"I'm going to find Burger King?"
Brigitte ignored Dexter's question, and the fat man walked out of the room, clutching his severed wrist.
The stump had been roughly treated with high-temperature hemostatic agent, painkillers, and rags. It no longer hurt, but that hand-that big golden hand had been worth a lot of money. That hurt.
His other hand-his other hand produced a cigar from somewhere. His black skin had darkened further with pain, but once he stepped outside, he quickly composed himself-
Even though the Voodoo Boys had caught him, to outsiders, he was still the famous Dexter DeShawn. He still had to keep up appearances, or he wouldn't be able to trick reckless rookies into working for him, and without reckless rookies working for him, he wouldn't have much value.
It wasn't that he lacked the guts to work, but when someone pointed a gun at him, he simply couldn't stand his ground:
[Dexter: Listen, once I finish this job for you, does that mean things between us...]
[Brigitte: I only told you to work. I didn't tell you to ask about anything else.]
[Dexter: Fine, fine, fine. But if I die, there'll be nobody to help you find people.]
Dexter took a deep drag on his cigar, and the stabbing pain at his Brain-Computer Interface seemed to ease a little.
These goddamn Voodoo Boys really had unpredictable methods. He felt as though the slightest move would get him fried.
Honestly, although perverts now made up a considerably larger share of the population, normal people still found this state of near-nakedness rather embarrassing.
But Mait had no room to feel embarrassed: the Voodoo Boys were right inside, and there were definitely guns pointed at him.
[Warning: Unauthorized scan detected.]
At the building's entrance, several cameras lit up. The light