America: John Wick 1924

Chapter 53 The Black-Robed Patrol Team is Completely Annihilated! The Police are Shocked!
After jumping off the bed, she stood up straight, faced the blue and white Scottish flag hanging above the bed, and gave a solemn salute.

Long live Scotland!

This is a solemn ritual she performs every morning.

Even when you are in a faraway foreign land, you must not forget your motherland.

After saluting the Scottish flag, she began her next daily ritual—taking a pencil from her bedside drawer and walking toward the wall near the bathroom.

Her back was pressed tightly against the wall, her head held high, and she raised the pencil in her right hand, holding the tip against her scalp, and drew a horizontal line on the wall behind her head.

After she finished, she immediately jumped away to carefully examine the wall.

One second she was full of hope, the next she was disappointed—the horizontal line she had just drawn perfectly overlapped with a thick black line on the wall.

It's easy to see that this thick black line is made up of countless overlapping pencil marks accumulated over time; it's so black it's almost purplish and translucent.

Seeing that her height record remained unchanged, Una felt as if she had suffered an incredibly heavy blow. She leaned forward, her forehead against the wall, and a look of sorrow crossed her face.

"I still haven't grown taller... Why... Why... I've been drinking so much milk..."

After brooding for a short while, she slapped her cheeks twice to cheer herself up.

"Let's try other brands of milk later..."

With an indomitable and determined expression on her face, Una strode towards the bathroom, officially beginning her preparations for leaving for work.

Because her hair is naturally curly, she has to spend a lot of time styling it every day. Otherwise, her hair will stick up badly, making her look extremely messy and losing the dignity that a police officer should have.

After washing up and getting dressed—incidentally, her shoe-shining cloth was a British flag—she took a deep breath, opened the door, and prepared to head to the Bay Shore Precinct to begin her day's work.

From the moment I woke up until now, everything has been the same as usual.

The routine of saluting the national flag, measuring height, washing up, and getting dressed was all normal and without any abnormalities.

However, after she stepped out of the apartment, something "abnormal" suddenly happened!
She had just stepped out of the apartment building when she heard a screeching sound of wheels coming to a sudden stop—a police car had come to a steady halt in front of her.

Sergeant Johnson, sitting in the passenger seat, rolled down the window and said urgently:
"Officer Campbell! Get in the car!"

After saying that, he reached behind him and considerately opened the back door for Una.

The unexpected "emergency summons" startled Una.

Sheriff Johnson, who had honed his "laziness" skills to perfection, actually drove to pick her up... There was no doubt that something big had happened!
So, even though she didn't know the specifics, her body moved instinctively—she took a running start, jumped, and leaped into the car.

Before she could even settle in, Officer Otto, who was driving, slammed on the gas, and the police car sped onto the main road.

As Una fastened her seatbelt, she asked quickly:
"Sheriff Johnson, what happened?"

Sheriff Johnson said sternly:

"Unidentified individuals attacked the Black Robe Patrol! The entire Black Robe Patrol has been wiped out!"

Una's expression immediately changed.

……

……

17 Leyton Street, San Francisco (the meeting place of the Black Robe Parade)

The usually deserted area was unusually lively today.

Police cars were parked around the mansion.

A complex network of blockade lines surrounded the entire area.

Police officers dressed in black walked around the mansion, stopping and starting, their expressions serious as they searched for something and discussed something. Una and the others, arriving late, had to park their car some distance from the mansion.

"Is that mansion the headquarters of the Black Robe Patrol?" Una frowned as she gazed at the mansion.

Sheriff Johnson swaggered out of the car and said casually:
“I just found out myself. The report was filed at 3 a.m. A homeless man passing by smelled a strong stench of blood coming from the house. The officers who arrived first have confirmed that all the victims inside the house were members of the Black Robe Patrol.”

"Can a homeless person smell the stench of blood?" Ott asked.

"That homeless man is a veteran who fought in the European war. Okay, let's stop the small talk and go inside to take a look."

The three of them jogged towards the mansion.

As soon as they entered the foyer, they were greeted by a horrifying scene—on the floor near the foyer lay a mangled, unrecognizable corpse… literally unrecognizable!
His facial features were a jumbled mess, like an Indian dish, making it impossible to distinguish his eyes from his nose. There was hardly a good piece of flesh on his body, and he could only be vaguely identified as a blond man by his body shape and hair color.

The overwhelming smell of blood already made the two newcomers, Una and Ultra, uncomfortable.

Witnessing such a horrific death made their faces turn as pale as paper.

"Ugh...! Ugh...!"

Ultraman covered his mouth and nose, trying his best to endure it, but his stomach, which was churning constantly, had reached its limit.

As expected, Sheriff Johnson handed him a paper bag.

Otto took the paper bag as if he had been granted a pardon, and ran to the side to vomit profusely.

Una had a slightly better mental fortitude, but she could only suppress the urge to vomit.

At this moment, Sheriff Johnson once again displayed the composure of a veteran, his expression unchanged, without even a furrowed brow.

Seeing this, Una couldn't help but ask:

"Sheriff Johnson, don't you find this disgusting?"

Sheriff Johnson said calmly:

“I used to be a Pinkerton detective who hunted down gangsters in the West with a shotgun. I’ve seen far worse things.”

"Sheriff Johnson, you used to be a detective in Pinkerton?"

"That happened a long time ago. It's nothing serious. A lot of the police officers used to be Pinkerton detectives."

After saying that, Sheriff Johnson crouched down and carefully examined the body.

Una followed closely behind and squatted down beside him.

Using her knowledge of criminal investigation, Una quickly noticed that the corpse was covered in blunt force trauma marks, so she tentatively asked:

"He was... killed by a hammer?"

Sheriff Johnson shook his head:
"No, a hammer can't create these kinds of marks. These are more like... marks from a punch."

Una was stunned:
"fist?"

Sheriff Johnson nodded:
"Yes, the murderer punched his face until it was smashed, broke all the bones in his body, and beat him to death with his fists."

"To beat a living person into such a mangled mess... it would take at least one or two hundred punches. The murderer must have extraordinary stamina."

“Officer Campbell, write this down quickly—with so many punches, the killer’s finger joints couldn’t possibly be uninjured.”

Una nodded, then took out her pen and notebook, turned to a new page, and solemnly wrote down the entry: "The murderer's finger joints were injured."

(End of this chapter)