North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 420 - 260 Entrustment3

The next mont...

A ringing filled his ears.

It was as if ti had stopped. Everything distorted. Dizziness and nausea swept over him, causing the physically feeble Dean to lose consciousness...

...

In the coma, fragnted information, like scenes from a movie, flashed through Dean’s consciousness:

My na is Dean, 35 years old, an insignificant private detective.

I lived in squalor.

My professional skills were poor, and this country was very unsafe. Consequently, I only took on cases helping employers seduce their wives and guide them toward divorce, aiming to minimize the financial losses for my clients.

I’d contemplated becoming a gigolo, or maybe even a bounty hunter.

But to be a gigolo, you need a good gun.

My gun used to be good, but it was no longer young; it couldn’t withstand the long-term ravaging and wear from those female sharpshooters.

To be a bounty hunter, you need agile skills.

I was a refined man; the sight of photos of dead bounty hunters put off the idea.

Forget it.

Seducing won was more my thing.

Those won, deprived of their husbands’ attention, preferred emotional fulfillnt; trying out ’firearms’ ca second.

I could still handle that.

Until this day.

A little girl sought out.

She looked destitute. She wore an ill-fitting, faded T-shirt and jeans, and struggled along in a pair of fluffy slippers she’d probably scavenged from sowhere. She was attempting to hire with 100 xican Pesos to find her missing sister.

Heh.

100 xican Pesos... barely enough to buy two large hot dogs.

To the girl, this might have seed like a fortune, but frankly, hiring for that amount was an insult!

My rate was at least one hundred large hot dogs a pop!

But then...

She told it was all she had—her monthly allowance, her everything—and that I was her last hope...

I don’t know what ca over .

Perhaps it was the first ti in my numb life that soone had deed so important!

A man in his thirties, duped by the words of a nine-year-old girl.

I agreed to take the case.

The little girl’s na was Sofia. She was nine years old and had relied on her sister, Eliza, for survival, living in the chaotic Hassa District.

That place was filled with small gangs and street kids struggling to get by.

Cheap, underage prostitutes and small gambling dens were the hallmarks of that community, drawing in so poor tourists from the United States looking for thrills.

Sofia said her sister, Eliza, worked as a maid, earning a ager salary to support them both.

Although I knew Sofia’s sister was actually working as a prostitute, I still planned to drop by the maid agency first to get more information.

The Hassa District was unsafe.

Before heading there, I decided to get a handgun for protection from my good buddy Toby.

When I arrived at Toby’s place, I was dumbfounded.

What the hell happened here?

Bodies everywhere!

Toby was dead!

He’d been killed with a shotgun in the living room. His body had slid down the wall, leaving a large bloodstain.

His wife was dead too!

His wife lay dead in the bathroom. Bullets had shattered the bathtub, and bloody water covered the floor.

His daughter and son were also dead...

Just as I was at my wit’s end, a group of cops charged in. They didn’t give a chance to explain before a gunstock smashed towards !

Damn it!

These bastards... they wanted to use to pad their stats!

In the last monts of consciousness, I thought about my farewell with Sofia:

"Dean, when can you help find my sister?" A gaunt little girl nervously eyed her fluffy slippers and murmured in a soft voice, "Sofia can’t pick through trash fast enough to beat the bigger kids. If my sister doesn’t co back soon, Sofia’s afraid she won’t last until sister returns..."

...

The mory fragnts. They ended abruptly here.

Dean slowly opened his eyes, erging from the coma.

He felt sowhat bewildered, and his head ached a little.

So... the mission this ti is actually to find Sofia’s missing sister, Eliza. But this parallel world’s Dean was out of luck. He died before he could even start. Before he could act, he’d been frad to pad their stats and sent to prison...

Key information, according to the panel, indicated that in this world, the original Dean had probably died in this prison before even starting the mission.

Considering what I encountered as soon as I arrived, I don’t dare to think any further. This parallel world’s Dean had it too rough!

...

First, I need to understand this prison, then kill that fat guy, and finally break out and complete the commission this body failed to finish!

Dean imdiately determined his next course of action.