North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 1 I’ve already committed betrayal, and now you tell

The year 2000, on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

In a wooden cabin deep in the jungle, exaggerated and arrogant laughter could be heard intermittently.

"We’re rich!"

"Hahaha, 3,800,000, a full 3,800,000 US dollars! How many won can we sleep with!"

A group of robbers, having just committed a heist, greedily eyed the US dollars covering the entire table. Joints burned in their hands, their expressions ecstatic as they occasionally grabbed handfuls of bills to kiss.

In the woods outside, Dean listened to the noise coming from the cabin seven or eight ters away, his head bowed, looking sowhat bewildered at the surrounding forest environnt.

Where the hell is this?

Where’s the hot foreign girl I paid a fortune for?

After these three soul-searching questions, Dean instinctively shivered. It was as if so ritual had been completed after he relieved himself. A tingling sensation shot from his spine to his forehead, clearly telling Dean that everything before him was real.

Is this... transmigration?

Realizing this, Dean quickly checked his body.

It really had changed!

The various狰狞 scars from childhood punishnts were gone. The calluses and wounds on his hands from practicing various skills were also gone.

Using a nearby tree as a reference, this body was much taller than his in his previous life. It had a broad fra, strong muscles, and was brimming with a power that far surpassed his previous, sickly physique!

In his previous life, Dean was an orphan. At the age of eight or nine, a foreigner adopted him from an orphanage and took him to a small overseas island, where he endured an incredibly dark childhood.

Although he had good marksmanship, he wasn’t good at fighting due to his physique. Fortunately, he was smart and managed to survive among a host of cannon fodder to pass the lowest requirents of the Sweeper examination, eventually becoming a low-ranking Sweeper in the organization.

「Before the transmigration.」

Dean had just completed a mission. As was his habit, he had found a curvaceous foreign woman to help him relax his tense spirit. But no sooner had he undone his pants than everything went black before his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, everything had changed...

Dean was undoubtedly very pleased about the transmigration. He no longer had to live that precarious life, like a sewer rat, never knowing if he’d see tomorrow!

It was just a pity about that foreign woman. He had paid the money, and just as he undid his pants, he’d ended up here. He hadn’t even gotten started!

...

Once Dean cald down, he discovered that he actually possessed the original mories of this body, though they were sowhat jumbled and couldn’t provide any useful information at the mont.

Out of professional habit, he surveyed his surroundings. This appeared to be a rarely visited forest. Inside the noisy cabin nearby, there were at least six or seven people. Outside the cabin, two pickup trucks were parked. The mud on their tires was fresh, and their doors were wide open.

Considering the snippets of conversation he’d heard from inside the cabin, Dean concluded that this was a group of robbers who had just committed a heist and were now hiding here to lay low.

And what about ?

Considering he had just transmigrated and this body’s owner had been in the middle of relieving himself, an unsettling thought crossed Dean’s mind.

I might be an accomplice of these robbers!

He quickly checked himself and, sure enough, found a fully loaded M1911. In his pocket, there was also a full spare magazine.

Dean was pissed.

Damn it, I was a Sweeper in my past life, and in this one, I’m a robber? Can’t I escape a life of licking blood off a knife’s edge? Why is it so hard to be a good man!

As he lanted his apparent fate of never being a good person, he pulled a badge with the Los Angeles police emblem from his left pocket.

What’s this?

Upon opening it, Dean found it was a detective badge from the Los Angeles Police Departnt’s Organized Cri and Narcotics Division, complete with the owner’s na and photo.

Dean Lee... the exact sa full na as in my previous life. Black hair, blue eyes, pretty handso too, looks a bit like an Ancient Roman...

Rembering that he had found this detective badge on himself, Dean plucked a hair from his head and saw it was indeed black.

Confird!

In this life, I’m not a robber but a detective!

Perhaps the owner of this body was tracking these robbers, ca here, then urgently needed to relieve himself—just taking a leak—and ended up having his body taken over by .

At that mont, the people inside the cabin beca noisy again. Dean listened carefully and discovered the group was discussing how to party with the 3,800,000 US dollars after the heat died down.

He looked at the gun in his hand, an itch starting deep inside him.

Three million eight hundred thousand US dollars!

That’s more than a hundred of my previous life’s mission payouts!

A detective needs to make a living, right?

Compared to solving cases and getting promoted, isn’t a double-cross more appealing?

As soon as this thought arose, it was like ants crawling relentlessly in Dean’s heart.

Let’s do it!

A ruthless glint flashed in Dean’s eyes. He drew his pistol, chambered a round, and swapped in the spare magazine to ensure the maximum 7 1 firepower. Then, he crept toward the cabin window.

These robbers were dumb as rocks; they hadn’t even posted a lookout.

Through the window, Dean got a clear view of the situation inside. There were seven robbers, all black. Six of them were gathered around a table laden with cash, one hand clutching wads of banknotes, the other holding a marijuana cigarette, their faces pictures of bliss. The seventh man was exceptionally burly, his muscles looking as if forged from molten steel. He stood with one foot on a wooden stump, a cigar clamped between his lips, puffing out smoke contentedly as he watched the other six dance and gesture wildly.

Dean’s predecessor seed to have a particularly strong impression of this muscular man. The mont Dean saw him, fragnted information surfaced in his mind: Nathan, small-ti gang leader...

This further confird my identity as a detective from the Organized Cri and Narcotics Division.

Otherwise, why would his predecessor have cared so much about this person’s information?

These guys must have just scored, currently in a state of reckless abandon. Their long guns and handguns were all carelessly tossed onto chairs behind them.

Seeing this, Dean felt resigned.

These assholes are practically begging to double-cross them!

morizing everyone’s positions, Dean approached the door, ntally ran through his plan one more ti, took a deep breath, and then violently kicked the door open.

The loud CRASH drew the attention of everyone inside. They looked confusedly at Dean as he burst in. The black man holding the cigar, startled for a mont, began to complain, "Dean, what the hell are you—"

Although surprised that the other man recognized him, Dean never bothered wasting words on the dead.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Eight consecutive gunshots rang out. His face impassive, he executed a well-practiced Arican-style quick draw, emptying the magazine in one go. All seven n collapsed to the ground, screaming. Nathan, the leader, received special attention; Dean put two rounds into his chest.

The screams were brief. The .45 caliber bullets from Dean’s M1911 had near-rifle stopping power at close range, tearing bloody holes in their bodies. The shot n struggled for a few monts, then their eyes widened, blood soaking their clothes as they died with expressions of disbelief.

In a blink of an eye, the once joyful cabin had turned into a charnel house, bodies strewn everywhere.

Nathan, with his robust physique, wasn’t quite dead yet. He struggled to lift a hand, pointing tremblingly at Dean, trying to say sothing but only managing to cough up mouthfuls of blood...

Dean, whistling, reloaded his magazine and squatted in front of Nathan. "Never seen a cop double-cross anyone, huh?" he taunted. "Why are you staring so wide-eyed?"

After spitting out more blood, Nathan finally managed a weak voice, "Fuck... I... I sent you undercover to the police departnt, you bastard... how dare you double-cross us..."

Dean was stunned. "Fuck, I pull a double-cross, and only now you tell I’m your mole in the police departnt?"

I acted too fast.

My mories haven’t fully rged yet, and I don’t know if Nathan has any dirt on .

But on second thought... What a perfect double-cross!

These n were probably all core mbers of Nathan’s team, aware of my identity.

Who cares about leverage!

Kill them all.

And there’s no leverage left, right?

Worst cos to worst...

Once my mories rge, I’ll just clean up any remaining potential threats!

Besides, as a dirty cop involved in a robbery, I definitely wouldn’t use my service weapon. I won’t even need to tamper with the evidence later.

With this thought, Dean raised his pistol, aid it at the barely alive Nathan, and emptied the magazine again...

He had killed seven n. The cloying mix of blood, gunpowder, and marijuana was nauseating.

Dean rubbed his temples, his head throbbing as the mories tried to fuse. He took out a cigarette, lit it, then grabbed a pre-prepared backpack from the side and began stuffing it with cash.

A US dollar bill weighs a little over one gram. Most of these US dollars were in twenties, with only a few hundreds. There were no fives, tens, or fifties. In total, there were well over a hundred thousand bills. More than three million US dollars, weighing at least 220 pounds.

Dean filled two large backpacks before all the cash was packed.

As the saying goes: kill to silence, destroy the evidence.

Although his mind was sowhat chaotic, as a professional Sweeper, his tradecraft remained sharp. He efficiently wiped the pistol clean and placed it in one of the dead n’s hands. Then, he collected any identification and communication devices from the bodies that could reveal identities, smashed them, and put them in a pile. He fetched a half-ter tall oil drum from one of the trucks outside and began sanitizing the scene...

BOOM!

A fierce blaze ignited, engulfing the wooden cabin. The area around the cabin was clear.

Once Dean was sure the fire wouldn’t spread into a forest blaze, he glanced at the address on his driver’s license, started one of the pickup trucks, and drove onto the forest trail...