Chapter 330: The Not-So-Smart Director

One wave has not settled before another rises.

Thanks to having watched the drama before, Ma Ma Zhaodi had a slight impression of this suddenly appearing Little Mist Man, but at the same time, because the time was too long ago, plus the early villains had no fame, his impression was not very deep.

This minor character, with little screen time and development in the early stages, felt to him like a long English listening test: smoothly drilling in through his left ear, then sliding over his smooth, round, wrinkle-free cerebral cortex, and finally drilling out through the exit of his right ear—leaving no trace or impression throughout the entire process.

"I remember he seemed to be a simple villain... who could turn into poison gas?"

This simple sentence was Ma Ma Zhaodi's entire understanding of the Little Mist Man; there was no identity information about him, nor any past experiences, and Ma Ma Zhaodi couldn't even remember who he was supposed to kill.

"Did they get a shot of his real face?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Next time I watch a drama, I must pay more attention."

Ma Ma Zhaodi sighed; the only clue now was a bald head and a prison uniform. He couldn't possibly investigate every bald person in the whole city, could he?

Wait, prison uniform?

"San San Bengzi, check all bald criminals in the Central City Prison and see who escaped or went missing yesterday."

"Searching—search complete. Sixteen new prisoners admitted in the last two months, all shaved bald, but none missing."

"What about the old prisoners with shaved heads?"

"Forty-seven in total, and none of them escaped or went missing either."

"That shouldn't be," Ma Ma Zhaodi scratched his head: "Could it be that the clothes he was wearing weren't a prison uniform, but a cosplay outfit?"

"The back of that outfit is indeed identical to the Central City Prison uniform, but the front has no information."

"What about the surrounding surveillance?"

"The gas's concealment ability is too strong, and the surveillance coverage in Central City is not complete enough."

"So there are no leads?"

"Indeed, there are none."

"Game over."

For this kind of sudden event with no beginning or end, Ma Ma Zhaodi temporarily had no better solution—but he did have quite a few complaints about the surveillance coverage in Central City.

"Maybe I should just set up surveillance all over the city... no, no, that's a bit too extreme."

Ma Ma Zhaodi sighed; after spending some time with the mysterious Broken-Bone Man, even he had become somewhat bat-like.

"Let's go, let's go." He called out twice: "Today's business is pretty much over, so let's just head home."

The Dumb Cat, reluctant to part, climbed out of San San Bengzi's carriage and jumped back onto Ma Ma Zhaodi's head.

Crumbs of pastry still clung to the corner of its mouth.

"Dumb Cat, if you steal pastries again, I'll switch to selling dumplings starting tomorrow."

"Boss, I didn't, burp~, I didn't steal any, meow."

"When we get home, I'll make you a meal of dumplings! I don't even know if the pastries sold out every day or if they were eaten."

That night, at the edge of the Central City docks.

Compared to the brightly lit city center, the streets between the dock buildings were somewhat dim, shadows covering the area, looking as if the sunny and cheerful city had revealed its dark side at night.

A luxury sedan drove over the wet ground where wastewater had accumulated; the time was already past eight o'clock in the evening, and this car looked nothing like one that should be appearing in such a place at this time.

Screech—

The car stopped in a dark alley. A tall Black man in a high-end black suit stepped out of the car. Frowning, he strode purposefully toward a man in black clothing in the alley. This Black man was Javah, the security director of Steg.

He asked the man in black: "Where are your other team members?"

"Just me is enough."

The man in black didn't even bother to pull down the mask on his head; his eyes were fixed on his phone, seemingly busy browsing something, and his voice sounded somewhat muffled.

But one could still tell who it was.

"Mr. Black," the director replied coldly: "Whatever you plan to do, you didn't show up today, but I don't care about that; your money must still be paid. As for your failure to capture Steg today—that's because you didn't act yourself, and has nothing to do with me."

"Javah, don't you think those words are ridiculous yourself?" Denton didn't even lift his head, still looking at his phone: "Steg left at three oh nine today; he didn't even stay in the venue for ten minutes. Besides you, the security director, who else could have done this?"

Hearing this, Javah's face looked somewhat ugly, because today, Steg's situation was indeed unexpected for him as well.

He worried that Black would really believe he was playing both sides and then go for a mutual destruction.

"I'm too lazy to explain to you, Black. I'm just telling you where he will be; I won't tell you how long he'll stay there. If you move too slowly, that's not my problem."

Denton said nothing.

"On the contrary, it's me; your actions were too slow, causing the kidnapping to fail. Now the ransom is gone, I risked my life for nothing providing you with information, and now I have to worry about being traced. My loss is the greatest."

"What? Are you afraid of being found out?"

"I work in security; there is reputation in this line of work, you fool. From now on, I will not provide you with any more information. Our cooperation ends here! —Can you stop staring at your phone? Can you show me some respect?"

Denton couldn't help but laugh, but his hands didn't stop.

"Anyway, I've already quit, Javah." He replied calmly: "I have no final payment for you, so I'll give you a piece of advice. If I were you, I'd change companies or switch industries as soon as possible."

"Go to hell, Black, give me the money."

"Anyway, I've already warned you; whether you listen or not is none of my business—as for the money, I simply don't have it."

Enraged, Javah clenched his fists and rushed forward in three steps instead of two.

"You have a reputation in this line of work, Javah, and I have recorded our conversation tonight."

"Go. If you're smart enough, listen to my advice; if you're not smart enough, don't come provoke me."

Watching Denton's eyes that never lifted from start to finish, Javah's face turned green then red—of course, to others, it always looked black.

"Don't ever show your face in front of me again, scum."

He spat out a vicious threat, turned around, got into his own car, and quickly drove away from the docks.

Moments later, Black also walked away.

"What a pity." He quickly browsed the case files on his phone and dialed a number, muttering to himself: "I don't have time to really make a recording—I'm busy."

"Beep—beep—beep—"

The phone was answered, and a man's voice rang out: "Who is this?"

"Are you Aimon Zachary?"

"Yes, who are you?"

"I have something I'd like to discuss with you—about Steiger."

(End of this chapter)