Marvel: I'm Wizard King

Chapter 11: Police Station and Hotel

"What is he doing?"

May covered Peter's eyes.

For some reason, the clerk threw away his gun and started rolling on the ground.

This frightening scene was full of strangeness.

"There is a strange creature called a Boggart that can project a person's deepest fear."

Simply put, it's an illusion.

John blinked, and the black in his pupils returned to normal.

As the Wizard King, he naturally had some special methods.

This method was learned from a Boggart and was very useful for interrogation and punishment.

There was a time when Wizards were called evil.

The clerk gradually stopped moving, and John picked up a piece of fried chicken and took a bite.

He nodded, evaluating it like a gourmet, saying, "As a bomber, the cooking time was just right."

May couldn't even understand what kind of person John was; how could he eat that?

In May's eyes, the person in front of her was incredibly mysterious.

May asked uncertainly, "Is he dead?"

"No, he just fainted from extreme fear."

Holding a chicken leg in one hand, John said in a tempting tone, "That million dollars is now ownerless, do you have any ideas?"

He habitually used money as bait to test people.

One million?

Only then did May remember that she was sitting on a million dollars.

Given the current financial situation of the family, a million dollars would allow them to live a better life.

But May wasn't tempted; instead, she said as if it were the most obvious thing, "We need to let the police catch him."

"I find you are truly a kind person." Putting down the chicken leg in his hand, John smiled, "Then let's fill our stomachs and prepare for the next stop."

"I think little Peter is hungry too."

Peter's gaze had already been attracted by the fried chicken, so May had no choice but to let him eat his fill.

While eating fried chicken, they talked about Hell's Kitchen.

May was now essentially John's guide in New York.

Helping this person who hadn't been in contact with the Muggles world for ten years quickly understand the place.

The Hell's Kitchen the clerk mentioned was the most chaotic place in all of New York.

Even the police wouldn't go to Hell's Kitchen after dark.

It was a Heaven for villains, addicts, and gangs.

All kinds of crimes could occur there.

In the most prosperous New York, there was the most unbearable Hell's Kitchen.

These contrasts were also part of what constituted New York's diversity.

May thought about the Simon the clerk mentioned, and it seemed she had heard that name before.

"He's a person you shouldn't mess with, at least that's what I've heard." May wasn't a gang member, much less from Hell's Kitchen.

Her home was in Queens, which was quite far from that place.

John also nodded; he basically stopped eating after one bite of the chicken leg.

The fried chicken and chicken pieces were quickly eaten, and May and Peter were indeed quite hungry.

It was strange that this time of day should be very lively.

But from the moment they entered the shop until now, besides them, no other customers had appeared.

John had used a Muggle-Repelling Charm.

People approaching here would suddenly remember something and leave, or simply wouldn't notice the place at all.

They quietly enjoyed a meal of fried chicken.

John also gathered enough information.

There weren't enough clues in Hell's Kitchen during the day, so he planned to go at night.

As for now...

First, let the two eat their fill, then send them home, and then an Obliviation Charm.

Nothing happened today.

Done.

...

John's plan was good.

But sometimes, plans don't keep up with changes.

He didn't plan to continue dealing with the clerk, so he took the two out of the fried chicken shop, hailed a taxi, and sent them back.

Just as he dropped them off downstairs, police sirens blared.

John was taken to the police station.

He looked at the person opposite him.

He said helplessly, "My car was bombed, you aren't arresting the person who bombed my car, instead you brought me here."

"We need your assistance with the investigation."

The FBI agent looked serious, but John, sitting in the interrogation room, didn't think this looked like assisting with an investigation at all.

It seemed more like interrogating a suspect.

"Can you explain why you didn't call the police after the car exploded?"

The agent questioned him dutifully, even though the questions seemed designed to be difficult.

John leaned back in his chair and said flatly, "I was hungry."

The agent was stunned. What did that have to do with not calling the police?

"I was hungry, so I went to eat fried chicken," John said innocently, "Is that strange?"

A million-dollar sports car was bombed, and your first reaction was to eat fried chicken?

It sounds like there's nothing wrong with that.

Damn rich people.

The agent frowned and tapped the desk with his finger, "Be serious!"

"I still need you to answer a question," the agent stared at John, "According to our information, this car is not registered in your name."

"That's my Father's." John's tone was relaxed; he knew these people weren't looking for him for no reason.

"Watson Wick is your Father?" The agent's brows furrowed, and his tone became serious. He remembered that there was indeed a son in the Wick family according to the material.

However, this son had very little presence, which was suspicious.

But John's documents were all in order, and the agent fell into thought.

As their main surveillance target, they quickly assembled a team upon receiving the report of this car bombing.

Unexpectedly, they didn't find Watson Wick, but they caught a son.

Most importantly, they knew nothing about John.

The agent's gaze towards John subtly changed.

The detective who had been silent until now spoke up, "I think, as the son, you should know your Father's whereabouts."

"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you, my Father didn't tell me his itinerary."

John knew these people were drawn out because of his Dad's car, but he couldn't use them for now.

His answer was very unsatisfactory.

The agent wanted to say more, but he didn't want to stay too long.

"I'm not planning to bring my lawyer, so can I leave now?" John's attitude was exactly like that of a rich second generation.

But the FBI really had no reason to keep John. Lawyers in America were much harder to deal with than elsewhere.

They could only watch helplessly as he left.

"Keep a close eye on him, those people won't let him off," the detective told his subordinates.

After leaving the police station, John, who was originally going to erase memories, changed his mind.

He took a taxi and turned around to go to another place.

The taxi drove into Manhattan.

John got out in front of a magnificent hotel.

He walked towards that hotel.

The guests in this place were strange; most of them liked black.

The guests in suits didn't look like they were on vacation, but more like they were going to work.

John walked to the front desk.

He also had dark skin and a bald head, but he had a completely different temperament from that thug.

The front desk staff was wearing a sharp suit and gold-rimmed glasses, giving off a meticulous sense of precision.

"Hello, how may I assist you?"

The hotel front desk smiled without showing his teeth.

John took a gold coin from his pocket and pushed it towards the front desk.

"I need to know some things."

The front desk staff saw the gold coin, slowly pushed it back, and smiled, "The bar would be a good place."

John picked up the gold coin, walked into the elevator, and started descending with the elevator.

Entering the bar, this wasn't a place for rowdy drinking, but a quiet place suitable for being slightly tipsy or drinking away one's sorrows.

At the bar, a woman was shaking a cocktail shaker in her hand.

"I want to know about Simon."

The woman poured a drink from the cocktail shaker and handed it to John.

John picked it up, took a sip, and said, "More details."

"You're a new face," the female bartender raised an eyebrow and said, "We don't do business with new faces."

"How about this?"

Taking two gold coins from his pocket and pushing them over, John said, "My sincerity is abundant."

"I can consider it." Taking the gold coins, the bartender said, "Wait a moment."

She wrote Simon on a piece of paper, put it in a capsule, and inserted it into a pipe.

After a while, a new capsule dropped down the pipe.

She took out the capsule, opened it, and inside were clues about Simon.

Handing it to John, the bartender looked at his young face and offered a piece of advice, "You'd better not provoke him."

"You're the second person to tell me that." John took the clue and got up to leave.

Opening the clue in the elevator, John looked at the address on it and shook his head, saying, "Dad's organization is really good at making money."

This was his Father's chain of hotels.

This world has a white side, and there must always be a black side.

The white is orderly; they want to manage the disorderly black, so they need someone to establish order in the black.

And John's Father was such a person.

He created many rules and regulations to make the black side stable.

This was also the first time John had come to the hotel to experience the service. If the FBI hadn't come looking for him, John would have almost forgotten that Dad also had some useful places.

Those gold coins were found at home; sometimes Dad's hiding places had no skill whatsoever.

Coming out of the hotel, John saw that the sky was getting dark, and he was also preparing to go to Hell's Kitchen.

If nothing unexpected happened, that Simon should be connected to the Ten Rings.

A thug leader mixed up with terrorists.

This strange combination made John wonder what their purpose was in attacking Dad.

There would be an answer tonight.

John took advantage of the night and hailed a taxi.

As soon as the Indian-accented driver heard John was going to Hell's Kitchen, he begged him to take another car, scared.

He changed five cars in a row; basically, no driver would take a fare to Hell's Kitchen.

If he weren't afraid of being seen by some blind person while riding a flying broomstick, John would have really wanted to fly there.

Helplessly, John had to change his mode of travel.

...

The bald man whom John had stuck a pencil into was sitting in his car, recalling his miserable experience today.

As a New York thug with great aspirations, he had been so scared that he almost wet his pants.

This was a huge blow to himself, who had the highest education in the entire village, having dropped out of high school.

It even made him start doubting whether he, as a man, was a sissy.

As soon as he thought of his pathetic appearance, he couldn't help but pound the steering wheel, uttering curses.

He couldn't be a sissy, a real man should do men!

"Your mouth is really dirty."

The irritable bald man heard this and was about to curse, but as the words reached his lips, he felt the voice was somewhat familiar.

Turning his head, the face that haunted him like a nightmare appeared outside the car window.

John smiled and waved, saying, "Is it convenient to give me a ride to Hell's Kitchen?"

"Mainly because I don't know the way."

The familiar smiling face made the bald man's legs go weak.

He wanted to escape, but he couldn't.

...

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