North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 399 - 251: Locking Down the Murderer’s Address (Extr

"You have great potential!"

A synthesized, chanical voice echoed through the cold wind between the tall buildings, sounding distorted and hollow.

The woman’s face was covered with sothing resembling a gas mask. She raised the gun in her hand and dropped it to the ground, signifying she had no ill intent. "I know you still have so concerns about us, but cooperating with us is your best choice!"

Having said that, she strode away with an elegant, cat-like grace, disappearing from the scrawny man’s view. If not for her leather outfit, which accentuated her impressive figure, the scrawny man might have thought an electronic ghost was chasing him!

It wasn’t until the woman had been gone for quite a while that he clenched the gun in his hand, stared intently at the rooftop entrance, and backed up to where the woman had dropped her gun. He squatted down and picked up the discarded firearm.

Little did he know, the gun didn’t feel right.

The scrawny young man looked down; what he held was clearly a toy gun. Due to the impact with the ground, one corner of the grip—where the magazine would be—was chipped. On the side of the grip, a line of inconspicuous fluorescent text appeared before his eyes: "Saint Ro Avenue, 456!"

I rember that place is supposed to be an abandoned, haunted old house...

The scrawny young man squinted, standing still for a long while before slowly getting up and heading for the rooftop exit.

As he approached the exit, he suddenly stopped. He picked up the toy gun and fiercely slamd it against the cent wall. With precise force, he chipped the undamaged corner of the grip, making it symtrically damaged. Only then, satisfied, did he stow the toy gun and vanish from the rooftop...

「...」

「Central Division.」

The office of Dean’s squad was brightly lit. The main clue in the miniature model case currently centered on the diary left on his computer by the victim, Johnny Dennison.

This guy really was a man of culture. He often recorded his inspirations and any bizarre things he ca across. While Dean missed out on the dinner he’d ordered, he still got to feast on juicy gossip about so of Los Angeles’s celebrities.

He was engrossed in reading it when Daisy brought over a box of chicken wings, placing it in front of Dean. "I’ve deboned them for you. Eat while you read."

"Thanks!" Dean turned his head and opened his mouth, signaling Daisy to feed him.

Considering Dean was treating, Daisy, with a look of disdain, stuffed a chicken wing into Dean’s mouth while griping, "I just told that Cheston En we found the victim Johnny Dennison’s diary. He almost choked on his egg tart."

"Hmm?"

"Because none of the seven victims in New York had written down what they experienced."

Dean swallowed the chicken wing and chuckled lightly. "Daisy, that’s normal. Adults rarely write that stuff."

"Why?" Daisy looked puzzled.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Seriously, who in their right mind keeps a diary? Would you write down your innermost thoughts, risking soone discovering them? And if you write them down, are they still your innermost thoughts?"

Daisy shrugged. "I would! Every ti I et a girl who captures my heart, I write about them and include their photos. In the future, just by reading these words and looking at their photos, I’ll rember the joy they brought . These will all beco my fondest mories."

"You’re clearly just collecting them, you player!" Dean gave Daisy the middle finger.

He felt that if Daisy were to write lesbian-thed novels like Johnny Dennison, they would surely be bestsellers.

Daisy retorted by stuffing a drumstick into Dean’s mouth, skillfully silencing him before he could argue. Sticking out her tongue playfully, she laughed. "But I’ve put sincere feelings into every relationship! I just responsibly leave before the love fades. How is that being a player?"

Not giving Dean a chance to argue, Daisy swiftly ran back to the conference room.

After swallowing the drumstick, Dean resentfully returned his gaze to the computer screen.

Daisy dared to stuff food in his mouth! Given his temper—the kind that couldn’t tolerate being provoked—he’d get her back sooner or later!

「...」

Dean quickly skimd through the aningless diary entries until he reached those close to the ti of Johnny Dennison’s death. Only three entries ntioned the na ’Demon.’

The first was the one Daisy had found.

The second was written after Johnny Dennison’s first lesbian-thed novel beca a bestseller; he’d written it while drunk. In it, he expressed profound gratitude to the Demon who had guided him.

Truth be told, judging solely from the content of these diaries and the prenuptial agreent he signed with his lesbian wife, Johnny Dennison wasn’t a bad person by nature, and he was also grateful.

The third entry was from a week before Johnny Dennison’s death. At that ti, Johnny Dennison had truly beco a bestselling author popular within a niche audience, but the Demon who had guided him had disappeared after their one interaction.

Because of this, Johnny Dennison always felt regretful, as he wished to share his joy with Mr. Demon, who had helped him achieve his dream.

Perhaps it’s true that constant longing evokes a response. A little over a week ago, an email arrived in Johnny’s inbox from Mr. Demon, who himself hadn’t logged into his account in ages.

Mr. Demon first congratulated him on achieving his desires and then asked if he rembered his original dream.

Dream? Johnny Dennison couldn’t help but smile wryly.

Of course, he rembered. He had never lacked for anything growing up. Out of boredom, he chose to write, hoping his efforts would make him a well-known author.