Testing the Waters

Lorry gently flexed his wrist, feeling the presence of the Serrated Dagger. It gave him a little more confidence as he ventured into danger alone.

His gaze swept over the four Bloodhand Gang members in turn before settling on the green-haired woman's pale face. "As you wish, madam."

With that, Lorry turned the handle and gently pushed the door open, stepping inside.

"Stay here and keep watch."

The green-haired woman gave the four Bloodhand Gang members their orders, then followed him into the room.

The private room was large, close to sixty square meters by his estimate. Three long sofas were arranged in a U, with a handful of people scattered across them.

A long black wooden table stood in the middle, laden with fruit, roast meat, and drinks.

"My people tell me you have information about Cyril to sell?"

The speaker sat alone on the sofa facing the other two. He had narrow blue eyes and a hooked nose topped with gold-rimmed glasses. His build was lean, and he wore a red suit.

The corners of his eyes tilted slightly upward. His measured speech gave him an air of refinement.

Lorry wasn't fooled by appearances, though. Judging by the way everyone else fell silent in fear when the man spoke, he had to be the boss the green-haired woman had mentioned. A man who commanded that kind of awe among his subordinates couldn't possibly be as mild as he appeared.

"Oh, I forgot to offer our guest a seat." The man in the red suit lightly tapped his forehead and waved a hand. "Sit wherever you like."

You're the boss... Lorry gave a slight nod and sat at the outer end of the sofa on the left.

The green-haired woman sat opposite him.

The man in the red suit lifted the clear glass of vivid red wine before him and took a sip, then leisurely introduced himself.

"My name is Calvin, though most of them call me 'Bloodhand.' To be honest, I don't like that nickname at all.

"What age are we living in, still fighting and killing? If someone ends up dead, aren't you afraid of trouble from Sivellaus Yard? These days, I prefer making friends.

"All kinds of friends.

"Iris, did you tell him my rules?"

As he said the last sentence, he turned slightly toward the green-haired woman. Seeing her nod, he looked back at Lorry.

"Your eyes are very calm.

"It seems you really do have news of Cyril.

"Go on, then. What information do you have, and what do you want from me?"

Lorry took a deep breath, pretending to be terribly nervous.

He spoke in a slightly trembling voice.

"I-I know where Cyril lives. I saw him with my own eyes! That information is worth at least ten pounds. No, a hundred-fifty pounds.

"This information is worth at least fifty pounds."

The private room was silent, save for Lorry's voice.

His words came to an end.

Calvin's gaze instantly froze, his eyes boring into Lorry. Lorry met his stare with a look of fear mingled with eager anticipation.

The other senior members of the Bloodhand Gang paused in surprise, then their eyes suddenly lit up.

They quickly glanced at one another, exchanging looks before turning as one toward their boss to await his final answer.

Tap. Tap, tap.

Calvin rested his fingers on the table, tapping out a steady rhythm.

Suddenly, the tapping stopped.

Everyone's gaze converged on his face.

Calvin asked in a low voice, "Are you sure it was 'One-Eyed' Cyril? Do you recognize his face? Where was this, and when?"

"Today, at the Sanson Bar," Lorry answered hurriedly. "His features are very distinctive, and those people called him boss."

"I have work tomorrow, so I left the bar early. When I was about to close my window and go to bed, I saw Cyril and his followers."

"While I was drinking, I heard you'd been asking about his whereabouts lately..."

Calvin abruptly interrupted him. "How many of them were there?"

"Three," Lorry said without hesitation, then added, "But those were just the ones I saw. I'm not sure whether anyone else was staying there."

"What's the address?"

This time, Lorry hesitated before answering. "Room 604, 3 Neeson Road. I saw his follower draw the curtains with my own eyes."

"Room 604, 3 Neeson Road."

Calvin repeated the address quietly, then suddenly rose from the sofa and told the others, "Go back and gather your men. Meet outside the bar in fifteen minutes."

"As for you..."

He looked at Lorry again, his gaze laden with meaning.

"If this information is true, I'll give you a hundred pounds. But until we return, you will stay right here in this room and behave yourself.

"If we don't find Cyril, or if this is a trap... believe me, you can start thinking about how you want to die right now.

"Turner, stay here and watch him!"

The men filed out of the room, leaving only a burly bald man behind.

"Old man, you'd better pray the boss doesn't come up empty-handed. Otherwise..." Turner chuckled, exposing two rows of gleaming teeth.

"He won't, sir.

"I wouldn't gamble with my own life."

Lorry's face sagged in misery as he looked uneasily at the burly bald man. "May I use the washroom? I just drank a whole big glass of half-and-half."

"I'm warning you, don't try anything!" Turner eyed Lorry with distaste and threatened him again. His gaze flicked toward the corner behind him as he said impatiently, "Go on."

The private room's washroom didn't even have a window, so he wasn't remotely worried about the man escaping.

Time ticked by.

Turner glanced at the clock on the wall and couldn't help frowning deeply.

Reaching behind his waist, he drew a sharp short blade and strode toward the washroom, pounding on the door. "Old man, what are you doing in there? Get the hell out!"

No one answered.

Turner's expression shifted slightly, and he immediately lashed out with a vicious kick.

Crash!

The washroom door flew open, revealing an empty interior.

"Where is he?!"

Turner's eyes widened, and he hurried inside to investigate.

A figure slid soundlessly down from above the door.

The next second, blood sprayed.

Five minutes later.

The door to the private room opened, and the burly bald man, Turner, walked out.

At the end of the corridor, he looked back at the two Bloodhand Gang members standing guard and lowered his voice to give them instructions.

"There's an old fellow in the room. The boss specifically asked for him.

"Keep a close eye on him. Don't let him run away."

"Understood," the two Bloodhand Gang members answered in unison. Turner gave a satisfied grunt and headed toward the dance floor.

Late at night, at 3 Neeson Street.

Hank, the gatekeeper, propped his chin on his hand, his head bobbing as he dozed.

Suddenly, a cold gun barrel pressed against his head. He snapped awake, all traces of sleep vanishing as he stared wide-eyed and terrified at the group before him.

"Keep your mouth shut until we leave. Do you understand?"

"Ye..." Hank had barely begun to answer when he saw the gunman's icy stare. Realizing what he meant, Hank hurriedly nodded over and over to show he would cooperate.

The gunman snorted coldly. "At least you've got some sense."

Then he looked back at the men behind him. "Leave one man here to keep him from trying anything. The rest of you, follow me upstairs. Room 604... leave no one alive!"