Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 82 The Police Arrive Too?

Meanwhile, outside the room, people who had come to meet the "Hell Tax Collector" were lining up outside the barricades to undergo a second body search.

Only after confirming there was no threat would Luz bring them in, and they would stand outside the room to wait.

This double wait—waiting once outside and then waiting again once inside—is undoubtedly extremely agonizing.

Outside the room, a middle-aged man named Martin, like everyone else, stood in line, waiting for the terrifying man inside to pronounce his fate.

Martin was one of the suppliers and protectors of these underground casinos on the black market. He had been a sailor and could get his hands on some old-fashioned slot machines, and he also knew how to adjust the odds of winning on those machines.

With this skill, and by bribing the police and gangsters, he quickly became the "leader" of several underground casinos in the vicinity.

Theoretically speaking, given Martin's connections to both the police and the mob, his failure to show loyalty during the initial pledge, and the fact that his subordinates were shot dead by Milton for betrayal, Milton is unlikely to let him off easily.

Martin felt uneasy seeing those people he used to look down on now standing by Milton's side and even being able to search him, all because of a successful opportunism.

Listening to the fearful speculations of the people around him, Martin shook his head—he had connections in the police department and could get all sorts of information immediately, knowing that Milton wasn't as magical as they said.

But after careful consideration, he still chose to decisively betray the police department and come here to seek cooperation with Milton.

As a gambler, he believed he could win this time.

The old street wasn't very big, but it wasn't small either. Martin had a lot of information about gamblers and also ran a small moneylender's shop, so he was well-informed and could quickly help Milton establish effective rule.

Just being good at fighting isn't enough; we need to choose a replacement, and only Martin is capable of doing it!
Thinking this, Martin looked up and realized that it was almost his turn in the line.

A few minutes later, the person in front came out tremblingly, carefully closing the door behind them, afraid of making any noise.

"coward……"

Martin straightened his clothes, looked up at Lutz, and said with a smile, "Is it my turn to go in now? Can't our 'godfather' meet everyone at once?"

Luz ignored him and just stood indifferently at the door.

"Okay, looks like I'll have to open the door myself."

Martin shrugged, reached for the doorknob, and stepped into the room.

I had barely taken two steps into the room when I quickly scanned the surroundings and a very strange, primal sense of danger instantly went off.

For some reason, the environment made him frown as soon as he entered, making him feel extremely uneasy and uncomfortable.

Several guards, whose hands and faces were obscured, stood in the dimly lit darkness, the faint smell of blood creating a strong sense of oppression.

The "Hell Tax Collector" who was rumored to be killing people everywhere with a machine gun was sitting behind his desk, calmly flipping through the documents on the table, as if he were just a legitimate businessman who came to do business. Martin even doubted for a moment whether he had heard a false rumor. How could such a person stomp on someone's head in front of the police chief?

This eerie atmosphere was far more oppressive than the men on Fan Kang's side with submachine guns hanging from their waists.

Martin carefully turned around and closed the door, not daring to make a sound. After turning around, he didn't even walk forward to Milton.

"Why aren't you coming over yet? Mr. 'Tax Collector' is very busy."

Brandon, who was wrapped in his wounded clothes, suddenly spoke up.

"Hug, sorry..."

Martin instinctively apologized, hunched his back and lowered his head, and quickly walked to the table, standing there with his head down.

There was a chair next to him, but the chair was placed in a very strange position, or rather, everything in the room was strange; nothing was placed where it should be.

In such a strange and terrifying environment, Martin instinctively wanted to make the decision to "not make a mistake." However, he didn't speak, and Milton didn't speak either, just flipping through the documents on the table page by page.

Martin finally realized that his importance was not as high as he had imagined.

Regardless of the means used, this person in front of us has undeniably killed important figures in Fan Kang's gang, the number two person at the checkpoint, and the deputy director of the police station!
Compared to these people, what am I?
“‘Hell Tax Collector’ Mr.” Martin finally couldn’t bear the oppressive atmosphere any longer and spoke first, “I, I am Martin.”

"My businesses consist of a few grocery stores nearby, a small casino downstairs, and a small money exchange."

“I can show you our monthly bills and our debt information! I run a small business, but I'm willing to pay taxes!”

“I heard about what happened today, and I am truly sorry. But I swear, I guarantee that I did not instigate those people’s betrayal. I only had some business dealings with them, and I am definitely not an accomplice.”

“We can work together. You have no idea how much money these casinos make. Let me work for you, and you can collect a ton of taxes!”

Milton had just scanned the man in front of him through the panel and could roughly guess what kind of business he was involved in.

They were nothing more than loan sharks and pimps with a few thugs, smugglers who smuggled slot machines, and speculators who followed whoever was strongest.

It seems that, compared to the gangsters, his crimes are not so "unforgivable".

But Milton had no intention of letting him go.

Why are prostitution, gambling, and drugs inseparable?
Because their industries overlap significantly, and each link in the chain is a meticulously planned, predatory process.

To put it bluntly, squeezing a gambler dry may seem like a way to collect a lot of taxes, but in reality, it's digging into the root of tax revenue—gamblers don't generate any output at all, and neither do casinos.

Unless there are a lot of outside gamblers pouring money in here.

Clearly, Malacan is not a gambling town.

Is it possible to sacrifice a production unit to simply move money from one hand to the other, resulting in a net gain of zero?
Besides, does Martin's claim that he has no connection to the betrayal mean he is not?
To truly establish one's authority, one must not only be tough on foreign powers, but also be ruthless on domestic ones; otherwise, factions will inevitably spring up in the future.

“Martin, all I know is the outcome. That is, someone betrayed me, and they were your men.”

Milton spoke for the first time, his tone very gentle.

But Martin felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave.

Brandon immediately understood Milton's meaning and said coldly from the side, "'Hell Tax Collector' only cares whether you have made a mistake, regardless of the reason for your mistake... because that's your own business."

"You have to take responsibility for your mistakes instead of making excuses. Even a child understands this simple principle."

“But he’s glad you’re here, so in return… you’re the only one who has to pay the price for this.”

Milton raised his hand: "Alright, no need to say so much. I believe someone in Hell will tell him."

As his hand fell, Flora, hidden in the shadows, drew her gun and fired.

The deafening gunfire and the sound of bodies falling sent shivers down the spines of everyone outside.

Twenty seconds later, a man looked at the dragged-away corpse, swallowed hard, and carefully walked into the room.

“Good evening, ‘Godfather,’ uh, ‘Tax Collector’.”

"I am, nominally the local police officer in charge of this area of ​​the old street..."

(End of this chapter)