Brooklyn at three in the morning.
Pist gently closed the trunk of the car and made a muffled click sound.
His head was covered with sweat, and even if he wore two thick woolen coats in the winter, the area on his back next to his shirt was already soaked through.
He raised his sleeves and wiped it on his forehead, looking at both ends of the street.
There wasn't a single ghost under the streetlight.
Pist took out the key from his pocket and inserted it into the driver's door. His hands were shaking so much that he had to insert it two or three times before aligning it with the keyhole.
Joseph is much heavier than he thought.
An old man who usually looked slim and had a slight stoop when he walked put on the coat and moved it into the trunk, Pist almost lost his waist.
Sitting in the driver's seat, Pist turned on the heater connected to the leather tube to the maximum, holding the steering wheel with both hands, and it took a long time to take two breaths of cold air from his mouth.
"Don't blame me, Minister... you are such an old fool."
As he started the car, he trembled and muttered,
"It doesn't matter if your family wants to go to London, you still have to go and lift the whole building. Mr. Edgar is right, you are dragging our building to fill the sea."
The car drove along the main road, without even daring to turn on the headlights, and drove towards a remote industrial waste area with two misty yellow lights.
According to the agreement, he originally only needed to put the directory and map of the building on the table, and Vought Tower would send a group of professional logistics personnel to deal with the aftermath.
But when Pist came to an end, my heart was spinning half a circle.
He didn't dare leave Joseph's body in the building.
Tomorrow morning, if the other old Aurors who have not retired from the ministry don't see the old man, the first thing they will do is to check everywhere.
If he died in the room, he, the assistant who delivered the coffee at the end, would definitely be full of shit in the eyes of the old stubborn people below, even if Edgar came to protect him. This newly acquired executive position would definitely not be secure.
The old man must disappear or die like a wild dog in an accident.
Half an hour later, the old car stopped in front of an abandoned sewage diversion station near the edge of Queens.
This is an old pressurized water station that was no longer used a few years ago in the last century. There are piles of huge rusty steel pipes everywhere.
There is a large cement manhole cover that is half open at the bottom, and underneath it is connected to New York's deepest and widest urban sewage network.
Normally, even wild cats would find this place smelly, so no one would come.
Pist spent a long time, grabbing the stiff collar of Joseph's thick coat with both hands, and dragged him from the trunk to the edge of the cement well.
The old man's hands and feet were cold, his eyelids were closed tightly, and he looked like a boneless noodle, letting Pist drag out two long scratches on the mud on the ground.
"Chicago It's cold, and the water underneath is quite cold."
Pist looked at the deep sewage well that was dark and still had water splashing underneath. He became worried and kicked Joseph hard on the lower back.
There was a dull thud, not much different from a broken sack falling into a well.
By the dim light of the lighter, Pist poked his head and took a half-eye down.
The water below was flowing very fast, and the black shadow of the coat only made two turns on the foaming water surface before being sucked into the black hole leading to the large underground pipe network, and was no longer visible for a second or two.
"It's clean now."
Pist closed the lighter in his hand and let out a long breath.
He stood there and jumped twice, rubbed the smelly mud under his feet into pieces Bricks, then took out the executive letter of intent from his arms, and rubbed it with his thumb several times like a treasure in the dark.
When daybreak comes, there will no longer be any old stubborn Joseph in this land, only he, a shrewd and capable Pist supervisor.
He straightened out the tie that was a little bit irritating around his neck, got into the car, stepped on the accelerator to the bottom, and the wheels made a series of happy noises on the gravel, and disappeared at the end of the dilapidated alley.
At the same time, the Queens main sewage pipe, which is several levels underground, is not a place to sleep quietly.
There was a yellow construction light with a long cord on here, and the warm yellow light just hit an open area made of broken bricks.
"Don't eat it! Michelangelo! That's mine!"
Raphael, whose head was tied with a red cloth band, held the short wooden knife that had just been issued in his two hands, and followed the edge of the underground ditch, forcing another Michelangelo, who was tied with an orange cloth band, to run around everywhere.
Michelangelo's mouth was full, and he was holding two dry and hard pizza peels that he unearthed from nowhere in his hands. He shouted vaguely in his mouth as he ran:
"Raphael You're stingy! That grumpy old man with a bad temper won't even give us double cheese. If I don't take care of myself, soon it will be coach Black Noir's turn to be a sparring partner. I can't even hold the knife tightly in my hand!"
Under the large pipe next to it, Leonardo, the boss with a blue cloth tied on his head, was waving his short blade very hard at a rotten iron pipe. With every blow, a strong muscle strip appeared on his green arm.
"Okay, you two, please be quiet. Didn't you see that the master is taking a rest?"
At the very end of this group of brothers gathered around was an old swivel chair that had been picked up from the scrap pile and had one leg raised with red Bricks.
Big Rat Splinter was holding his hands in his pockets, leaning on the small cane, half-closing his black bean-like mouse eyes, keeping his spirits high.
But even with his eyes closed, Master Splinter's nose was twitching slightly, sensing any movement under the ground.
In the center of the brick platform, Black Noir is sitting quietly on a wooden box.
He ignored the quarrels of the little monsters below. He held a broken earthen jar that he had just fished out from a crack in the bricks with his left hand. He took a sharpened hard chopstick in his right hand and patiently sharpened the edge on the thick bottom of the earthen jar.
Sand, sand, sand.
Black Noir is working with his hands, but his eyes are very satisfied.
Lynn This mission was right. These little green guys who grew up in the mud ditch, although they are poor and greedy, they are all excellent fighting models in their bones.
In less than two weeks, as long as he can get the power of these brats back on track, these four daggers connected to the hands, even if placed among the group of second-line heroes on the ground who can get angry and discharge, can still open a few solid bloody holes in people's backs.
Just then.
The channel at the front of the pipe, which was three to four meters wide, was the large ditch where the sewage flow from several blocks usually gathered. Suddenly, there was a different movement.
Boom, boom.
It seemed like a big hard guy followed the suction of the big water pump below and hit the mud pillar here from a sharp bend in the distance.
"What the hell?"
Donatello has the sharpest ears, and his green eyes stare toward the ditch.
Michelangelo took the opportunity to swallow the last piece of dry pizza peel and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand:
"Could it be that the grumpy old man fell into the water that day and ruined our takeout?"
Splinter's half-closed eyes suddenly opened.
The small wooden crutch in his hand hit the broken brick floor a little harder, and he pushed the swivel chair half a foot away. His voice became lowered and he said, "You all took two steps back and picked up the short blades in your hands."
There was a large sheet of white foam on the surface of the water.
Among a pile of broken cartons and broken oil drums, a dark figure was swirling along the rushing water below, and happened to be caught by half of the scrap iron net protruding diagonally from the side.
"He's a dead man. I think he looks like the kind of clothes that rich people wear on earth."
Raphael was so bold that he took half a step forward and poked the back collar of the coat with a wooden knife in his hand.
"Good guy, those guys in suits on the ground have gone too far. Now they even put dead people in front of our door."
Black Noir had already stood up, raised his steps and took a step forward. He had already reached the edge of the ditch without hearing the sound of landing.
His intuition was very accurate. Instead of using a weapon to investigate, he directly stretched out his hand and grabbed the back collar of the coat.
The arm jerked back, causing a stream of muddy water to splash with a roar.
The black coat and the person wrapped in it were neatly thrown from the ditch and flew onto the two-meter-high brick platform.
Finally, with a loud bang, it hit the wooden box next to the wooden box Black Noir was sitting on just now.