A Clumsy Assassination

The fat sheep was right in front of them. There was no way they would let someone snatch it away halfway through.

So, the middle-aged man closest to Tony's semi-open booth—a tall, powerfully built man around forty who gave the first impression of being a good person—rose from his seat and walked toward Tony, who was being restrained from behind by the woman in the suit. He asked in apparent concern:

"What's going on? Ma'am, please let this gentleman go. Whatever it is, let's talk it out. This is a bar, a place to drink and make friends. Don't resort to violence."

"I'm making an arrest."

Facing the burly middle-aged man's question, the woman in the suit explained calmly. At the same time, she pulled Tony's hands behind his back, took out a pair of silver handcuffs, and cuffed him before allowing him to straighten up.

It was then that Tony got a clear look at the woman's face. Those familiar scars, obviously left by burns, were difficult to conceal even after reconstructive surgery.

Tony recognized her immediately and said in surprise, "It's you!"

The woman in the suit ignored Tony's surprise and continued explaining to the group of middle-aged burly men gathering around them, who looked friendly but clearly harbored ill intentions:

"Are you the bar owner? Or the sheriff?"

"That's right, I'm the sheriff. Who are you?"

The middle-aged burly sheriff, whose identity had been exposed in a single remark, readily admitted to his public position. With that status behind him, he would be able to handle the situation more effectively and profit from it.

"Department of Homeland Security. Any more questions?"

Unhurried, the woman in the suit pulled out identification bearing the Department of Homeland Security emblem, leaving the middle-aged burly sheriff stunned.

He turned back to