Chapter 127: The Injured Man

Heller stood on the upper floor of Empire Night Club, through the window he could see several groups of police on the street below.

Some of those police were still questioning his men.

It wasn’t just here—other senior officers had also been watched by police because of that damn shootout last night.

Will was dead.

He didn’t really care who died or who lived.

When the Calamari Gang first arrived in the Federation, how many had died just to secure a foothold here?

That was real cruelty—almost every few days, some would vanish completely from everyone’s lives, while new faces joined in.

Heller’s grandfather, father, uncles, aunts, brothers, and sisters—over a dozen had died, but he never cared much, especially not since he’d taken this seat!

As long as it wasn’t him.

Countless people outside wanted to join the Calamari Gang.

Just pick any subordinate he liked, promote him to senior officer, and wouldn’t his ranks be full again?

The reason his face was so pale now was because someone dared challenge him, challenge the Calamari Gang—and he was furious that Will, knowing full well today was the pickup day, had caused such a massive mess.

The men he’d sent to pick up the goods were now under police surveillance too; the police suspected they might launch a retaliatory shootout.

To control the situation and prevent these gangsters from shooting it out in broad daylight on the streets, many police had rushed over to watch them.

This was said to reduce public anxiety and ensure urban safety, so for the next week or two, they’d keep a tight watch on these people.

How could he pick up the goods with police watching?

The liquor was already at sea, and would soon reach the waters outside the harbor.

These smugglers weren’t gentle men—if no one showed up on time, and they waited a while with no one coming, they’d just take the goods and leave.

Heller had already paid for the liquor.

The Calamari Gang wasn’t like the Five Families, who all had some smuggling business or enough clout to get goods delivered first and pay later.

Heller had no such clout with the smugglers—he had to pay first, then they’d send the goods.

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Whether he picked them up or not was none of their concern—they only delivered.

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In other words, if he didn’t show up for this twenty-thousand-dollar shipment, they’d rather dump the liquor into the sea than wait for him.

His rage at this moment was beyond words—a bastard who dared challenge the gang’s authority, and a dead fool who’d just cost him twenty thousand!

It still seemed like a long time until dark, but really, it was only a dozen hours—he had to decide now.

He picked up the phone, hesitated a moment, then dialed the Red Dog Gang boss’s number. The Red Dog Gang operated across two districts—the Empire District and the Harbor District—but they weren’t considered a high-threat gang.

Their main business was collecting protection fees, providing security for all commercial venues—like the bar Lans had visited.

They provided six guards; the bar owner only had to pay five hundred credits for protection, no other fees.

For an underground bar, that was nothing—the customers would bring in the money in two or three days.

They had other minor income sources too—petty theft, running pimps—nothing too violent, a “friendly gang.”

So there was no major conflict between them.

The phone was answered quickly, “Hey, Bill, it’s Heller.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ve got a problem—tonight a shipment’s coming in, but I can’t get free to pick it up, so I’m thinking of handing it over to you.”

“And…”

The Red Dog Gang boss Bill cut him off, “What kind of shipment?”

“Liquor—worth twenty thousand, sells for over thirty-five thousand on the market. You give me eighteen, it’s yours.”

The guy on the other end cut straight to the bone, “Ten thousand.”

Heller choked, “It sells for thirty-five thousand—you’d make nearly double profit on eighteen!”

A woman’s laugh came through the receiver; Bill flatly refused, “I’m not taking it…”

The next second, the call was hung up.

Heller stared at the receiver for a moment, cursed a few times, then dialed another number.

This was the number of a gang leader in the West Forest District—they had no conflict with the Calamari Gang, neither in business nor territory, and they were immigrants too; Heller had met their boss a few times, so they had some rapport.

But as soon as he mentioned it, the man refused—their relationship wasn’t deep enough, and last night’s shootout had put the Harbor and Empire District police on high alert.

Picking up the shipment carried huge risk—if they failed to get it, or got it but were caught by police, who’d bear the loss?

Better to wait until the police calmed down and arrange their own ship.

Everyone was either planning or already doing bootlegging—they didn’t want to risk their own business for a little extra profit.

After hanging up helplessly, Heller’s chest ached from rage!

He pulled out his special medicine, swallowed a pill, and felt slightly better.

There was one more number he hadn’t called—he didn’t really want to, but now it might be his last chance.

“Hey, Big Poli, it’s me, Heller.”

“Hoo, Heller! Heller!”

“I remember you—got something you want me to take care of?”

The loud, brash voice on the receiver—even without seeing him, Heller could picture the man’s face.

That was why he disliked him.

In Jincheng, if people could avoid it, they’d never associate with Big Poli—he was mentally unstable; he’d once opened fire with a submachine gun in broad daylight on a busy street, proving just how crazy he was.

“I’ve got a problem—tonight a shipment’s coming in from the sea, but I’m under police surveillance and can’t move.”

“I’m thinking of handing it off—maybe you’d be interested.”

Instantly came his unmistakable, flamboyant voice, “That’s right—I’m interested in any money-making deal.”

“So, Heller, what are you offering me, and what do I have to pay?”

Heller took a deep breath, “Twenty-thousand-dollar liquor—sells for thirty-five thousand on the market. I’ve already paid. You just pick it up.”

“In return, you give me ten thousand. The shipment’s yours.”

After about ten seconds, the reply came—exactly what Heller wanted: “Fine. But one thing—I won’t pay until I’ve confirmed my men and the goods are safe.”

“Of course, of course—that’s only fair.”

“Heller, you’re an interesting man. Maybe we’ll become good friends.”

“Then tell me the time, place, and code for the pickup…”

After hanging up, Heller exhaled slightly—he’d originally planned to take the lion’s share of at least fifteen thousand in profit.

Now, just twenty-four hours later, not only had the profit vanished—he’d lost ten thousand.

Goddamn Will, goddamn that bastard!

If the Red Dog Gang was a relatively mild gang, the Calamari Gang was anything but.

Over the years, they’d killed more than a few Empire citizens; Heller wasn’t a kind or gentle man—he thought it over, then dialed a number.

The phone was answered with “It’s me,” and the other side hung up immediately.

About four or five minutes later, his phone rang again, “What is it?”

A dull male voice spoke—clearly muffled by a handkerchief over the receiver, to disguise his voice, useless even if recorded.

“Who killed Will last night?” he asked—he planned to recover his losses from this man.

Will was gone; he didn’t know Will’s account or password—this might be his only chance at any compensation.

The voice on the receiver replied, “Our side believes it’s highly likely the Lans Family of Harbor District’s Seventh Street did it—but so far, no direct evidence.”

“Everyone’s watching them. If you don’t want trouble, don’t you dare move against them right now.”

“And don’t you dare call the police—you’ll get me killed!”

The dial tone buzzed. Heller stared at the receiver for a while, then placed it back on the cradle, picked up a pen, and scrawled on a piece of paper: “Lans Family.”

The writing was ugly—and he’d even misspelled it!

But none of that mattered—he now knew who to go after for his ten thousand lost and his fifteen thousand expected profit!

Around ten, Lans arrived at the office and immediately saw two police cars being “surrounded.”

The police had obtained a search warrant and were making a final “struggle”—if they could find the guns that fired the bullets recovered at the scene, Lans would have to go quietly to the police station for questioning.

Going into the police station was entirely different from not going in.

Federation police weren’t gentle people; over the years, suspects dying suddenly in police custody wasn’t uncommon news.

Even federal law had repeatedly expanded the possible methods and scope of “interrogation” to ensure suspect safety.

Yet rumors still frequently surfaced of suspects dying violently inside police stations.

Some were genuinely beaten too hard and killed.

Others were silenced because someone gave orders.

If Lans entered the police station with no one to vouch for him, he’d definitely confess.

So far, even the toughest mouths, after a full set of procedures, had never held out—they really did use water torture!

But unfortunately, Lans denied them that chance—the weapons had already been returned to Hu Zi.

If they found those weapons now, they’d discover they had no connection to the bullets left at the scene.

At this moment, they were surrounded by workers, who glared at them, mistaking the police for coming over about Jamie and Johnny’s case to harass Lans.

Goddamn Federation police—when they bullied these people, the police saw it and did nothing.

But now that they’d merely retaliated a little, the police acted like it was a major crisis and rushed over here.

Anger born in a crowd spreads quickly—soon, the workers began shoving the police in the crowd.

The police didn’t dare fight back, only retreating into their vehicles; had Lans not arrived in time, they’d have overturned the patrol cars!

Seeing Lans arrive, the crowd’s anger eased slightly. He spoke briefly with a few of the leading workers inside, and the surrounding laborers immediately dispersed.

The police who came this time were from the city police bureau, not the harbor district.

“Mr. Lans, it seems you’re held in high regard here,” said the officer, his tone ambiguous. Lans merely smiled and nodded.

“People respect those who provide them with work and stable lives.”

He paused. “Do you have a search warrant?”

The officer produced the warrant. Lans examined it, then handed it to Xiao En. “You may search, but don’t touch the files—organizing them is a nightmare.”

“I dislike trouble. If you give me trouble...”

The officer looked at him. “And then?”

Lans smiled, said nothing, and gestured twice with his head. “Please.”

Officers from both vehicles disembarked. Since fingerprints were incorporated into the judicial evidence chain years ago, all these officers wore gloves during the search.

They searched nearly every corner, even the toilet tanks.

Someone even tapped walls with an iron rod, as if searching for hidden compartments.

Perhaps Lans’s warning had an effect—they didn’t ransack the file room, and the files were plainly visible anyway.

Weapons or hidden items? One glance revealed everything.

Near midnight, they completed their thorough search, even inspecting the courtyard and alley behind the office.

“You’ve cleaned up well, Mr. Lans,” said the lead officer, standing by the roadside as he peeled off his gloves.

Lans never fell for such loaded remarks. “I don’t understand your meaning, but as a federal citizen, I will unconditionally cooperate with the enforcement powers granted to you by law.”

“Now, have you definitively finished your search? Found anything you were looking for?”

The officer shook his head. “I hope you stay this careful.”

He left with his men, but both he and Lans knew this matter was far from over.

Lans returned to the office. Many were watching him. Meeting their gazes, he “scolded” in a confident tone: “What are you all staring at? Get back to work!”

He returned to his office, summoned Hiram, took thirty dollars from a drawer, and placed it on the desk.

“Buy some gifts, take the money, deliver it to Johnny’s home, then visit him in the hospital. Tell him we’ve secured his family’s forgiveness.”

“Tell him not to say anything stupid. I can’t afford to deal with him now—and don’t let me have to.”

Hiram nodded, pocketed the money. “Tell him how serious this is.”

Lans pointed at him. “Yes. Tell him how serious. Then go check on Aierwen —see if he needs anything...”

Handling Johnny’s issue was Lans’s precaution in case Officer Luka or the Jincheng police intended to confront him.

Johnny could become a nuisance—a loophole, like claiming Lans broke his arm and refusing settlement.

Though Lans was certain he wouldn’t be jailed over this, the police could repeatedly summon him to the station using witness testimony, even openly surveil him.

It was annoying. So he had to warn Johnny not to do anything foolish.

After sending off Hiram, Lans drove to the docks. He felt someone was following him.

In the Federation, only a few enforcement agencies—besides plainclothes officers from the city bureau—could operate without uniforms and still hold legal authority.

But he didn’t think this minor case would draw the attention of the Lianbangdiaocha Bureau. Besides, the Lianbangdiaocha Bureau wasn’t truly powerful now. Though established for some time, it hadn’t yet demonstrated strength within law enforcement.

So the only plausible answer remained: Officer Luka, or someone he’d sent.

Lans didn’t treat the surveillance as trouble. He went straight to the docks.

He’d leased the Workers’ Club—he needed to inspect how it should be renovated.

On the way, he saw Vorn. They chatted. Vorn seemed to want to say something but couldn’t. Lans suspected he knew about last night’s brawl.

Jincheng was undeniably a major city in this era, yet with convenient information networks, it felt like a small town.

The Workers’ Club was large. After walking through it, Lans formed a rough plan—and there, he spotted a glimmer of gold.

It had real potential. But the union members were too timid. He wasn’t.

All day, Lans acted as usual. Both he and those following him knew he wouldn’t be foolish enough to provoke trouble in the short term.

The surveillance now was merely a “formality.”

A formality to satisfy the indifferent public—and to satisfy themselves.

Past one in the morning, Jimmy arrived with his men in speedboats off the harbor. Soon, he spotted the delivery crew.

After confirming the code, he immediately received a large shipment of liquor.

The other side refused any communication. Watching them load the goods, they sped off immediately.

Jimmy, meanwhile, returned to the warehouse with a fleet of speedboats packed with liquor.