Chapter 31

"How long have you been doing this?" Roger asked.

"Five months." The man answered honestly.

Roger continued: "Where did you buy these Gundams from?"

"From dealers—they have many sources, specializing in selling these damaged Gundams." The man explained.

Roger frowned: "How do you usually conduct transactions?"

"You want to start a business too?" The man seemed to see hope and hurriedly said: "You need a referral to get in. If you want to join, I can help you—I have that person's phone number saved. Just say you were recommended by Aodisi, and he'll trust you."

The man's phone was on the table; Roger picked it up: "What's his name?"

"I don't know his name, only his nickname—Vulture."

Roger flipped through it and quickly found Vulture's number, wrote it down, then asked: "Do you know where these Gundams come from?"

"I don't know." The man shook his head vigorously: "I'm just a buyer—I don't care where they come from. But recently, I've received several homeless women, all white."

Roger sharply sensed the implication in those words: "You mean this is rare?"

"Of course!" The man nodded: "Blacks and people of color are the norm—I rarely get white Gundams. But lately, I've received three in a row. Maybe it's some medical lab selling them."

"All female?"

"No, both genders. But two were female, one male."

Roger nodded: "Do you know anything else?"

"Nothing else, I swear to God!" The man made a swearing gesture.

This made Roger laugh: "Are you joking? The crimes you've committed are enough to send you to hell to meet Satan."

"No, God will forgive me—I donate money to the church every month!"

The man spoke with conviction, but Roger had no intention of listening further.

He bound the man with tape, then left the garage.

Throughout, the man never saw Roger's face.

Soon after, the wail of police sirens echoed through the neighborhood.

When Jie La De stepped down from the police car with a grim expression, he saw a blood-splattered garage and a bound man.

"Jesus Christ! Are you the Texas Chainsaw Massacre guy?" The 200-pound chief kicked the man over and ordered: "Take him to the car!"

Jie La De nodded and, with his partner, cuffed the man and shoved him into the police car.

But when he returned to the garage, he found officers clearing up piles of Gundam fragments.

"Why are you cleaning up?" He frowned, finding the chief: "Aren't you waiting for the coroner?"

The chief dismissed it: "No need. The case is clear—a guy buying corpses to satisfy his perverted tastes was spotted by a resident with conscience, who tied him up and called the press. Doesn't that make perfect sense?"

"But the reporter who called said this involved organ trafficking," Jie La De said.

The chief sneered: "Organ trafficking? With this broken-down garage? You might as well say someone can build an atomic bomb by hand in their basement."

Jie La De wanted to say more, but the chief raised a hand to cut him off: "He'll confess once he's back at the station. Don't waste time—this place isn't safe."

With that, the chief turned and walked away.

Jie La De had no choice but to clean the scene while scanning for possible clues.

After the police left, Roger stepped out from the shadows of the neighboring house.

"Fast work. I wonder what clues they'll find."

He returned to the garage, lay on the mat, and propped his hands behind his head.

【【Garage Chainsaw Demon】intelligence investigation completed】

【You witnessed an absurd scene—SAN Value -4, Spirit Vision +1】

【Reward obtained: Ancient God's Bronze Coin ×1, $50】

"Good. Didn't drain my SAN Value completely."

Looking at the panel—15 Spirit Vision points, 3 SAN points—Roger felt helpless.

Having long suffered SAN values below Spirit Vision, he'd grown accustomed to this mental state: calm on the surface, with faint madness seeping through.

"As long as I don't have nightmares."

Roger fell asleep instantly.

The next morning, Mrs. Fiona knocked on his garage door.

"Hey, good morning, Mrs. Fiona." Roger opened the door, hair a mess.

"Good morning." Mrs. Fiona handed him a fried egg sandwich, then asked: "Did something happen last night? I heard police sirens."

"Yes." Roger briefly recounted the garage incident.

"My God!" Mrs. Fiona stared wide-eyed, cursing: "This guy's greedier than a fly! How dare he run this business? Damn it, he's desecrating God! He should be hanged in front of Ye Su's statue!"

Roger shrugged.

"Thank goodness you found him—just thinking a monster like that lives in our neighborhood makes me want to shoot him dead!"

Mrs. Fiona cursed a few more times just as Natasha stepped out the door.

"I need to take her to school. I'll be working late tonight—thanks for watching her."

"No problem." Roger picked up the sandwich, took a bite, then frowned and pried it open—chocolate sauce coated the inside.

"Damn it. Fried egg and chocolate sauce sandwich? What dark cuisine is this? I need Lao Gan Ma to save me."

That day, Roger didn't stay in the garage—he rode his bicycle around town, looking for odd jobs.

After all, he now had a fixed residence; this was a chance to earn more money and buy a vehicle soon.

But after checking several places, he found no suitable jobs.

Most needed waitstaff or kitchen helpers; a few needed cashiers.

But these jobs paid poorly and came with all sorts of demands.

Finally, Roger accidentally saw a sign on the roadside recruiting delivery riders.

"This job isn't bad."

For Roger, he could receive new intelligence at any moment; being a delivery rider perfectly suited his need for mobility in intelligence gathering, and he'd have an excuse for any future situation.

Moreover, the pay for delivery riders was decent, and he often received tips.

Although the job's requirements were somewhat high for a homeless man—needing a driver's license, government ID, Social Security number, and other basic documents—

Roger had them all, so he went straight to McDonald's, used the free Wi-Fi to download the delivery platform app, and registered as a delivery rider.

"Let's see where the first order goes?"

After uploading a series of tedious documents, Roger eagerly opened the order interface.

But the next moment, he stared in surprise at the address on the screen.

"Margaret Nursing Home front entrance— isn't that where Zoe works?"