North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 365 - 232: The Lame Expert1

"Make way, we’re detectives!"

Lawrence forcefully cleared a path ahead.

Under the threat of firearms and badges, the crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed, creating a pathway.

The murder scene was in the corridor connecting the quiet bar’s back door and the restroom.

In more raucous bars, places like this were typically used by passionate couples to release their hormones, but such behavior was rare in a quiet bar.

A powerfully built man lay slumped on one side of the corridor under the dim lighting, his eyes wide open. Beneath him, a large area was covered in arterial blood spatter. A distinct, dark gap was visible at his throat.

It was a grueso void where flesh had been torn away.

The mont Dean saw it, his expression turned grave.

Such a clean wound couldn’t have been made by a dagger. It looked more like it was caused by so kind of sharp, robust weapon, perhaps sothing like a tri-edged blade.

If I’m not mistaken, Dean thought, there’s also a through-and-through wound on the back of this man’s neck!

Lawrence, on the other hand, was shocked by the victim’s stature. "Fuck! This guy’s a whole size bigger than you or . He must be two ters tall!"

He squatted down and pulled open the victim’s thin outer garnt.

Underneath, a large expanse of tattoos covered the man’s skin.

Having served as a patrol officer in Los Angeles, Lawrence was very familiar with the local gangs. He imdiately recognized the tattoo on the victim’s body as the symbol of a nearby Ireland Mafia. "Dean, the victim has a triangular viper head tattooed on him. That’s the Viper Gang’s emblem. They’re an old outfit that specializes in pimping. They control a lot of won but rarely get involved in other cris."

"This one must be an enforcer. Look at his waist!" Dean said, surveying the surroundings.

With his imposing stature alone, this guy could easily beco a minor enforcer in the mixed bag that gangs are, Dean mused. He wouldn’t typically show up in a calm place like this quiet bar. Unless he was pursuing soone. In that case, the murderer might still be in the crowd of onlookers, not having left yet.

Lawrence hadn’t thought that far ahead.

He looked down and saw that the victim had a large-caliber Desert Eagle tucked into his waistband on the left, and a large pair of brass knuckles hanging on his right. This was the typical loadout for a gang enforcer, and very likely, a minor boss at that.

An average gang enforcer rarely used sothing as flashy, impractical, and expensive as a Desert Eagle.

In the hands of most people, that piece was more for show and intimidation than actual combat.

Just then, a plump bartender approached and said hesitantly, "Good evening, Detectives."

Seeing him, Lawrence grinned. "Good evening, pal. I like that blue drink you mix."

"Thank you," the plump bartender replied, then pointed to the body on the ground. "Detectives, this guy is Anbu, the ’Blood Cattle’ of the Viper Gang. He..."

The bartender seed to want to say more, but he glanced around apprehensively, then closed his mouth, rely giving Dean and Lawrence a aningful look.

Lawrence understood instantly.

He stood up and shouted to the crowd, "Folks, if any of you saw what happened, you can talk to us now, or go to the station later to give a statent quietly. Otherwise, please clear the area!"

Normally, at a murder scene, no one present would be allowed to leave easily. Everyone would have to be recorded for police questioning.

But since this involved gang mbers, Lawrence, the seasoned veteran, directly skipped this step, disregarding protocol.

Hearing Lawrence’s words, the onlookers seed to snap out of a trance and hurriedly dispersed.

No one wanted to waste their ti being taken to the police station for questioning for no reason, especially when gang mbers were involved; they certainly didn’t want to attract trouble.

In the blink of an eye, only the bar’s staff and security remained.

Dean hadn’t spotted any suspicious individuals, so he didn’t stop Lawrence’s breach of protocol.

He knew that in the not-so-safe United States, genuinely naive people were rare; most were more concerned with self-preservation. Keeping that crowd around would have been a complete waste of police resources and ti.

...

Now that the onlookers were gone, the plump bartender wiped the sweat from his brow. He continued, "Anbu, the ’Blood Cattle,’ is the Viper Gang’s head pimp on this street. He rarely cos to our bar, but many of his girls like to have a drink here before they start their shift."

"I think you’re still holding sothing back," Dean said, his sharp gaze fixed on the plump bartender.

The plump bartender nodded hesitantly.

"Alright. The truth is, about ten minutes ago, I saw Anbu’s n take away a girl who often drinks here. Her na is Annie. She’s a young lady who’s gone astray, only seventeen. It seems she had a conflict with a client during her ’service’ yesterday. When she ca in today, her face was still badly bruised. Sigh."

"Tch, that poor girl is in for it now," Lawrence said, clearly familiar with how these things worked. He explained to Dean, "Competition in the service industry here is fierce; it’s a ’custor is king’ environnt. Furthermore, to intimidate the won under them, the pimps will severely torture anyone who breaks the rules!"

There are no good people involved with gangs.

The only slightly redeeming aspect of the local sex industry was that once prostitutes reached middle age, the gangs controlling them usually wouldn’t try to further exploit their ’value’. They might even get a chance to marry an ordinary man and leave that life behind.

Dean waved the plump bartender away. Once he had left, Dean turned to Lawrence. "You seem to have a theory?"