MM Racing Chapter 9 The Rules of Hell's Kitchen
Chapter 9 The Rules of Hell's Kitchen
Upon seeing Li En, he seemed to be about to draw his gun.
The bearded man and the bald man simultaneously drew pistols from their waists.
The gun was pointed downwards, not raised, but the finger was already on the trigger guard.
"Officer, you should think this through."
Li En stared at Cortel's retreating figure.
The flatbed trolley turned into the narrow passage between two rows of shipping containers, and the gray hoodie was swallowed up by the shadow of the metal sheet and disappeared from sight.
He removed his hand from the gun handle.
Without saying much, he turned around and walked back the way he came.
The gazes behind him returned to him, followed him for several dozen meters, and then retreated one by one.
Li En was walking back to the police station.
My mind is filled with Cortel's eyes.
He took the photo out of his pocket and glanced at it.
The boy in the photo is wearing a gray hoodie, has very short hair, smiles at the camera, showing his upper row of teeth, and has a bright look in his eyes.
The light in those eyes just now has completely disappeared.
The Walking Dead.
The word popped into his head.
Lee En stuffed the photo back into her pocket.
He considered drawing his gun on the way.
Two burly men blocked their way, and at least one armed man was hidden behind the container.
He could take down the bearded man and the bald man, but before that, the bullet lurking in the shadows would find him first.
Even if he manages to dodge, there are still more than a dozen people around him.
He couldn't possibly take someone alive under that kind of firepower.
When they returned to the police station, before the door was even opened, Bright had already stood up from behind the dispatch desk.
He saw Li En walk in, walked around the platform to greet him, and walked quickly.
"Officer Li En, any news?"
"Yes, that kid works at Port 12."
Bright's expression tightened.
"Port 12? How is that possible?" His voice was very low, as if he were talking to himself.
"That's Frank Amick's territory, a white gang. Even if Cortel were to look for work, it would be impossible..."
He suddenly stopped.
His complexion changed from brown to a dull, grayish color.
"What's wrong?" Li En asked.
Bright did not answer immediately.
He glanced around the police station to make sure no one was listening before facing Li En again, his voice even lower than before.
"That child has to work there for a long time before he can come home, there's nothing we can do."
Li En looked at him.
Bright said nothing more, and the light in his eyes dimmed.
Li En nodded.
He knew that this wasn't what Bright originally wanted to say, but since the other party wasn't willing to say it explicitly, he let it go.
Li En walked back to her workstation, sat down, turned on her computer, and entered the file system.
He watched the photos on the screen flip by, one by one, but his mind wasn't processing the information.
He was thinking about something else.
I took this case hoping to set a trap.
He wanted to see if he could trace the source of Cortel's sudden change in behavior to the culprit who was manipulating others.
But the trajectory of Cortel's disappearance is different from that of the victimized families depicted on the walls of the darkroom.
Those families all died together, but Cortel is the only one who went missing; his mother is still alive and still calling the police.
Now he knows where Cotter is.
But what can he do?
He hadn't even found his enemy yet, and he didn't even know what the person who killed his predecessor looked like.
You never know when you might get killed on the street.
If you can't even guarantee your own life, how can you expect to save others?
Anyway, being a policeman here is different from what I remember from my previous life.
The saying goes, "Since we're here, we might as well make the best of it." Even if we don't go to rescue Cortés, there won't be any problems.
Li En's finger remained on the mouse, without moving.
Bright stood behind the dispatch desk, his gaze sweeping over Li En.
He glanced at it for two seconds, then looked down, opened the stack of forms on the table, and picked up a pen.
His pen remained on the paper, but he didn't write anything.
After a few seconds, he put down his pen, placed his hands on the table, lowered his head, and his shoulders slowly slumped down.
From behind, his posture was completely different from just a few minutes ago.
My back is no longer straight, my neck is jutting forward, and it feels like a bone has been removed from my body.
He still held a sliver of hope in his heart.
Hopefully, someone willing to uphold justice will emerge in the Manhattan precinct.
Li En went to the port, found Cortel, and then came back.
Sitting in front of the computer flipping through files, as if nothing had happened.
Bright picked up the pen again and wrote the first word on the form.
Hell's Kitchen doesn't have any hot-blooded, righteous idiots; those kinds of people don't survive. He'd known that for a long time.
Bright focused intently on writing, no longer glancing at Lee En; the slight spark that had flickered in his eyes simply died out.
Li En's gaze was fixed on the computer screen, but her pupils were unfocused.
The shape of the words glides across the retina without leaving a trace.
Cortel's eyes remained fixed on him.
Those dull, empty eyes, as if something had sucked all life out of them, overlapped with the image of the cart.
His thin wrists, with prominent wrist bones, gripped the handlebars, and with each push, his entire skeleton creaked and groaned.
The image froze in his mind, and a feeling of emptiness welled up inside him, making him feel somewhat uncomfortable.
"Hey, that's right."
Brock's voice came from behind him, hoarse from just waking up.
He walked over from the desk, hat in his hand, his hair styled in a circle.
He walked over to Li En, glanced down at the screen, and didn't ask Li En what she was looking at on the desktop.
"Hell's Kitchen has its own rules." Brock pulled his hat back over his head and pressed his palm against the brim. "Even we have to follow them."
He reached out and patted Li En on the shoulder twice.
The force wasn't strong, unlike when I took his picture in front of the police station yesterday.
Yesterday's approach was perfunctory, but today's method of filming feels more like a confirmation.
It was confirmed that Li En had figured out how to survive here.
"Keep it up." Brock took two steps toward the door, glanced back at him, and said, "I'll take you to see the adult world in a few days."
He pushed open the door of the police station and walked out.
The afternoon sun outside stretched his shadow long, casting it across the cracks in the sidewalk, blending him seamlessly into Hell's Kitchen.
Li En sat in the chair and reached out to touch the spot where she had just been photographed.
The rules of Hell's Kitchen.
Is it mandatory to comply?
He turned off the computer, stood up, and pushed the chair back under the table.
With his coat draped over his arm and his gun hanging at his waist, he walked out of the police station.
Walking out onto the street, the sun shone on his face, but he didn't feel warm; instead, he felt a chilly desolation.
Lee En put his hand in his pocket and reached for the cigarette Barrett had given him.
The surface of the paper roll was somewhat rough, and the tightly twisted ends pressed against my fingertips.
He casually tossed the cigarette into the already overflowing trash can.
The homeless man in the alley stared intently at what he saw.
Only after Li En's figure had completely disappeared did he run out, take the cigarette from the pile of trash, and take a puff.
The homeless man laughed, revealing a mouthful of rotten teeth, then glanced warily left and right before quickly retreating back into the alley.
……