Chapter 110

Officer Ferren had worked at the Harbor Division for seven or eight years, and his house had moved from the remote northwest corner of the city to a neighborhood closer to downtown.

Many people thought the harbor wasn’t a lucrative post; the best divisions were the two in downtown and the Bay Area Fenju .

But in reality, the graft here was no less abundant.

Because there were so many people here, and countless operators thrived around these workers.

Elsewhere, they might extort thirty or forty yuan as “security fees” from merchants, but in the harbor district, it was at most ten or twenty yuan.

Although the fees were halved, the number of businesses here was staggering, so everyone still had ample graft.

And the harbor was also the place with the most concentrated gray industries.

The divisions in downtown or the Bay Area dared not enter nightclubs backed by powerful figures to collect various fees.

But in the Bay Area, those bars and streetwalkers had to pay up obediently, or they couldn’t survive here at all!

Even if a woman gave them just one yuan per day, incomplete statistics showed at least two thousand people engaged in this trade in the harbor district.

This didn’t even include those unrecorded who were still paying!

And sometimes they’d use other methods to extort merchants—though calling it “extortion” was too harsh; it was more like “negotiation.”

Just five minutes ago, he’d planned to squeeze a few dozen yuan from the owner of this Wanli Labor Agency—but now, he only hoped to leave safely.

This was the most chaotic time for gangs; not long ago, Poli had opened fire with a submachine gun on a public street during daylight, and yet he still faced no punishment, sitting in his office smoking fine cigarettes and drinking expensive liquor.

This was the Federation.

Fortunately, the young man across from him wasn’t a madman like Big Poli, which eased his breath.

Lans didn’t understand why Officer Ferren was so tense, but he politely opened the cigarette box on the desk, gesturing that he could smoke.

Looking at the cigarettes in the box, Officer Ferren hesitated, then took one, pulled out a lighter, and looked at Lans.

Lans paused again, then smiled wider—he picked up a cigarette himself, stuck it between his lips, and pretended to rummage in his pocket for a lighter, but was actually waiting.

“I’ve got fire,” Officer Ferren stood up, leaning forward, and lit the lighter.

Lighters of this era were almost all kerosene ones, releasing a smell upon opening—some people disliked the kerosene odor.

Lans disliked it too; he preferred carrying matches rather than stinking of kerosene.

But some men believed the smell made them seem more manly, so they favored kerosene lighters.

Lans stood up, leaned slightly across the desk, let the flame circle the cigarette tip, took two puffs, patted Officer Ferren’s hand, and said, “Thank you.”

Officer Ferren lit his own cigarette, and both sat back down—it didn’t feel like an interrogation at all, more like a social call.

After a drag, Officer Ferren seemed somewhat relaxed; he chose his words carefully: “Mr. Lans, do you know Hammer?”

“A dockworker. Last night, people said your men were searching for him.”

Lans nodded. “Yes, I know this man, but I haven’t found him either.”

“You could ask—last night, he beat up my friend without cause, forcing him to undergo surgery.”

“The total cost was over five thousand yuan. I want to find him and recover that money.”

Officer Ferren hadn’t heard of this; it was unknown to them. He quickly pulled out his notebook and jotted down the details, including Elvin’s condition.

“So you’re looking for him because he assaulted your friend first, causing injury?”

Lans nodded. “It’s several thousand yuan. My friend… you know, he has some status issues, so this expense can’t go through social insurance.”

“Even if he can’t pay it all, he should pay at least half. Don’t you agree?”

“Many people saw it. Just ask around.”

Officer Ferren nodded. He’d verify it. “Mr. Lans, Hammer is missing. Some think it might be connected to you.”

Lans showed disdain. “That’s classic slander. I want to find him more than you do—it’s five thousand yuan!”

“I think he probably ran away to avoid this. I heard he doesn’t have much money.”

Officer Ferren scribbled more in his notebook. “So you haven’t seen him.”

Lans nodded. “If anyone gives me a lead to catch him, I’ll pay two hundred yuan.”

“If you bring him to me, I’ll pay a thousand.”

“Whether it’s you, your partner…” Lans waved toward the officer standing by the door, “or your friends or family—anyone can claim this reward from me.”

Ferren wasn’t sure if Lans had truly never met him, but he didn’t care much—so what if he was dead?

Were unsolved cases in Jincheng City rare?

“Can you tell me where you were last night?”

Lans gave a brief account: “I was working here first. Then I heard my friend was severely injured, so I went to the hospital.”

“You can ask the doctors there. Oh, we also brought in doctors from the Bay Area to perform the surgery—they can testify for me.”

“After we couldn’t find Hammer, we returned. My friends can all confirm this.”

“Until you came here now.”

“By the way, if we never find him, I’ll sue him directly.”

Officer Ferren recorded the entire timeline, but these testimonies couldn’t be verified—all the people Lans mentioned had some connection to him.

He realized he wouldn’t get anything more from Lans and didn’t want to stay longer, so he asked to leave.

Only then did Lans seem to remember something. “Sorry—I thought you’d stay longer, and I forgot to have them bring two coffees.”

As Officer Ferren opened his mouth to explain, Lans pulled open a drawer, took out four five-yuan bills, and placed them on the desk. “My fault. Treat yourself and your partner to a drink—it’s too hot!”

Officer Ferren wanted to refuse, but before he could speak, Lans cut in: “Don’t rush to refuse. I know how hard you work under the sun. Police work isn’t easy.”

“Those sitting in offices won’t understand you—but I do.”

“The coffee shop next door makes good coffee. Try it.”

Officer Ferren glanced at his partner; they exchanged a look. Then he raised an eyebrow, feigning helplessness. “Well… alright. Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Lans!”

Lans extended his hand. “You protect our safety; I buy you coffee. Who says that’s inappropriate?”

Officer Ferren slipped the money into his pocket, smiling broadly. “Yes, yes. No one could say otherwise.”

Lans shook his hand. “If you get any new information, contact me anytime.” He took a business card from the desk and handed it over. “I know many officers well—we’re good friends. I think we can be too.”

Officer Ferren fully understood Lans’s meaning and responded warmly. “Absolutely!”

“Then…”

“We’ll continue our investigation. Mr. Lans, goodbye.”

“Goodbye!”

The two left the office. Ferren’s partner whistled. “He’s a decent guy.”—for the twenty yuan.

In truth, Lans didn’t need to pay them; even the gang members who’d come before had made it clear this wasn’t some small shop they could easily extort.

Moreover, Lans’s claim that he knew many officers ensured he had allies within the police system.

This intimidating man still gave them twenty yuan—it wasn’t about the money anymore. It was about dignity.

Mr. Lans was a man of dignity; so must they be.

Officer Ferren raised an eyebrow, gripping his notebook. “So we need to verify whether his story is true. I don’t want the harbor to lose a good man and gain a bad one.”

As for the weapons on the table, they didn’t care.

This was the damn Federation—where the Constitution allowed weapon ownership. If carrying weapons was a crime, seventy percent of Federation citizens should be hanged!

The investigation went far smoother than expected. Many had seen Hammer beat Elvin, and others had seen Elvin taken to the hospital by Lans’s group.

Officer Ferren visited many places, asking questions. Everyone said they hadn’t seen Hammer. Lans’s men had also searched Hammer’s home—there was no sign of direct contact.

Officer Ferren returned to the station with the evidence and testimonies he’d gathered, submitting them along with his conclusion to his superior.

The case was assigned to a sergeant, who reviewed Ferren’s materials and asked, “So your view is Hammer ran away?”

Ferren nodded. “I checked with the hospital—Blas’s friend had no insurance. The surgery and follow-up cost about five thousand two hundred yuan. He probably realized he’d stirred up trouble too big for him and went into hiding.”

The sergeant placed the file back on his desk, skimmed it again. “A typical dumb, impulsive fool. The consequences exceeded his capacity to handle.”

He shook his head, stacked the file with other Hammer-related documents, and tossed them into the bin. “Go tell his wife—if the victim sues and they can’t pay, they might have to auction off their house.”

“Best to get her to contact Hammer. Some things can’t be avoided—you have to face them.”

No matter what had happened to Hammer—whether he ran or was dead—the sergeant knew one thing.

Without concrete proof that Hammer was dead—like finding his body—the case wouldn’t meet the threshold for criminal Lian .

The Criminal Division wouldn’t get involved; the case would remain with regular patrol officers. But the harbor had so many cases daily—they couldn’t assign someone to monitor this every day.

So most likely, this case would fade like other unsolved ones—ignored after a while.

As for digging through Angel Lake for some lowlife?

Forget it.

Isn’t being alive better?