North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 254 171: Lucifer Game Organization's Interest, Snatc

"Toy Serial Killer..." Dean read, then pocketed the note. He nodded his thanks to the waiter and turned to leave.

This coffee shop was no ordinary establishnt; it was an intelligence outpost for the NSA. As an Intelligence Organization backed by the United States security departnt, the NSA's intelligence system commanded exceptionally high authority, capable of directly accessing even non-top-secret files from the FBI and CIA.

After Dean uploaded the killer's modus operandi and behavioral traits to the NSA's search system, it took less than half an hour before he received a text ssage instructing him to co and retrieve the intelligence. The process was so convoluted mainly because the NSA prohibited the online transmission of intelligence unless it involved secure network lines.

With the intelligence in hand, Dean called Harry, who was still looking conflicted, and they left the coffee shop.

After they left, a blonde woman approached the waiter. "Is that the special agent Director Amon values so highly?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. "He's quite good-looking."

The waiter, his face impassive, glanced at her and forced a grim smile. "Next ti you try to pry information from , I'll cut out your tongue, pan-fry it in butter, and savor it slowly." As he spoke, he licked his lips, a glint of anticipation in his eyes.

A chill ran down the blonde woman's spine. She knew this stone-faced waiter wasn't joking; the pervert genuinely wanted to eat her tongue.

The woman quickly clapped a hand over her mouth and scurried out of the coffee shop's back door. Huddling in a corner of the back alley, she pulled out her phone. Within the organization, information on Dean was valuable. She was hoping to make a tidy sum.

Suddenly, the woman sensed sothing. She looked up warily, her pupils contracting slightly as if she had seen a terrifying monster. "Hello," she said, her voice a little strained. "I'm Murphy."

Dean looked at the still rather green young woman before him and grinned. "You seem very interested in . Do we know each other?"

A vague unease prickled at Murphy.

She swallowed hard. "I know you, but you don't know . Soone ntioned you're friends with Director Amon. It's such a coincidence eting you today; I'm astonished by how handso you are."

"So you're also with the NSA?"

"Yes, but I'm just an ordinary field operative. You could say I'm an informant still in training. Anything more specific, well, confidentiality rules prevent from saying!" As Murphy spoke, she quickly reached into her pocket and pulled out an NSA-issued employee ID to prove she wasn't lying.

Dean scoffed inwardly at the word 'informant'. What a load of bullshit! These people were essentially just co-opted intelligence peddlers. Strictly speaking, they couldn't be considered actual NSA mbers. They were more like freelancers operating under the NSA's banner to make a living—a mixed bag with low reliability. However, these individuals could sotis provide the NSA with highly covert intelligence, and since they didn't cost anything to maintain regularly, the NSA was quite fond of cultivating such 'mbers'.

Dean glanced at the ID Murphy offered, confird its authenticity, and nodded. "Alright. If you're that curious about , we could find a more suitable place for an in-depth chat, rather than you hiding in a corner, secretly watching . That could easily give people the wrong idea."

"Sorry," Murphy said. "It's just that special appointees are rare in the NSA. Those positions are usually for the children of influential figures to pad their resus. So it's not just ; a lot of the female staff are curious about you."

"Too bad I'm not one of those privileged kids." Dean shrugged, checked the ti on his phone, and added with a hint of regret, "It was nice eting you, beautiful Murphy. Unfortunately, I have so things to take care of, and my partner is waiting for on the street. I'll look you up when I'm free. We can grab dinner; I'm curious about the NSA myself."

"No problem!" Murphy agreed readily.

Dean nodded and walked away.

Only when Dean's back had completely disappeared from view did Murphy clutch her 'Arican-made grapefruits,' trying to still the heart that nearly leaped from her chest.

She'd survived! For certain reasons, she knew Dean very well. He was a homicide detective with an addiction to killing—more savage and ruthless than so of the organization mbers she was familiar with! If he'd caught on, she would have been dead for sure.

After calming herself and making sure no one was around, Murphy picked up her phone again. She quickly dialed a sequence of numbers. The phone's initially plain screen switched to a blood-red interface, and a small speaker icon began flashing in the bottom right corner, indicating the communication line was now secure.

She imdiately called her friend.

The call connected quickly. A sultry female voice ca through, "Murphy, what's up?"

Murphy lowered her voice. "I ran into Dean at NSA Outpost 13."

"Dean?" the woman on the other end gasped, then repeated, "Dean!" before her voice filled with excitent. "Do you have details? You know his intel isn't cheap these days."

"I'm not sure," Murphy said. "The guy in charge here is a total psycho; I didn't dare provoke him. But reading Dean's lips, it looked like he was muttering 'Toy Serial Killer.' He's probably investigating a case." Murphy told her friend everything she knew.

"Wow, what a coincidence." The voice on the phone sounded surprised at first, then full of anticipation. "Murphy, looks like we're in for a good show. Your intel is very valuable. I can give you five Ga Coins for it."