North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws
Chapter 43 Turing Gang (Please Follow)_1

Chapter 43: Chapter 43 Turing Gang (Please Follow)_1

Heavy machine guns swept across, and missiles scoured the ground.

This method of eradicating all evidence was appallingly inhumane, a monstrous act devoid of any scrap of humanity!

The aftermath of the missile only affected an area of about a hundred meters, but the commotion it caused made the already chaotic highway even more disorderly.

Numerous vehicles veered off the smooth cement road onto the irregular Gobi, ignoring the damage to their cars as they raced back the way they came.

Some other vehicles sped up, managing to cross that dangerous stretch of road.

Dean quickly scrambled down the small slope and got back into the car. "Niel, we have to get out of here, quickly!"

Niel’s face was pale with fright from the explosions.

She said helplessly, "But my brother..."

"He’s up ahead," Dean said, starting the car and driving forward. "The hearse has already passed. We’ll catch up by cutting across the Gobi."

The Gobi was not like the paved road; it was filled with pits and bumps.

Typical sedans not only risked scraping their undercarriages on protruding rocks but could also easily become trapped in sandpits, immobilized.

Dean’s car was already a beat-up second-hand vehicle, and he didn’t dare drive on such terrain for long. After managing to pass through the congested section of the highway, he steered back onto the pavement.

「Before long.」

They caught up with the convoy ahead.

"Whew! What on earth happened just now? That scared me to death," Niel said, still looking shaken.

She had never experienced anything like this in England.

"Must be gang warfare," Dean replied casually.

He had just made that up, he thought. In reality, he immediately thought of the heavy cannon he had discovered earlier in Santoni’s garage. The ones who attacked might be from that unknown faction.

"Since when do gangs have anything so extreme..." Niel shot Dean a skeptical glance. She was about to say something more when suddenly a buzzing noise came from the sky.

She looked outside and, to her surprise, saw two armed helicopters flying from the opposite direction toward the previous battle location.

On the other side of the highway, police cars with flashing lights and armored troop carriers appeared, following closely behind the helicopters.

It seemed the missile strike had not only alarmed the Las Vegas police but had even mobilized nearby military forces!

This is getting big, Dean thought, rubbing his eyes.

He was pessimistic about the ambushers’ chances of escape. Those idiots picked a spot likely within military radar coverage; that’s why the army responded so quickly, not to mention those damn patrol and state police, he mused.

"Here," Niel interrupted Dean’s thoughts, handing him a pair of sunglasses. "Dean, you have light-colored eyes. It’s better to wear sunglasses outdoors when the weather’s good."

"Thank you."

Dean reached out for the sunglasses. His blue eyes were actually a nuisance—sensitive and photophobic, he reflected.

Just as he was distracted, the car thudded over something.

Dean quickly checked the rearview mirror, and his pupils constricted.

It was a gruesomely mangled arm!

"What’s wrong?"

Niel had felt the car shake as well but didn’t think much of it, since Las Vegas roads were often littered with pebbles.

"Ran over some little thing. I’m going to take a look. Wait for me in the car," Dean said. He pulled his handgun from his waist, disengaged the safety, and scanned the sides of the road, ensuring no one was waiting in ambush before approaching the severed arm.

The flesh on the arm looked fresh. Based on experience, it probably hasn’t been separated from a living person for more than half an hour, Dean estimated. The main injury is a shredded joint. The mangled surface? That’s likely from passing cars.

Dean hadn’t gotten out of the car due to curiosity. He suspected the arm’s owner belonged to the SUV convoy that had been ambushed earlier.

But we’re not close to the previous battlefield. It couldn’t have been blown over here, could it? Dean thought as he walked to the side of the road. He took off his sunglasses and carefully surveyed the surroundings for traces.

The area was swept by wind and sand, causing typical traces to disappear quickly. However, upon closer examination, he noticed some crushed, dry yellow weeds.

Dean approached for a closer look.

Indeed, around the weeds, he found SUV tire tracks and shell casings half-buried in the sand.

He swept his gaze around. Dust swirled. Large chunks of flesh, bloodstains, and a shell casing as large as his entire middle finger lay before him.

I guessed wrong before. It wasn’t an ambush at all, but a chase! The unknown force members are the pursuers, and the group of Black men driving the SUVs are the ones fleeing for their lives! Dean realized.

The area hit by the missile wasn’t the primary battle scene at all, he suspected. The missile strike was likely a diversion to mislead any investigation! Delay it for a couple of days, and the Gobi’s terrain would erase all traces.

Forget it. I can’t afford to mess with a force that can use missiles. Those Experience Points aren’t worth earning! Dean thought. He was about to return to the car when his foot caught on something, nearly tripping him.

He looked down. Good lord! The owner of the arm was lying right at his feet.

Perhaps this area was relatively low-lying and covered by windblown sand. He really hadn’t noticed him before.

Dean noticed that on the surface of the mangled corpse, blood had pooled and congealed into a peculiar pattern. He crouched down and saw it was the result of a branded tattoo; the branding had caused blood to flow out and congeal there.

This pattern... it looks so familiar!

After pondering for a moment, Dean was sure he had seen this pattern before, but he couldn’t recall exactly where.

Niel was still waiting in the car, and Mas’s funeral couldn’t be delayed either.

Dean simply took out his phone, took a picture, and sent it to Harry, asking him about the tattoo’s origin. He quickly cleaned up the surrounding traces and then returned to the car.

Niel wasn’t foolish.

She saw the bloodstains on the road.

But seeing that Dean had no intention of explaining, she pursed her lips a couple of times and ultimately chose to keep quiet.

Mom always said men don’t like women who talk too much, Niel remembered.

The funeral of Mas was fraught with complications.

Due to the earlier incident, many people from the convoy had gone missing en route.

When Niel and Dean arrived at the cemetery, the funeral home had already prepared everything, but only a little over a dozen mourners had shown up.

Thankfully, the priest was still there. After the eulogy, Mas’s casket was lowered into the prepared grave.

Everyone lined up in turn to lay down flowers.

Niel, who was beginning to come to terms with the loss, couldn’t help but cry again, overwhelmed by the atmosphere.

This actually worked out in Dean’s favor. A woman is often most vulnerable when her emotions are in turmoil, he considered.

After the funeral ended, Niel was already nestled in his arms...

「The next morning.」

RING RING~

Dean was woken by the phone, reluctantly extracting his arm from Niel’s embrace to answer the call. "...Harry, you’ve ruined my perfect morning."

"Dean, where did you get that pattern?" Harry asked, his voice sharp with agitation. "That’s the damn symbol of the Turing Gang! They killed my good friend!"

"What pattern?"

"The damn pattern you sent me!"

"They’re a gang in Las Vegas that sells powder. Dean, where are you now?"

"Las Vegas. Alright, buddy, calm down. I’ll be back this afternoon."

He hung up. A vacant look appeared in Dean’s eyes.

Gang... he thought. He finally remembered where he had seen that pattern before!