Zero Bar in the Upper East Side.
There were many police cars parked outside today. Though officers often came here to drink and unwind, and police cars were nothing unusual.
But today, there were especially many of them. A close look at the license plates showed that police cars from nearly half of Gotham's precincts had arrived.
The bar had also been cleaned up.
It was as if they were about to hold some kind of meeting. The officers inside the bar sat in their chairs with varying expressions, each holding a drink or two, keeping quiet.
By the wall, where the pool table had originally stood, there was now a dining table.
Several precinct chiefs were seated in the chairs beside it.
They looked at the empty dining table, their gazes occasionally sweeping toward the vacant chair at the head of the table. Clearly, an indispensable leading figure had yet to arrive.
The atmosphere in the bar was stifling, so oppressive it was hard to breathe, as though an invisible hand had gripped their throats.
Jingle, jingle—the bar's door was pushed open.
The bell above it swayed.
Everyone looked over. Jerry, dressed in a black trench coat, strode inside. His burly frame blocked the doorway like a wall.
The precinct chiefs standing beside the dining table saw that it was Jerry at the door, and some of the excitement faded from their faces.
After all, compared to that man, this right-hand man was clearly a notch below. Still, he was loyal enough and could protect them.
"Damn it, don't block the way just because you're tall!"
Miao Mu laughed and cursed as he shoved Jerry inside. Wearing a police uniform, he walked in and looked at the officers.
"I only went out to have some fun for a while.