North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 84 - 80 22:001

Dean rented a temporary courtyard, which he tidied up simply.

Carrying several boxes of unused Tiger Bone Balm, he drove his rented car directly to the car supermarket owned by Ross’s friend.

Car supermarkets originated in Europe and eventually developed in the United States to beco the largest automotive retail chain, second only to the used car market. This particular car supermarket was located in a wealthy suburban district of Los Angeles, catering primarily to the affluent.

The car supermarket spanned three floors. A sign indicated that the first floor was a showroom, the second was likely for parts, and the third was a dedicated after-sales service area.

Dean parked his car. Even before entering, he could see rows of luxury display cars through the glass, slowly rotating on remote-controlled lifts. Even the cheapest car there probably cost no less than two hundred thousand US dollars.

Ross really is generous, Dean mused. He had grown interested, so he took out the business card Ross had given him and made a call.

The call connected. "Hello, this is Harry." A slightly weary male voice ca from the other end.

Dean stated his purpose, "Hello, Mr. Harry. I’m Dean, a friend of Ross."

"Ross’s friend?" There was a pause on the other end, as if the man was processing, then he took a deep breath. "Detective Dean? Oh, I know you. Ross told about you—that you helped his... um... girlfriend. He said he’d have you co over to pick out a car."

"Well then," Harry continued, "Ross and I are very good friends. Consider the car my gift to you. Detective Dean, I’ll call the manager of the car supermarket right now. You can just go in and ntion my na."

Just as the call was ending, a familiar cough ca through with the last lingering sound.

Laura? Dean thought, looking at the phone in his hand with a strange expression. No wonder Harry’s tone was a bit... odd earlier. Got it.

So, Harry’s ’little brother’ and my ’big brother’ are roommates, Dean realized with a cynical smirk.

Tsk. Poor Ross. He’s probably got enough green hats to start a farm.

「...」

Filled with "sympathy" for Ross, Dean didn’t hold back.

Monts later, under the strained farewell of the manager, Dean roared out of the car supermarket in a custom Ford Mustang Shelby GT500, its engine thundering. This car had undergone advanced modifications. Not only was its horsepower formidable, but top-tier materials had also been used for parts like the doors and tires, making it the muscle car of muscle cars, priced at a steep 430,000 US dollars.

Listening to the wind howl past the windows, Dean whistled, feeling his blood boil with excitent. This kind of steel-and-muscle monster truly is one of a man’s greatest loves.

After speeding for a stretch, Dean slowed to a normal pace and called the rental company, telling them to co and pick up their car.

「...」

Anthony had told him to arrive at Morgan Prison No. 15 precisely at 10:00 p.m. Although Dean wasn’t planning to head there imdiately, he felt it was necessary to gather so information beforehand. He decided to go to the detective bureau.

「...」

At the detective bureau, in the fourth squad’s office, Dean walked in to find Lawrence, Harry, and Phoebe playing Texas Hold’em.

Seeing Dean’s sudden return, Lawrence, that outwardly fierce but inwardly sly rascal, seized the mont when Harry and Phoebe weren’t looking, threw down his cards, and rushed to Dean, giving him an overly enthusiastic hug. "Wow, Dean! Did you miss so much you had to co to work on your day off?"

Dean pushed Lawrence away in disgust. "I only accept hugs from beautiful won. Besides, I’m here to see Daisy."

"Don’t you know Daisy only likes beautiful won?" Lawrence said, awkwardly changing the subject.

"Fuck!" Harry, who had a great hand, exploded. "Lawrence, if we were in Las Vegas, you bastard, your sorry hide would be floating in the sewers by tonight!"

Lawrence shrugged. "Don’t be like that, Harry. I was just so happy to see Dean."

Phoebe, grinning, sneakily discarded her own cards while chiming in, "Harry’s right, Lawrence. You owe us for this round."

After so brief horseplay, Dean found Daisy engrossed in a chat room called "Banana Fruit Pie." "Daisy, can you help look up so information on a place?"

Without turning her head, Daisy replied, "Can’t, Dean. I’m busy trying to win over a ballerina right now. Can’t you ask Harry and the others?"

"A week’s worth of snacks!"

Daisy turned her head, her expression softening. "Dean, what was that you just said?"

Bribed with snacks, Daisy the clerk used the detective bureau’s system to secretly print out all available information on Morgan Prison No. 15 into a report, which she then handed to Dean.

With the report in hand, Dean went to an empty conference room and began to read through it carefully.

Morgan Prison No. 15 was a private prison in Los Angeles, established nine years ago. It primarily housed low-risk offenders serving sentences of no more than three years. The prison was quite large, capable of holding up to three thousand inmates and staff mbers at any given ti. However, with the growth of certain ethnic populations in recent years, Morgan Prison No. 15 was gradually becoming unable to et Los Angeles’s incarceration needs. Therefore, the prison authorities had applied to the city governnt for permission to expand. The prison’s expansion project had already been underway for half a month.

The address Anthony had given Dean was precisely this proposed expansion site!

At the end of the report, Dean also saw the na Anthony Morgan. He was one of the shareholders of this private prison.

Hmm, the largest shareholder!

「...」

Nine fifty-five p.m. The night wind was chilling.

A Ford Mustang Shelby GT500, with its stark, muscular lines, pulled up at the periter of the construction site. The site wasn’t very large. A periter wall had already been erected, and workers were busy constructing watchtowers connected to it.

Surprisingly, even though it was nearly ten o’clock at night, construction was still ongoing. This was unusual in the United States, a country that supposedly valued freedom and leisure. Even overti wouldn’t normally extend this late, as clear laws regulated workers’ overti hours.

Dean surveyed the surrounding terrain and checked the ti. It seems they’ve opted for round-the-clock shifts, day and night, to et the deadline.

It was 9:59 p.m. Only one minute remained until the 10:00 p.m. eting ti Anthony had set.

Inside the construction site, while not exactly bustling, the workers, illuminated by floodlights, were chatting and laughing, with nothing seeming out of place.

Could Anthony have miscalculated?

Dean exhaled a puff of white mist into the cold air, checked his belongings, then got out of the car. He leaned against its fra, lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and looked back towards the construction site.

The next mont, a figure slipped from a nearly completed watchtower. It traced a silent arc through the night sky before crashing heavily onto the concrete ground.

THUMP!

Even from over twenty ters away, Dean felt the dull thud resonate through the ground.

Slightly stunned, he pulled out his phone and looked at the ti.

10:00 p.m.!

Not a second more, not a minute off. Perfect timing.