round of new-book rankings begins next week. If you think Mad Dream is any good, this humble author, Radish, begs you to keep reading. Thank you!