Chapter 25

·

·

·

Protagonist:

Milton

Mins

The pickup truck drove along an uneven road, jolting Milton back from the edge of sleep again and again.

At this time, his thoughts became even clearer instead.

"You had contact with Menard before, right?"

Milton would not forget this colleague with whom he had deep contradictions.

"Yes..." Brandon did not deny it either, "Or rather, the Black Pharmacy's protection umbrella at the checkpoint before was Menard. Now... it's all blown."

"Last time it was Menard who called me to the Fruit Shop to see what you were doing. But I have less contact with him; I'm mainly responsible for greasing the police station's palm for the pharmacy."

Milton had already seen that Brandon and Menard's relationship was at most that of mutual informants.

Now Menard's network was stripped by the Station Chief, the Black Pharmacy and the Fan Kang Gang had completely turned against each other, and this weak relationship vanished into thin air.

He estimated he couldn't get too much useful information about Menard from Brandon.

Milton wanted to understand Menard, not to make peace, but to see if he could further stir up his opposition to Station Chief Varta, helping himself disperse some pressure from the checkpoint side.

Now all his energy had to be used to deal with the Fan Kang Gang's upcoming tide-like revenge.

While Milton was thinking of countermeasures, he felt his body lurch forward slightly, and the Toyota's shock absorber made its unique "squeak" sound.

Brandon stepped on the brake and said, "Green Leaf Street is here... sigh, 'Boss,' I never knew before that he had a secret base in such a shitty place."

Milton glanced at the so-called "Green Leaf Street," which was actually a low-rise housing area built from shoddy corrugated iron, an outright slum.

Utility poles, electric poles, and walls were plastered with all kinds of small advertisements, even advertisements for armed security guards and mercenaries.

The Zapatista Uprising had just broken out on the Mexico side, and the civil war on the Guatemala side was nearing its end; recently there were indeed quite a few similar armed personnel coming to the vicinity.

Milton didn't look at the small advertisements much, continuing to step forward deeper into Green Leaf Street.

Almost everyone entering and leaving here wore ragged clothes, reeked all over, and suffered severe malnutrition.

Seeing the police coming, their eyes flashed with deep resistance and fear.

"This place, I estimate they only get electricity and water for two hours a day at most." Milton frowned, "You black medicine sellers, you only earn this much? You can't afford a better house?"

Brandon put on the seized PASGT Helmet, picked up his sidearm, and shrugged: "The big chunk of profit is all eaten by the upstream; how much can we salespeople have?"

"Actually, the 'Boss' was also betrayed once before; that time almost made us all done for... After that betrayal, the 'Boss' stopped doing charity, and medicine prices rose a lot. The downside is more people can't afford medicine; the upside is, I can rely on this extra income to fairly easily support my whole family, sigh."

"I'm also very strange why the Boss bought a house here. But I guess he should have taken a lot of money to maintain the Underground Pharmacy. He bought a diesel generator for the pharmacy, bought a water purifier, so that the pharmacy could have water and electricity 24 hours."

24-hour water and electricity... Milton became even more determined to hold onto this Black Pharmacy stronghold; he truly couldn't stand a life without water, electricity, or air conditioning.

"Green Leaf Street No. 4, right ahead..." Milton was about to speak when suddenly he frowned, "Wait, is there someone inside the house? Would the 'Boss' share a rental with someone else, or did he rent the house to someone else?"

Brandon immediately shook his head: "Impossible. The 'Boss' is a very cautious person."

While the two were talking, they simultaneously drew their sidearms.

No matter what happens, assume the worst-case scenario first!

Bang! Brandon stepped forward and kicked the door open with one foot.

The room was filled with smoke, permeated with pungent, acrid, and rotten smells. Three men lay on the ground as if drunk, staggering, covered with several old Madonna posters as blankets.

The three were startled, sat up at once, and cursed: "Which son of a bitch... Damn, cops?!"

The people here obviously had no good feelings toward the police; upon seeing Brandon, the three quickly stood up, retreated several steps, and asked warily: "What do you want? We haven't done anything illegal these past few days!"

Milton, meanwhile, used the panel to scan the interior behind, checking for any contraband.

Unless inside a checkpoint, Milton's inspection function could only be used when relatively close to the target; normally it couldn't indiscriminately inspect on the street.

【Level 1 Contraband detected, contraband tobacco (fine paid)】

Hmm... the fine has already been paid.

Meaning that perhaps not long ago, another inspector colleague on an outbound mission came and collected this money.

Seeing Milton say nothing, Brandon raised his muzzle and continued coldly: "Get out, this isn't your house! If you don't leave within three minutes, I'll arrest you for trespassing and illegal possession of hallucinogens."

The three immediately raised their hands but still unwillingly argued: "No one lives here anyway, why drive us away?"

Brandon couldn't be bothered to explain to these scumbags; he just raised his voice and warned sternly: "Leave!"

Several vagrants could only helplessly pack their things, but still cursed under their breath.

"Yesterday the inspector came to extort money, today the cops come to kick people out, I spit! Truly unlucky!" The tall, thin vagrant spat, "I'm telling you, watch your step when walking; I heard a cop went missing around here recently! Hmph, let's go, we're leaving!"

After speaking, the three limped toward the door.

One of the men wearing a faded baseball jacket tripped on the threshold, and a very dirty syringe fell to the ground, rolling into the sewage and mud.

He bent over indifferently, extended his ulcerated arm, intending to pick up the needle tube.

"Wait." Milton stepped on the syringe with one foot, "Are you threatening me?"

The man looked at Milton's M29 Revolver and coldly smiled: "Who dares? A cop did indeed go missing here, but it wasn't us. Now, can you return my things to me?"

Milton was now extremely sensitive to anything regarding "medical" matters, because this was 100% related to the Fan Kang Gang. Milton cocked the Gun Hammer of the revolver but did not raise the muzzle, only coldly asking: "What is the needle tube for?"

The vagrant self-mocked: "No money, so selling blood; my own is dirty, but boiled in hot water it can still be used, better than those AIDS needles at the blood center."

"Where from?"

"From the church side; the Qingteng Charity Foundation said they'd give us free malaria vaccines, but after the shot I had a fever for three days and my arm rotted. The needle tube, I took it conveniently after the vaccine." The man shook his ulcerated arm, "What, you want to manage even this little thing I stole?"

He said it very indifferently; obviously the vast majority of people on "Green Leaf Street" lived such lives.

Milton was silent for a moment, released his foot, and lightly said: "You can go."

He keenly detected two key elements—selling blood, drug testing!

The so-called charity organization's malaria vaccine is most likely some kind of unapproved drug... they trick these people into coming for injections, but the real purpose is to secretly conduct human experiments.

The smuggling interests involved here must be huge, the amount of money involved must be high, but the latent direct danger is relatively not that great.

Industries like this mainly face resistance from various interest groups; they use legal channels to build a protective moat for themselves, deterring anyone who wants to investigate, rather than using martial force directly to protect their interests like gangs do.

Milton didn't even need to think too much to guess that at least the checkpoint, hospital, charity organization, and Fan Kang Gang's four parties' interests were involved here.

The former three are responsible for providing channels and legal support, while the gang thugs are responsible for doing the unsavory things.

"Fan Kang Gang... it's you again."

Right now Milton lacks money, lacks it badly.

Lacks points, lacks red points.

Perhaps... he can find a way to intervene and investigate this matter; as long as he can solve this case, even if only partially solved, it counts as breaking one of Fan Kang Gang's legs, and can also alleviate part of the financial crisis.

Enhance himself, weaken the enemy, direct threat is relatively still not great, doing it!

As for indirect threats, as for how many local officials and interest groups will be enraged after doing this, Milton can't care about that much anymore.

Solve the immediate threat first, then talk about the rest.

Next target, Qingteng Charity Foundation!

Others don't dare investigate, Milton dares.

After making the next step's decision, Brandon's voice suddenly came from inside the room.

"Boss, come take a look... the 'Boss''s thing is hidden too well, burying it under the floor tiles beneath the wardrobe wasn't enough, he actually laid a layer of thin cement as disguise, no wonder those vagrants didn't find it."

Milton collected his thoughts, turned around, and looked toward the inside of the room.

He saw Brandon holding the gunstock, striking the floor hard twice, only then cracking out a bit of fissures.

After prying away the debris, a wooden box was revealed underneath.

Prying open the iron lock, Brandon carefully opened the box.

Inside was a large piece of gold, and a very inconspicuous small booklet, on which was written the words "Procurement Ledger".

Gold...

The "Boss" always nagged that if he had money he'd go to the United States.

Brandon stared at that piece of gold, stunned for a good while, then blankly spoke: "He... he had long since saved enough money to go to the United States. He just couldn't let go of the pharmacy..."

Of course, I also regret losing such a teammate.

Milton exclaimed a bit, then mentally calculated the gold's value, roughly around 30,000 dollars... he nodded slightly, then spoke: "Should be just these, let's go."

"Mm..."

The two simply restored the room a bit, closed the wooden door of this small house they would never come to again, and walked toward the parking spot at the street entrance.

Just at this moment, Milton suddenly saw a Yamaha XT350 motorcycle parked beside his pickup truck at some unknown time.

Beside the motorcycle stood a man with an anxious expression.

This man wore the checkpoint's work clothes.

He is an Inspector!