Chapter 650: A Strange Night on the West Coast (Part 2)

The cocktail's hypnotic sheen, under the bar's lighting, always appeared especially dazzling—a layered gradient of blue, like the ocean beneath a glacier, making one feel a bone-deep chill at just a glance.

This complemented Los Angeles' warm-night atmosphere: no Gotham's cold rain, no Metropolis' clamor—only West Coast electronic psychedelia, carried in by sea breezes and mingling with the classical music on the bar counter, uniquely melodious.

Another glass clinked against the bar top, and through the translucent liquid, Lucifer's face was reflected in the glass; he lifted it and took a sip.

"You know," Lucifer set down his glass and looked into Shieler's eyes, "some come to me to escape death, some for wealth and glory, some for power or influence…"

"And you—you're the first to come to me for seasickness."

"I told you, I'm not just ordinary seasick…"

"Does ordinary seasickness even exist in this world???" Lucifer drew a deep breath, as if pushed to his limit; after a pause, he said, "Fine, I'll play doctor for once. What are your symptoms? Tell me."

"Dizziness, nausea, cold sweats, weakness all over…"

"That's ordinary seasickness!"

"!"

Shieler was about to speak, but Lucifer raised a hand: "My dear Pope, if you truly have nothing better to do, go find me some new followers—people who love their work, because I don't want to hear them complain about how hard it is."

"Do you think I love my work?" Shieler asked.

Lucifer sighed, took another sip, and said, "Yes, your first request when you came to me was to turn your annual leave into thirty-six days…"

He propped his temple with his hand: "If God's Pope prayed to Him for longer vacation, would He also be left speechless, like me…"

"You know, in your last sixteen statements, eight mentioned your father. I've seen this before. My advice? You need to see a psychologist."

"Aren't you the psychologist?"

"I'm your Pope—and currently on vacation."

"Clang!" Lucifer slammed his glass onto the table. "I've noticed since you lost your memory—you've become increasingly insufferable…"

"Then why won't you fire me?"

"I…" Lucifer clenched his glass, breathed deeply several times, then said, "Why don't you go to the Vatican and be God's Pope?"

"You know," Shieler took a sip and met Lucifer's gaze, "most people in pain prefer to scream for their mother."

"Crack!" The glass shattered. Lucifer pointed to the door: "Get out! Don't let me see you again!"

"Wait—let's not talk about your seasickness yet. Tell me about you: that female singer just now—she's your friend? How did you meet?"

Lucifer snorted, but answered: "Her name is Delila. She was a bar singer and cocktail waitress. I thought her voice was good, and she had some songwriting talent, so I introduced her to a record label boss. Turns out, her first album was a massive hit—now she's famous across the West Coast…"

"You saw she was troubled—why won't you just find out what it is?" Shieler asked.

"I told you—I don't use this ability on friends."

"I think you just find it troublesome. If you see their pain, you feel obligated to fix it—or else you'll feel guilty toward the friendship. So you simply look away, pretend not to see."

"I just want to be normal!" Lucifer tapped his glass against the counter. "Do normal people use mind-reading? Don't they still maintain friendships? Why can't I?"

"Of course you can…" Shieler took a sip, lowered his eyes to the empty glass, and said with an unreadable expression, "But if you want to enjoy simple friendship like a normal person, you must be ready to accept disappointment—otherwise…"

Lucifer was about to ask what he meant when a loud "Bang!" came from outside the bar, followed by screams and chaos.

He set down his glass and rushed out, seeing a figure lying in a pool of blood—it was Delila, who had just left the bar.

Lucifer rushed forward, embracing Delila's blood-soaked body; the singer was already dead—no ordinary human could survive a point-blank gunshot.

Lucifer placed his hand on Delila's chest, stopping the bleeding, then left her lying still on the ground.

Lucifer took a deep breath, stood, and began searching for the killer. Suddenly, he spotted a suspicious car across the street—he ran over and found the killer already dead.

Lucifer reached out, gripping the killer's throat; instantly, the man's body jerked upright, gasping for air. Lucifer pulled his soul from Hell and returned it to his body—he revived him.

"Why did you kill Delila?" Lucifer asked.

"I just… I'm just a hired gun…" The killer, terrified by Hell's vision, then saw something worse—a demonic visage flashed across Lucifer's face—and he was dragged back into Hell.

When Lucifer returned to Delila's body, Shieler was already crouching beside it. Lucifer knelt too; Shieler examined the corpse and asked, "Why didn't you just revive her?"

Lucifer glanced around: "Delila's a famous singer. Everyone saw her get shot. If I revive her, it'll bring me trouble—and she'll be hunted forever."

"You could erase everyone's memory. You just don't want to." Shieler stood, walked over, and picked up Delila's dropped handbag.

Inside, he found a bag of white powder. He opened it, sniffed lightly, and knew instantly—it was some kind of drug.

At this point, Shieler had nearly recalled the plot of the TV series Lucifer.

The show had nothing remarkable: simply Lucifer's mundane, trivial troubles in the human world, mixed with God's family drama.

YY novel.

Its romantic subplot was like Twilight—the female lead possessed the power to weaken Lucifer, then he noticed her, and the rest was the usual melodramatic clichés.

The only problem? This Lucifer Shieler met wasn't like the TV version. The TV Lucifer had no power to revive others at will. Clearly, this Lucifer Morningstar was the comic version—the one second only to God.

Shieler didn't believe anyone could weaken such a being. But if this Lucifer still got weakened by the TV heroine, it could only mean he was infatuated—trying to seduce her.

When police cars arrived, two figures stepped out—one man, one woman. They approached the body, while Lucifer had already returned inside the bar—he clearly wanted no contact with the police.

Soon, Shieler returned and sat back at the bar, leaning against it, watching the scene outside. The two officers were examining the corpse. Shieler glanced back at Lucifer's eyes—yes, he was infatuated.

The female officer was indeed beautiful—mature, with a blend of gentleness and sensuality. But Lucifer showed no signs of being weakened; he merely wiped glasses while watching the scene outside.

The murder at the bar's entrance naturally drew investigators to question witnesses inside. Lucifer and Shieler, who had been seated at the best-viewed bar counter, were the prime suspects.

The female officer pushed the door open first. Seeing the two near the bar, she paused, then stepped forward and shook Shieler's hand: "You must be Professor Rodriguez, the famous psychologist?"

"Correct. Do you know me?"

"Of course. Your photo's in our criminal psychology textbook. Though you look younger than in the book."

"Yes, I always thought they aged me too much." Shieler shook her hand. "What's your name? Are you the detective on this case?"

"I'm Chloe Decker. Call me Chloe. I'm the lead detective on this murder. I wanted to ask—did you see anyone suspicious?"

Lucifer opened his mouth, but Shieler said: "No. It happened too suddenly. We heard a gunshot, and by the time we reached the door, the woman was already…"

Chloe clearly trusted Shieler more. She quickly asked: "Can you recall the exact time of the gunshot?"

"There was a clock right there. I remember it was around 00:03—within two minutes either way." Shieler answered smoothly.

At that moment, the Ma Lei officer entered. His tone was far less friendly: "Did you see anyone suspicious inside the bar?"

His cold, harsh tone made Shieler frown. Chloe nudged the officer's arm: "Don't be like that, Dan. This is Professor Rodriguez, the famous psychologist…"

"According to our preliminary investigation, the killer was in that sedan. We found a gun and bullets inside, plus a large quantity of drugs."

"We found identical drugs in the victim's bag. So there may have been a drug deal—perhaps a dispute led to murder…"

Shieler looked at Chloe. She looked uneasy. "This is Dan—my partner…"

"Just partners?" Lucifer asked.

Chloe shot him a glance but said nothing. She pulled Dan aside, and they began whispering. Shieler leaned against the bar, close to Lucifer, and murmured:

"I bet you're planning to tell this female officer the clues you extracted from the killer—show her your uniqueness, gain a legitimate reason to join the case, stir up a string of bizarre events, make her both frightened and intrigued, then create a crisis to demonstrate your power…"

Lucifer slowly turned his gaze away from Shieler. Shieler smiled and said:

"The last person who did this? His name was Constantine."

Lucifer snorted.

"Guess who he learned it from?"