Empire of Shadows

Lukaal's gaze was fixed on Lance. "You're quite the talker. I bet a lot of girls like you?"

"That's my personal privacy, but..." Lance smiled and nodded. "Indeed, some girls do like me."

"Lukaal, I have a very curious question I'd like to ask you. I wonder if it's convenient for you to chat with me."

Lukaal didn't have anything else to do today. The things that had happened this week were too damn exciting. Even those amazing novels don't have such exciting plots.

Even now, he had a kind of unreal feeling, and at the same time, he smelled a very special scent, the scent of gunpowder.

When facing Lance, his rationality was somewhat led by emotions. He knew it wasn't right, but everyone knows some things shouldn't be done, yet they still do them.

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It's like people know they shouldn't do illegal things, shouldn't maintain those bad habits, shouldn't, after working a tiring day, grab a roll of paper and sit at the table to disinfect their hands.

They clearly know it, but they just can't control themselves.

Lukaal also felt a little out of control, and what being out of control brought was his hope to discover more things from Lance, so he didn't mind chatting with Lance a little longer.

"Of course, if I can say it."

Lance nodded slightly, as if to express gratitude. "Why do you like staring at me?"

"What I mean is... there are so many criminals committing crimes in this city, yet you specifically came to find me, sat here, bought me a cup of coffee, and then told me you'd be watching me."

"Is it because you have some special fetish?" He raised his hands with a smile that wasn't quite a smile, making a gesture of refusal. "I respect your personal emotional orientation, but I'm sorry, I can't accept that."

Lukaal couldn't help but laugh. He held his forehead, laughing rhythmically, as if it were a very funny joke.

After laughing for a while, he took a deep breath, stopping the laughter. "Interesting!"

He paused for a moment, as if recalling something. "Maybe it's because you gave me a very deep impression, Lance."

"When you were just a..." He stretched out his hand, making a small gesture, "...an insignificant little character, you were able to calmly play with law enforcement officers, and maintain that contemptuous attitude when facing the law and justice."

"That made me notice you. I developed some interest in you, but don't worry, it's not that kind of interest."

"I want to catch you, Lance. I want to see you standing in the dock, accepting the harshest punishment the judge gives you. At the moment I personally send you to the electric chair, will you still be able to smile like now, or like before."

Lance's smile was very handsome, but the more handsome, the more sunny, the more it gave Lukaal a feeling of discomfort after being played.

He wanted "revenge," that was the reason.

After listening carefully, Lance asked, "So, you're not arresting me for the sake of justice in your heart, or the fairness of the law, but just because you think I played you?"

Lukaal frowned. "That's only part of it, but I am ultimately a law enforcement officer. Upholding justice and the dignity of the law is also one of my jobs. There's no conflict."

Lance's hands pressed on the table, leaning his body forward, making a "I have a secret to tell you" gesture.

Lukaal hesitated a little, but at Lance's beckoning, he also leaned his body forward slightly.

"I'll tell you a secret."

"The Red High Heels Nightclub is arresting young girls everywhere, forcing them to provide services to the Bay Area's upper class. Some are even killed and thrown into Angel Lake."

"We all know there are hundreds and thousands of gasoline drums down there, and countless iron chains. Shouldn't you be upholding your justice now?"

The furrows between Lukaal's brows were unfathomable. His expression seemed to freeze.

Lance leaned back, against the back of the chair.

After several seconds, he spread his hands. "See, you're not as righteous as you imagine yourself to be, Lukaal."

"You're not much different from those cops who take dirty money, you're even worse than them."

"They take dirty money, that's what they do, and they'll do things after taking the dirty money, so what about you?"

"Do you take dirty money?"

"Do you have principles?"

"Are you really as good as you imagine yourself to be?"

"I don't think so. You're just a willful child who will never realize your own problems."

"You're very interested in me, but I'm not that interested in you, because you're nothing special."

"Oh right, I forgot to ask, do you take money?"

Lance took out a stack of money from his pocket, all five-dollar bills.

He counted out a hundred dollars, twenty bills, placed them neatly on the table, then gathered them together and casually threw them in front of Lukaal. "I'll buy you a cup of coffee too."

Lukaal's face was different from before. Before this, when he faced Lance, he always had a faint arrogance. As a law enforcement officer, a messenger of justice, when facing a criminal, he couldn't help but feel this sense of superiority.

But when Lance shattered his arrogance with some simple words, it was like giving him a real mirror, allowing him to see the real self in the mirror, completely different from what he imagined.

Almost all animals can't see themselves. Their perception of themselves comes from external feedback, plus their own idealized guesses.

So when a person hasn't looked in a mirror for a long time, giving them a mirror will make them feel fear, because they will only realize at this time that they are not "themselves."

It sounds very complicated, but to put it simply, it's that people's real selves are not as good as they imagine themselves to be.

Lukaal couldn't laugh anymore.

Lance didn't mind continuing to provoke him. "Why aren't you laughing?"

Lukaal got up and stood up, looking at Lance. "I'll be watching you."

Lance shrugged, crossed his legs, and placed his hands on the armrests of the chair. "Suit yourself."

Lukaal then left here angrily.

Looking at the office door that was slammed shut, Lance didn't have any other emotions.

Being watched by law enforcement officers, isn't that a normal thing?

But whether they can catch him, that's another question!

Ervin quickly pushed the door open and came in. "What's wrong with that guy?"

He saw the Hazardous Materials Administration's car parked outside, and he also heard that this guy had entered Lance's office, but Lance didn't call them, so they didn't go in.

The others also crowded in. Lance simply explained, "That Director Dale is a very special person. His methods are much more sophisticated than the directors of other local law enforcement agencies."

"Now he's mobilizing the entire Goldport City to deal with Polly. Polly is very likely to die."

After hearing this, the others felt a kind of indescribable feeling. They hadn't dealt with this very famous "Big Polly" in the port area, but they had heard many rumors about him.

From a young age, Polly showed that he was more precocious than children of the same age. He started making a living on the streets when he was seven or eight years old.

After he became an adult, he joined the Brothers Gang as the opportunity arose, and quickly showed personal charm within the Brothers Gang, becoming the leader.

Many people think that the port area will usher in the "Polly Era." The Red Dog Gang's control over him has no influence. Although the Red Dog Gang is also nominally here, their presence is not strong.

On the contrary, Brothers Import and Export Company and Brothers Gang have a very large influence.

But now, he is about to become a thing of the past.

If people were to be given a historically significant title, classified with things like "ordinary," "elite," "legend," and "epic," then Polly is already above elite.

And a magnificent era is about to set sail, but he fell on the eve of the new era. Perhaps people will feel regret when talking about these things, but this is the most cruel aspect of this world.

Maybe one day, you are still radiant, but a day later, the sun is extinguished!

"Should we enter the port area?" There were quite a few people crowded in the office. Now the nightclub has also temporarily stopped, without wine, who the hell wants to go to the nightclub to watch singing and dancing?

Of the ten customers, maybe only two or three look at the thighs, more of them just want to sit down and have a drink in a place with a good atmosphere.

It's best to also have a female companion who belongs to you only when you come in, and belongs to others when you leave.

Without wine, the nightclub also lost its soul, except for the casino, of course.

For gamblers, whether there is wine or not is not important. What they want is poker, dice, chips, and the adrenaline rush of winning and losing!

So there are more people here today.

Ethan put forward this view, and the others looked at Lance.

The Imperial District is still too poor. It and the port area are known as the gathering place for the poor in Goldport City. Almost all the people living here are from the bottom of society, workers.

In fact, it can be seen from the bars. In the Imperial District, the daily consumption of each customer in their bars is about twenty-five cents, and some may only have ten or fifteen cents.

They will only order a glass of wine and drink it slowly.

Lance's strategy of small profits and quick turnover to seize the market may also be one of the reasons why they are not as profitable as other bars, but in the end, the customers are still too poor.

They had heard Lance say that going to the bars in the Bay Area with Alberto meant paying a dollar for a drink, or at least fifty or sixty, even seventy or eighty cents for the cheap ones.

The profit they made on one drink could potentially equal the profit Lance and his crew made on an entire bottle.

This is why everyone wants to go to more developed regions, because the cost of living is different.

Currently, the City Center, the Bay Area, and the Starlight District are firmly controlled by the branches of the five major families. Small gangs can't get a foothold, so if they want to develop, they can only continue to expand their territory as much as possible, dealing with poor people in poor areas.

Entering the Port District is a good option. After a simple exchange with the Red Dog Gang, everyone realized that the Red Dog Gang was a soft persimmon, easily crushed. So, if they were to expand into the Port District, there shouldn't be any problems.

However, Lance shook his head, "We won't expand there for now. We'll wait until we've completely digested the Empire District before considering further expansion."

"Expanding now won't strengthen us; instead, it will bring potential risks."

"Many people are watching us. Although we unified the Empire District through some clever tactics, it's already enough to make them wary."

"If we continue to expand, they'll become nervous. We don't have the ability to confront the entire King's Port City, and we lack a political spokesperson."

"So, our best course of action is to stabilize for a while and improve ourselves rapidly. When we have the strength to attempt new challenges, we'll go out again."

"Moreover!" he emphasized, "Lucar's visit today actually brought us news. In the coming period, they will be cracking down on smuggled alcohol."

"Although our Director Dale miraculously salvaged the situation, if he wants to go further in this job and return to the Special Zone, he must achieve remarkable results in a short period of time."

"For him, cracking down on smuggled alcohol, smuggled tobacco, and explosives is a way to achieve those results."

"It's not in our best interest to expand when he's at his most zealous!"

Everyone generally understood. They always highly valued Lance's judgment.

There was another reason for not expanding: King's Port City was too stable.

The five major families, local political forces, and the city hall—the three giants—have always coexisted peacefully. Before they become chaotic, there is no opportunity for the people at the bottom to rise.

Anyone who tries to rise will be suppressed. The rule-makers will never allow new people to join them.

So, the best thing to do now is to accumulate strength silently and wait for the day when this stable power triangle becomes unstable or even collapses!

Perhaps the King's Port City's response to the two explosions at the Hazardous Materials Administration was too severe, or perhaps Director Dale's methods were excellent enough, coupled with support in Congress.

Soon, the whole country knew about this and began to discuss it fiercely.

A senator published his views in the 'Planet News,' arguing that criminal organizations attacking law enforcement agencies was a challenge to the federal government, and this trend must be suppressed.

Otherwise, people would mistakenly believe that the federal government had lost control of the federation, which would lead to some terrible consequences.

Other senators and representatives also had similar or supportive views, and the situation was continuing to escalate.

"How to better suppress organized crime" has become a relatively hot topic.

During this period, a very interesting thing also happened. It is said that the Director-General of the Federal Bureau of Investigation asked the President for instructions, believing that the FBI could assist the Hazardous Materials Administration in investigating, collecting evidence, and arresting these organized crime groups.

However, the President refused the Director-General's request. He believed that these matters had nothing to do with the FBI. What the FBI needed to do most now was to figure out who was saying bad things about the President, not to catch criminals.

The President also told his Chief of Staff that he thought the Director-General was a bit slow-witted and that he should be replaced if he didn't improve. He didn't even know who he should be working for!

It is not known whether this rumor is true or false, but the person who could spread such detailed information, if not the President, must be the Chief of Staff.

At least it wouldn't be the Director-General himself who spread it, as he couldn't tell everyone, "The President doesn't like me." That's unreasonable.

So, the whole thing was probably the President instructing the Chief of Staff to convey an intention to the outside world that they were looking for a qualified "political thug" to replace the current Director-General who couldn't figure out his position.

They wanted a "thug," a "vicious dog," but definitely not a "bane of evil!"

"The FBI actually wants to catch real criminals" has also become a political joke in recent political circles, although ordinary people don't know what's so funny about it.

Compared to the varied emotions of others, Big Polly was not "big" at all at this moment.

Director Dale's public speech had already made him realize that this Director Dale was different from all the people he had contacted before.

He was not like Charlie, not like John, not like Blue, not like any of the police chiefs he knew who could arrest him.

He had very powerful methods, did not accept compromise, and, more troublingly, it was no longer just the people from the Hazardous Materials Administration who were looking for him, but also the police, other gangs, and the five major families.

Polly had directly hidden himself after the incident. Now he was somewhat panicked. The curtains had not been opened for several days.

Whenever a police car or siren passed by, he would nervously grab his weapon and look outside.

After waiting for two days, he finally dialed a number. All his hopes were pinned on this number.

"Mr. Wade…" he said, holding the phone with both hands, his face panicked, without any of the arrogance he used to display when he stood in his office, smoking a cigarette and spraying the street with a submachine gun.

Now he was like a dog with a broken leg, whimpering and trying to find a place to rest in the heavy rain.

"Polly, what should I say?"

A gentle voice came from the other end of the receiver. Just hearing the voice, one could imagine a well-dressed gentleman sitting behind a desk, holding a phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

He must be very noble. The texture and speed of his voice told people that he was a cultured person, a respected person.

Polly squeezed out a smile, even though the other party couldn't see it, "Mr. Wade, save me!"