Chapter 39: High-Value Transaction

A black sedan glided like a ghost from the opposite street, its headlights blindingly bright.

Roger squinted against the glare, turned on his own high beams, and honked.

"Beep!"

"Hey, don't do that!" Vulture couldn't stop him in time and hurriedly opened the car door to step out.

Seeing Vulture appear, the other side turned off their high beams.

Roger shut off his lights and followed Vulture over to the black sedan.

Vulture pressed one hand against the car door and gripped the window frame with the other.

The next moment, the window rolled down slowly, revealing a pale man's expressionless face.

His hooked nose emerged slowly from the shadows as he sneered: "Is this how you handle things, Vulture?"

"The new guy doesn't know any better." Vulture kicked out at Roger with his foot, but Roger dodged.

Then Roger said: "Sorry, I thought you were just some passerby."

"Hmph." The hooked-nose man didn't press further, merely glanced at Roger and said bluntly to Vulture: "Is this guy reliable?"

"Of course! He's Aodisi's friend—absolutely reliable." Vulture slung an arm around Roger's shoulder.

"On Aodisi's word," Roger said, face blank.

The hooked-nose man dismissed their words with a wave: "Then stop wasting time. The goods today are fresh—you'll pay more."

"Hey, buddy, the goods are always fresh—why the price hike this time?" Vulture negotiated while patting Roger's shoulder and nodding toward the trunk.

Clearly, he was ordering Roger to unload the cargo.

Roger received the cue, raised an eyebrow, and walked alone to the back of the black sedan.

He didn't rush to open the trunk; instead, he memorized the license plate number.

After all, this was evidence the police would use later to catch them.

Just as Vulture and the hooked-nose man haggled over price, he quietly opened the trunk. Instantly, a sharp formaldehyde stench flooded his nostrils.

"Cough."

Roger quickly covered his nose with the back of his hand and stepped back.

Inside the trunk lay a long black body bag, faint but unmistakable traces of blood seeping through.

Damn it!

Do these people openly trade Gao Da like this?

Don't they fear police suddenly stopping and searching the car?

But when he looked up, he saw a black-and-gold card stuck to the rear window, bearing the Seattle Police Department SPD logo.

Though it bore no text, Roger recognized it at once: the VIP Kapian.

To obtain this card, one must donate thousands to tens of thousands of dollars to the police department's fund.

No wonder they weren't afraid of police raids—this card didn't mean you could walk all over Seattle, but at least you didn't fear surprise inspections; if you met a corrupt officer, even drunk driving might be overlooked.

After all, the police department had to make money too.

After studying the card, Roger leaned close to the body bag.

"Shhh."

He pulled open the zipper.

A lifeless African young woman's face appeared before him.

A strong stench of blood followed.

Roger frowned, sensing this Gao Da differed subtly from the ones he'd seen before in the garage.

How to put it?

It felt more alive.

Her eyes were closed; ignoring her pallid skin, she looked almost asleep.

As if she'd just been declared dead on the operating table and delivered here by the hooked-nose man.

Roger felt a chill crawl up his spine.

But he calmly zipped the bag shut, clasped his hands together, and silently performed a rite for the deceased.

"Forgive me."

After his silent prayer, Roger turned, bent over with his back to the Gao Da, slung the bag onto his shoulders, and walked slowly toward the vehicle.

Anyone who's carried a passed-out friend knows how heavy an unconscious body is.

But Roger found this girl absurdly light—as if made of feathers.

Along the way, he strained his ears to listen to Vulture and the hooked-nose man's conversation.

Suddenly, Vulture's shrill voice rang out: "What? You say there's no more stock?"

"That's not up to me," the hooked-nose man glanced around, lowering his voice: "Next week is the last batch this month. Whether there's more after that—I'll contact you."

"Buddy, do these things come in seasons? You're trying to ditch me—we've worked together half a year! You can't treat me like this!" Vulture pressed.

The hooked-nose man sighed: "I'm not dumping you, Vulture. But now my archenemy's become the supervisor—damn it, he's checking everything, you get it!"

"Last time you said that position was yours—no one could take it."

At this, the hooked-nose man seemed angry: "That supervisor spot should've been mine. But that guy with the redneck English—his surgical skill was equal to mine, yet because he slept with the boss, he got promoted over me."

"Damn, buddy. If it were me, I couldn't take it—I'd beat the hell out of him!" Vulture egged him on.

But the hooked-nose man held his temper, merely punched the steering wheel once, then changed the subject: "So I must clear up the old business fast—if he finds out, I'm dead."

"Alright, alright," Vulture, seeing the man was serious, accepted the reality.

On the other side, Roger placed the body bag into the prepared box.

As he moved, the bag rattled loudly—a sound piercingly sharp in the silent street.

Perhaps this was the strange noise mentioned in the intelligence.

After the body bag was properly secured, Roger returned to the driver's seat.

Not long after, Vulture also got back into the vehicle.

"Fuck, you heard that, right? Our business is on hold for a while." He shrugged.

"Why?! This is my first job, and I still haven't paid off the gangsters!" Playing the part to the full, Roger's expression was fiercely resentful.

Vulture comforted him: "Don't worry, there's another shipment next week—this time it's A Huo!"

Hearing the excitement in his voice, Roger asked curiously: "What's A Huo?"

"A Huo means white people without hidden diseases, no drug use, and fully functional bodies! They're highly valuable for research—many pharmaceutical companies are buying them."

"So how much more expensive is A Huo?" Roger raised one eyebrow.

"Much more than you think!" Vulture grinned. "Think of it like high-purity heroin—addicts would go crazy for it."

"Alright." Roger asked casually: "So is that hook-nose a doctor? Otherwise, where'd he get all these highs?"

"I'm not sure, but he's definitely not from a big hospital—maybe just a private clinic." Vulture replied offhandedly.

"Why?" Roger asked.

Vulture shrugged: "If he were from a big hospital, do you think there'd be any room for us? They'd already be working with professional companies."

"That makes sense. So how did you even find him to partner with?" Roger asked, puzzled.

Vulture put one foot up on the glove compartment: "Online. Met through an app, arranged a deal—that's it."

Roger was speechless: "That's really simple."

"Of course. You think it needs to be complicated? We're not 007—we don't need secret handshakes." Vulture chuckled. "This business is safe—ordinary people can't even get access."

The pickup truck rolled down the main road; just as Roger was about to turn the steering wheel onto another street, Vulture interrupted him: "Don't take Gongyuan Lu—police check cars there sometimes. Go straight down Zhongxin Dadao—more traffic, harder for cops to patrol."

"Alright."

Following his advice, the vehicle arrived safely at Vulture's neighborhood.

After getting out, Vulture warned: "Watch your back on the road, and don't forget my money."

"Don't worry!"

Roger nodded, pressed the accelerator, and headed straight for Vanessa's predetermined location.