Ch.189Crooked! (2)

#189

-Rat-tat-tat, tat-tat!

The three men fired their guns in rapid succession, not caring whether they were shooting their own boss or not.

The problem was that Dexter didn’t take a single hit.

Yet he could hear each bullet tearing into fabric, and from a very close distance, Dexter could see exactly what expression someone wore when they got shot.

‘This bastard lived his life all wrong.’

If someone acted as the leader among at least five gang members, they were likely in a higher position than the other gangsters.

But seeing how they unhesitatingly opened fire on the skinhead just because Dexter had told them to take the money and the boss and leave—that was enough to know these guys had no blood or tears in them.

“Kuh…”

A deflating sound came from the skinhead’s mouth along with blood, but Dexter felt no pity for him. Instead, he was preoccupied with figuring out how to get out of this situation.

The one fortunate thing was that these three men clearly weren’t ex-military.

Using the skinhead as a shield, Dexter aimed at the forehead of the man spraying the most bullets with his submachine gun.

-Bang!

One man fell, a red dot marking his forehead.

This was the problem with gangs.

They didn’t look for cover, just stood there stupidly firing their weapons, relying only on their numbers.

When one went down instantly, the other two backed away while desperately firing their guns.

-Click, click!

When the two men pulled their triggers, no more bullets came out, and this was Dexter’s opportunity.

While they frantically tried to reload, Dexter picked up the now-dead skinhead and threw him at one of the men.

When someone who shouldn’t be flying suddenly sailed through the air toward him, the man fumbling with his magazine panicked, unable to counterattack before being struck by the corpse and tumbling to the ground.

As the other man’s attention briefly turned that way, Dexter cleanly put a bullet in his head.

-Bang!

The second man collapsed as well.

The last remaining man tried to push away the lifeless body staring at him, then looked up with fearful eyes at Dexter, who was slowly walking toward him.

Dexter kicked the fallen man’s pistol far away and said:

“Just stay still.”

After staring at the man, Dexter took out his cell phone from his pocket and made a call.

“Yes, this is Dexter Hughes. During an investigation, a shootout occurred with some criminals.”

Dexter continued the call with a disgruntled expression.

“Yes, I am with the Special Investigation Team. We have three fatalities, one injured, and one unharmed person here.”

Dexter looked toward Decker and pointed at the money bag. Decker pointed at himself.

‘Hurry up, you bastard.’

As Dexter mouthed the words urgently, Decker approached with an uncomfortable expression, loaded the money bag into the trunk, and then looked at Dexter as if asking what to do next.

Still on the phone, Dexter gestured for him to go somewhere else. Decker drove the car toward the alley where he had left Emily.

After confirming that Decker had safely left, Dexter looked at the gang member who was still staring at him fearfully and said:

“Yes, I’ll see you soon then. I’ll wait at the scene.”

Shortly after Dexter ended the call, two police cars with sirens blaring rushed into the parking lot in front of the theater.

‘They probably aren’t directly from OSA, but responding to reports of gunshots?’

Dexter placed the gun in his hand on the ground and quietly waited, with his OSA general ID in his shirt’s front pocket.

The police officers who got out of the cars pointed their guns at Dexter, the only person standing in the parking lot, and said:

“Don’t move and raise your hands high.”

Dexter’s pants were splattered with blood from the skinhead.

Having no intention of resisting the police, Dexter raised his hands, placing his palms behind his neck, and said:

“You may search me.”

At Dexter’s ready offer to be searched, one of the officers patted him down, checking for weapons. Finding nothing but a wallet and cell phone, the officer told Dexter to lower his hands.

Dexter took out the OSA general ID from his front pocket and said:

“I’m FBI Senior Investigator Dexter Hughes.”

The ID checked out, but whether FBI or police, they normally operate in pairs.

Finding it strange that he was alone, one of the officers asked Dexter:

“Where is your partner?”

“He’s waiting outside. These guys specifically told me to come alone… Of course, you wouldn’t believe I’m here by myself, so the FBI will be arriving soon. Would you like to wait and confirm together?”

When Dexter lied so casually, one of the officers shined a flashlight around and said:

“Yes, we’ll wait, but what happened that made an investigator get into a shootout alone?”

“It’s a bit of a long story. There’s apparently a new type of criminal organization in Las Vegas that we haven’t seen before. We received a tip that they were smuggling luxury sports cars, so I was trying to apprehend them on site under that pretext, but… well, you can see how that turned out.”

Dexter gestured toward the bodies on the ground and the one gang member still lying down.

The last gang member, who had been listening, tried to say something in disbelief but closed his mouth after seeing Dexter’s eyes.

While the two police officers and Dexter were chatting casually, a van marked FBI and a black sedan slowly entered the parking lot.

When the FBI van arrived as Dexter had said, one of the officers shook hands with Dexter.

“You’ve had a rough time.”

“Not at all. You officers have it much harder.”

Several people got out of the van, and Dexter nodded in greeting when he saw agents in black suits whom he had seen a few times at OSA headquarters.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

An OSA agent wearing a teal jacket with FBI lettering shook hands with the police officers, sending them away, then approached Dexter and asked:

“Agent Hughes, what happened here?”

“This guy needs interrogation. Looks like he’s connected to your side.”

“Our side?”

“The gun boss.”

“Ah, I see.”

Dexter had only said one word, but the OSA agent immediately understood.

“We’ll squeeze as much information out of him as possible.”

“Yes, please take care of the bodies too. Oh, and that trailer truck was brought by my informant, so please leave it alone. I’ll take care of it.”

The gang member still on the ground looked at Dexter with bewildered eyes at how smoothly everything was being handled.

‘Who the hell is this guy?’

After shaking hands with the OSA agent once more, Dexter left the Huntridge Theater and walked to the alley where Emily had been.

Decker’s car was parked in the alley, with an irritated Decker in the driver’s seat and Emily, naturally expressionless, in the passenger seat.

As soon as Dexter entered the alley, Decker pointed at him and shouted:

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Hey now, I saved your life, your money, and your car, and this is how you talk to me?”

“Bullshit! How the hell do you have the police and FBI wrapped around your finger?”

“Knowing too much can hurt you.”

When Dexter said this with a grin, Decker stuttered in confusion before shaking his head and looking down.

“I still don’t even know your last name or what you do!”

“Is that so? Well, you can learn from now on.”

Emily had told him Dexter’s name, but nothing else, so Decker truly only knew his first name.

“What’s your last name?”

“Hughes.”

“And your job?”

“Did you come to interrogate me?”

“No, but you made it sound like you were going to tell me! Hey, Emily! Say something!”

When the frustrated Decker looked at Emily, she firmly shook her head.

“I won’t say anything until Dexter tells you himself.”

“Wow, fuck. This is driving me crazy.”

“I told you, knowing too much can hurt you. Let’s just keep our relationship at this level. Being Emily’s boyfriend says it all, doesn’t it?”

“The problem is that you killed three people right there and act like nothing happened!”

“I didn’t kill one of them.”

“You might as well have made him get killed!”

Unlike other criminals, Decker was good at handling things from a step back, not working in bloody scenes like Dexter did.

In OSA terms, it was the difference between a field agent and an office worker.

Moreover, Emily, who had helped Decker get this far, had experienced some failures but had never made anyone bleed.

Having directly tasted the fear of the “field,” Decker couldn’t help but yell at Dexter.

“Have you grown pubes yet?”

“Why are you bringing that up now?!”

“Think about the gang member who shot that bald guy with a submachine gun. What’s killing someone over $900,000? People kill for $50 to buy drugs all the time.”

Dexter spoke indifferently, as if wondering why Decker was making such a fuss.

After all, in the prison where Dexter worked, such people were countless, and in space too, killing or crippling someone for just enough money for a meal was always happening.

“Or maybe you don’t remember your old days.”

At Dexter’s words, Decker hung his head in shame.

When he first started as a fence, he had often sold small stolen appliances like blenders and TVs.

“You make your living from crime. Are you in any position to judge others?”

Decker said nothing until Dexter finished speaking, then replied with a disgruntled expression:

“…It’s just the first time I’ve seen someone get shot and die right in front of me.”

“Ah, is that so?”

Dexter had assumed from looking at Decker that he’d been through it all, but learning this was his first time seeing someone die right in front of him made Dexter feel awkward.

He patted Decker’s back and said:

“Want to get a drink?”

“No, fuck. How could I drink feeling like this?”

No matter how far away he had been, seeing bullet holes appear in someone’s forehead for the first time would make even the strongest person feel uneasy.

Understanding that emotion well, Dexter slapped Decker’s shoulder and said:

“Hey! Alcohol is best at times like this. If you sleep without drinking, you’ll have bad dreams.”

The advice was oddly specific, so Decker nodded reluctantly.

“But what about the trailer?”

“I’ll have someone I know recover it.”

After saying this, Decker made a phone call, exchanged a few brief words, mentioned that the car was parked in the Huntridge Theater parking lot, and hung up.

“That was a short call.”

“Time is money. Do you know a good bar?”

“I know a great place.”

The only bar Dexter knew was the Oasis Bar near his home.

Decker, feeling quite uneasy inside, didn’t reject Dexter’s suggestion and nodded.

However, Emily shook her head.

“I don’t want to drink. Alcohol makes me feel strange.”

Emily, whose daily life revolved around theft, didn’t like having her senses dulled, nor did she like how different emotions could suddenly emerge under the influence of alcohol.

Hearing Emily’s words, Dexter looked at Decker and said:

“You’ve never given Emily a drink?”

“Can’t you tell from her reaction? She didn’t want to drink, so we didn’t drink together.”

Realizing that Emily was the type to kick away opportunities that might be worth trying, Dexter simply nodded.

“…Impressive, very impressive.”

He seemed like a capable fence, but moments like these made him look like a complete novice.

“Oh, right. We’ll take care of that gang member, so you just focus on Caransa’s request.”

“What do you mean by ‘we’?”

“Don’t ask too many questions.”

“Ah, this guy is definitely hiding something.”

As Decker grumbled again from the back seat, Dexter, in the driver’s seat, said nothing and just smirked.