North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws

"I think you should be lying in a hospital bed right now, resting up," Harry said, looking at the wounded Dean with concern. He was trying to persuade him not to push himself so hard.

His salary is only a few thousand dollars a month. Why risk his life for that!

Harry was afraid of dying. He also didn't want Dean, who had nearly been blown to pieces, to continue risking his life on this case.

"Do you dare to bet those crazies won't make another move against us or our families?"

Dean looked up, gave a cold laugh, and clenched his fist. "Harry, remember, our lives must be in our own hands. We have to rely on ourselves!"

Damn FBI! Dean was certain that if those high-IQ psychos demonstrated their value, the FBI wouldn't hesitate to recruit them. He would never allow that to happen!

Watching the murderous Dean, Harry licked his lips and hesitated. "But we don't even know how many of them there are, or where they're hiding."

"Someone knows!"

With that, Dean holstered his gun, closed his eyes, and took the opportunity to rest.

「Mike Smith's Villa Estate.」

A few days later, Dean and Harry once again met the burly nanny, Ona.

In just a few short days, she looked much older. Her expression was numb, as if she had suffered a major shock—a stark contrast to the cheerful woman they had met the first time.

Dean noticed Ona's clear resistance when she saw them. "I already told you everything I know last time. What else do you want?"

"I want to enter Mike Smith's room!" Dean said, cutting to the chase.

"No way!" Ona refused without a second thought.

Dean nodded. "Then I want to have a private chat with Little Mike."

"No—"

Her mouth had barely opened when the dark, straight, hard barrel of a gun was shoved into it, pushing back the words of refusal.

Dean looked at the formidable woman coldly. "The Source of Pain organization, founded by Mike Smith, has led to the direct or indirect deaths of over a hundred people. Those freaks brainwashed many underage children, training them to be tools without any moral scruples. We must find them quickly. We don't have time to waste on you. Understand?"

Ona licked the cold gun barrel in her mouth, took a step back, and spat it out. There was no trace of fear on her face, and her tone remained firm. "No. Not unless you can get a warrant from a prosecutor or a judge. Otherwise, I have the right to refuse your request!"

Who does he think he's scaring? She didn't believe Dean would actually pull the trigger.

The next moment!

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Seven bullets burst forth, causing Ona's massive body to stagger backward and shake uncontrollably. She stared blankly at Dean and his still-smoking handgun, then, without a word, collapsed heavily onto the floor. The impact made the entire hall tremble slightly. Her eyes remained wide open in death.

Looking at her lifeless body, Dean emotionlessly reloaded a new magazine.

You had your chance, he thought. Rights? You have the right to refuse. And I have the right to take you down! Before my gun, everyone is equal!

"Harry, keep watch outside!" Dean ordered curtly, then headed for the stairs.

"No problem!" Harry replied, then flipped the middle finger at Ona's corpse.

That woman actually looked down on me last time, Harry thought. If I didn't think I could beat her, I would've taught her a lesson myself! Dean really got even for me this time.

Humming a rap tune, Harry walked to the villa's main door. He was used to Dean's wild methods. Dean gives you one chance. If you don't take it, the next time you open your mouth, he shoots. No hesitation, no wasted time.

Mike Smith's villa had four floors. The third floor was Mike Smith's residence, and the fourth was a library where his 'autistic' son often stayed. After a moment's thought, Dean headed to the third floor first.

The door to the third floor was locked tight. But locks like these only stop gentlemen, not my size 44 boot! Dean thought.

CRASH!

With a powerful kick, the door sprang open. Dean dusted off his pants and walked in.

Contrary to his expectations, Mike Smith's living quarters were devoid of furniture, books, or anything else Dean had anticipated. The space was completely empty except for a very conspicuous wooden table in the middle of the corridor. Dean approached it and found a map of Los Angeles, beside which lay a stack of letter paper covered in sloppy handwriting.

Huh, did Mike Smith actually predict his own death? Dean licked his chapped lips and picked up the stack of letter paper.

It read:

Hello, stranger!

I'm Mike Smith.

When you read this letter, I should already be dead!

I've done many wrong things. But these sins should not be left for my son to bear. That's why I instructed Ona to contact the police immediately and report me missing after I disappeared.

Of course, I don't trust her, so I lied to her: I said I had set many traps and bombs on the third floor. If those crazies showed up, she was to use this to threaten them and then call the police.

If this has caused you any trouble, I apologize.

Hmm?

Reading this, Dean's brow furrowed.

Ona, the woman he'd just shot full of holes, obviously hadn't listened to Mike Smith. After Smith disappeared, she had actively prevented him from entering to investigate when he and Harry showed up! That woman was definitely a problem! Ona might have been a member of the Source of Pain too. It was probably only because he and Harry had drawn the group's attention that they hadn't dealt with things at the villa yet.