North American riot police: Start by arresting P. Diddy!

Chapter 123: Send some Windy City greetings to Metropolis! (Seeking monthly votes)

"Cassandra Davina, District Attorney of New York."

"I specialize in juvenile delinquency, property crime, and violent crime cases. I've been in this profession for eight years and have a 96% conviction rate."

"Because she always defends the poor and is beautiful, she is also known as 'Venus in Court' and is a star prosecutor in Brooklyn."

Harold continued to analyze the star prosecutor's social connections on a whiteboard, while Rorschach's eyes were already focused on the photo on the table.

In the photo, a female prosecutor wearing a women's suit and carrying a briefcase is greeting her colleagues warmly.

This is a female prosecutor, but she is also a woman with blonde hair and a well-proportioned figure. Although she only wears light makeup, her outstanding appearance cannot be concealed.

She was the "victim" spit out by the [machine] after Rorschach arrived in New York.

If nothing unexpected happens, Ms. Davina will face life-threatening death threats within forty-eight hours.

Moreover, according to the analysis and prediction of the [machine], if no one intervenes, she will surely die!

"Rorschach?"

Harold, who was trying hard to analyze the source of danger Davina might face, called him several times.

"I know this prosecutor is very beautiful. If you want to develop a relationship with her, I have absolutely no objection, but now..."

Harold said helplessly, "Would you at least listen to me first and tell me about some of the threats she faces?"

Rorschach grinned and raised his hands in surrender: "OK, my sponsor, please continue."

Harold continued, analyzing the information he had collected online. "According to what I found online, our prosecutor is currently handling two cases: one involving domestic violence and one involving drug trafficking."

"We will focus on the drug crime case. The information shows that Davina is prosecuting a 19-year-old teenager for drug trafficking and murder."

"The black teenager being prosecuted is a member of the notorious Brooklyn gang, the Hell Bobcats."

When he finished, Rorschach tapped his fingers on the table and nodded thoughtfully.

"The analysis is very clear. In this case, we can just split up and act separately."

He looked at Harold and said, "Follow up on the couple involved in the domestic violence case and see if they have any intention of harming the prosecutor. Oh, and remember to bring our four-legged bodyguards. That way, if you're attacked, you'll have a way to fight back."

"Wang Wang Wang-"

Brian, who was lying on his stomach playing with a ball, immediately pricked up his ears and started barking.

"Hey! Show some respect, man."

Rorschach gently kicked the dog bowl with his toes. "Want to see how expensive your dog food is? Damn it, it's almost as much as a blue-collar worker's weekly salary! After you eat, you have to work!"

Brian raised his head, looked at Harold who was smiling awkwardly, and whimpered a few times in grievance.

To be honest, Harold was quite satisfied with this arrangement.

He could neither use a gun nor fight, so he felt a little more at ease having a well-trained big dog by his side.

"Do you have a plan, Rorschach?" Harold asked curiously.

Rorschach shrugged. "Normally, this kind of investigative strategy would require first developing a relationship with the female prosecutor or the black teenager and gaining their trust."

"Isn't there a quicker way?" Harold glanced at his watch in embarrassment. "You know, we only have forty-eight hours at most."

Rorschach didn't answer immediately.

He stood up and walked to the French window, where his whole new look was reflected:

With a clean-shaven chin and bangs combed back to reveal part of his forehead, paired with a dark red leather jacket that looks like new, he looks a lot younger, but with a more calm temperament that comes from having experienced many vicissitudes of life.

"Of course there is a faster way."

Rorschach looked at himself in the mirror, a meaningless smile appearing on the corner of his mouth.

"But first, I want to bring a little Windy City greeting to the metropolis."

After saying that, he picked up the new ID card, driver's license and credit card prepared on the table and walked towards the door without looking back.

Harold frowned at his back and exchanged glances with Brian at his feet.

"Wang-"

"Okay, okay, I'll take you out for a walk now."

Harold was startled by the sudden barking of the dog and hurried to look for the dog leash.

Downstairs, Rorschach played with his car keys and looked at the four-story Victorian library.

According to Harold, once he decided to save the numbers spit out by the machine, he used the bank under his own name to buy the entire building.

From the moment it was purchased, the library immediately declared bankruptcy, and this place became a non-existent place on the map.

"A wealthy man with a conscience"

He suddenly felt that his relationship with Harold was a bit like that of Batman and Robin in the comics - although it was not clear who played which role.

Pushing open the door, he pressed the car key. Not far away on the street, the headlights of a car flashed twice.

When Rorschach saw the "means of transportation" that Harold had prepared for him, he fell silent.

Maybach GLS600
He looked back at the century-old library behind him, which was worth at least fifty million, and shook his head helplessly.

"Well, it seems I'm Robin."

------------

at dusk.

In a dilapidated building in the Brooklyn slums.

Amid the deafening sound of rap music, more than twenty gangsters wearing bloody cat paw bandanas were partying.

Their bare arms were covered with hideous tattoos. Some of them were lying on the sofa smoking, while others were touching the disheveled streetwalkers beside them.

"Boss Kumas, those chicks we got from Queens still won't take any clients."

A gangster came out from the inner room and reported to the gang leader who was sitting in the middle of the sofa with people on both sides.

Kumas, choking on his cigar, scoffed disdainfully, "First, beat them up, then the brothers will take turns beating them up, and finally, use the drug to control them."

He blew out a smoke ring and said confidently, "Once they become addicted, let's see if they still dare to disobey."

"I get it, fuck, boss, you're a genius." The henchman tugged at his crotch excitedly and turned to rush into the house.

"Wait."

Kumas suddenly stopped him, frowning and asking, "Whose business is that guy who was sued by the prosecutor? Is he a tight-lipped person?"

"You're talking about Howard," the henchman assured, patting his chest. "He joined us when he was thirteen. He knows all about our Hellcat methods and would never say anything he shouldn't. Besides, we have brothers in prison, so even if he's convicted, what's the big deal?"

Kumas nodded grimly.

Ever since the cop in Chicago killed Diddy, the largest black gang in New York suddenly fell apart, and each of them was eyeing the fat piece of the drug market.

Although their "Hellcats" are not large in scale, they are well-known locally by running human trafficking and street prostitute businesses in the slums.

He had originally planned to take advantage of the chaos to get a batch of goods from the big guys in Manhattan and distribute them in Brooklyn, but he ended up encountering the unlucky situation of being robbed by a gang during the transaction!
Not only did millions of dollars go down the drain, the goods were not received, and Howard was the only one left alive among the people sent.

What's worse is that this idiot is about to be convicted.

But fortunately, he kept his mouth shut and did not reveal his and others' names.

"Damn prosecutor bitch!"

Kumas cursed fiercely. If possible, he really wanted to send his men to shoot that damn star prosecutor.

Of course, this is just talk. After all, even if he really wanted to do this, no one in the gang would dare to take on such a dirty job that would land him in jail for life.

The door was suddenly pushed open.

A skinny black guy came in with a hip-hop gesture and a playful smile on his face: "Boss, here I come!"

Marcus just nodded casually after hearing this, but then his expression froze.

I saw a tall man following my younger brother into the house, and he was not black.

"Fuck! Who are you, you bastard!?"

Marcus immediately drew his pistol and pointed it at the intruder.

Facing the gun, Rorschach showed no panic on his face.

He followed the Hellcat member all the way and witnessed him acting as a street stalker for several hours before he followed him to the Hellcat's lair.

Glancing around, the room was filled with the pungent smell of cheap perfume and sweat, and was crowded with black thugs and heavily made-up streetwalkers.

"take it easy."

Rorschach pushed away the still unaware black man in front of him, and under the aim of more than a dozen guns, he slowly reached into his pocket.

Just when everyone thought he was going to pull out his gun and his finger was on the trigger, Rorschach took out a stack of documents.

"I am... I am who I am." He searched carefully, "Ah, I found it."

Holding up one of the IDs, Rorschach smiled professionally: "I am FBI Senior Agent - Logan Goodman."

"FFBI?!"

There was a sudden sound of gasps in the room, and the guns pointed at him involuntarily dropped.

After a while.

Rorschach sat on a relatively clean chair.

He rested one arm on the back of the chair, crossed his legs on the edge of the table, bit a cigarette butt in his mouth, and squinted his eyes to scan the group of gangsters who were sitting on pins and needles.

After exhaling a puff of smoke, he asked calmly, "So, even though the captured black guy is a member of your gang, you have no intention of avenging him?"

"Fuck! Of course not!" Marcus waved his arms excitedly. "That woman is a prosecutor, not a slum girl. Anyway, no matter how brave we are, we can't kill a prosecutor! We are gangsters, not fucking professional killers!"

"Well, that makes sense."

Rorschach still somewhat believed what he said.

Even in Chicago, the only people who dared to kill the district attorney were assassins trained by large criminal groups.

As for small black gangs like the Hell Bobcats, they are obviously not worthy of being in the public eye. At most, they only engage in extortion and drug trafficking.

"What about that gang in Manhattan that sold you drugs?" Rorschach continued. "Since they're so bold as to take advantage of your gangs and pocket your money, they must be much more powerful than you."

Marcus curled his lips in dissatisfaction. "All I know is that he was the second-in-command of Diddy's gang. After Diddy died, he set up his own gang. He has influence in both Manhattan and Brooklyn, and I heard he's even backed by people in the government."

"What's your name?" Rorschach continued.

"His name is Bumby. Like Puff Daddy, he's from Harlem and his nickname is 'The Godfather of Harlem.'"

"Hold"

Rorschach scoffed disdainfully after hearing this: "You New Yorkers are really good at flattering yourself. Does anyone who becomes a gang leader in New York have to add "Godfather" to their name?"

After saying that, he flicked the cigarette butt away, stood up and prepared to leave.

These black guys are more cowardly than each other, and they really don't look like killers who would dare to attack a female prosecutor.

Seeing that he was finally leaving, Marcus secretly breathed a sigh of relief. He thought the other party was here to arrest them, but it turned out that he was just here to ask about the female prosecutor.

It seems that what is shown in the movie is true, the FBI never meddles in other people's business.

However, just as Rorschach was about to reach the door, he suddenly stopped.

His eyes turned to a room in the corridor.

There was the sound of furniture falling over, mixed with the crying of girls and the cursing of men.

The next second, several girls with blood on their faces and white powder on their noses staggered out crying, but were pulled back by a strong black hand.

"Click——"

Marcus pulled the pistol slide hard to load the gun, and pointed the gun at Rorschach's back: "This is not your business, damn cop! If you know what's good for you, leave now, otherwise..."

His index finger was on the trigger, and his eyes were full of murderous intent.

The meaning is self-evident.

Rorschach looked back and saw more than a dozen guns in the room pointed at him.

He walked towards the door step by step with an expressionless face.

Just when everyone thought the FBI was going to flee—

"boom!"

Rorschach slammed the door shut and locked it.

Then he slowly took off his leather jacket and carefully hung it on the hanger by the door.

"Just now."

Rorschach lowered his head calmly and rolled up his sleeves at his wrists.

"What did you call me?"

He looked up at the room full of gangsters, a dangerous smile on his face: "Dead cops?"

"Fuck you!" Marcus cursed and pulled the trigger!

Bang bang bang bang!
In an instant, all the pedestrians on the street stopped in shock at the sudden gunshots.

Through the window, you can see flashes of gunfire and bullets flying in the house.

After more than ten seconds, the gunfire stopped abruptly.

"Squeak-"

The door reopened.

Amid the horrified gazes of passers-by, Rorschach calmly put on his leather jacket and even nodded politely to everyone around him.

He lit a cigarette and prepared to leave.

Suddenly, timid voices were heard behind me.

Five girls who had been tied up here from nowhere were standing among the corpses and looked at him cautiously. "Can you tell us your name?"

Rorschach stopped and turned back with a gentle smile: "Logan."

With the roar of the engine, the luxury SUV that looked out of place in the slums gradually moved away.

The girls stood there, softly repeating the name that had saved them:

"Logan."

(End of this chapter)