You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 216 Awakening (3k)

Lyon withdrew his questioning gaze, no longer intending to torment Thomas.

He stepped forward, completely ignoring Bart, who was still rolling his eyes on the operating table, and turned his gaze to Hank, who was washing his hands.

Ray Fong.

"

Lyon gave his false name and then pulled up the black mask on his face.

Thomas said you have a complete supply of medical supplies and don't ask where they come from. We're here to do a big deal.

Hank grabbed a yellowed towel to dry his hands and looked Yan Yang up and down.

He keenly sensed the dangerous aura emanating from the tall man, and then his gaze passed over Lyon to Pastor Thomas behind him.

"Dr. Thomas, it's been a long time."

Hank smiled and spoke in a fairly polite tone.

"I still remember your wonderful lecture on trauma control at Englewood Hospital. To be honest, it was very inspiring for my career later on."

Thomas's face twitched violently again upon hearing this.

He looked at Bart's charred buttocks and felt it was the ultimate insult to his decades of medical expertise.

"Don't try to get close to me, Hank."

Thomas abruptly interrupted him.

"I'm not here to catch up. I need a large quantity of broad-spectrum antibiotics, medical alcohol, sutures, lidocaine, and enough gauze to treat dozens of severely infected wounds."

Hank's eyes lit up immediately when he heard the long list of purchases; this was a rare and large order.

At this moment, Leon pointed to Bart, who was still lying on the operating table, and the bald henchman holding a baseball bat, and asked in a casual tone, "Who are these two? I don't think I've seen them in the West End before."

For an underground doctor like Hank, who only cares about money and not people, the concept of protecting patient privacy simply doesn't exist.

Moreover, in his eyes, a poor guy like Bart who couldn't even afford two thousand dollars for medical expenses wasn't worth keeping a secret from a big client.

"them?"

Hank tossed the towel into the sink and shrugged nonchalantly.

"A small gang that just popped up on 12th Street."

"The West End has been quite lively lately. The 12th Street Boys, who used to be based here, somehow offended Leon. Their key member, Fatty Z, had his nose broken and was arrested. The entire gang was badly injured."

"A power vacuum has emerged on the streets, and all sorts of nobodies are coming out to grab territory."

Lyon narrowed his eyes slightly.

After Fat Boy Z was arrested and placed under house arrest in a safe house, the 12th Street Boys gang was indeed suppressed by the corrupt police forces within the police department.

But he didn't expect the gang ecosystem to be filled so quickly.

It's only been a few days, and these emerging little gangs are like rats in the sewers; as soon as one batch dies, a new batch pops up.

This directly led to a serious lag in the street intelligence that Lyon had previously gathered.

He doesn't even know how many new gangs have emerged on 12th Street.

Lyon quickly calculated in his mind, then turned to Thomas: "Old man, go next door with Dr. Hank and calculate how much medicine you can buy with your twenty thousand dollars. While you're at it, check the expiration dates of his inventory."

After handing over the professional purchasing work to Thomas, Leon turned around and walked straight to David, who was squatting by the operating table, curiously poking the boss's butt with his finger.

David sensed someone approaching, raised his bald head, and gripped the baseball bat in his hand with some vigilance.

"Brother, you've fallen so low in gangs that you can't even afford a rabies vaccine, and you have to use a hot iron to burn your butt to save money."

Leon looked at David and said, "Your gang's finances don't look too good."

David, far from feeling insulted by these words, felt as if he had found a kindred spirit and poured out his grievances.

"Who can argue with that!"

David sighed and complained.

"We originally thought that with the boy gang gone, we could take the opportunity to collect protection money from several more streets."

"As a result, a bunch of crazy homeless people came to the South and North districts, scaring away all the drug addicts who were going to buy goods."

"Our boss went to collect protection money today, but he didn't get any money and got bitten. The gang's accounts are cleaner than my face right now."

Lyon looked at this mobster underling with his peculiar way of thinking; he was practically a perfect, cheap source of information. For a little money, he would tell anyone anything.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a piece of paper, and slapped it directly onto David's bald head.

David hurriedly caught the note and looked at Leon with a bewildered expression.

Save this contact information.

Leon lowered his voice and spoke in a seductive tone.

"Keep an eye on what's happening on 12th Street. Which new gang has emerged, which two gangs are about to fight over territory, or what big shot has arrived on the street that we can't afford to mess with."

"Make this call anytime you have accurate information."

Leon paused, then added, "As long as the information is useful, the intelligence fee I give you will definitely be enough for your boss to get his ass treated at a proper hospital—although you probably won't be spending money on that anymore."

David stared at the note in his hand, his eyes widening instantly.

For a gang with only a little over a hundred dollars left in their account, this kind of zero-cost way to make extra money is like a windfall.

"Give me money? That's great!"

David stuffed the note into his pocket without hesitation, grinning from ear to ear.

"No problem, boss! I may not be good at much else, but I have a great memory and I'm fast. As soon as our boss wakes up, I'll discuss this new business with him!"

Lyon nodded in satisfaction.

Planting spies within these emerging gangs at a low cost is a sure-fire way to make money.

On the other side of the basement, Reverend Thomas was standing in front of Hank's medicine cabinet, which was piled high with prohibited drugs.

The old pastor watched as Hank skillfully packed boxes of amoxicillin and lidocaine into black plastic bags, and finally, his pent-up emotions exploded.

"Hank."

Thomas looked at the gaunt, dark-skinned doctor and sighed.

"I don't care how you treat these gangsters using veterinary methods. But—"

He gritted his teeth and said, word by word, "If you cause trouble in the future, don't mention your master."

Hank stuffed the last few rolls of gauze into an oversized black garbage bag, skillfully tied a tight knot, and then pushed this bag of supplies—enough to keep dozens of homeless people alive—in front of Thomas.

"Don't worry, Dr. Thomas."

Hank patted the plastic bag, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I only recognize Franklin, not teacher-student relationships."

Once you step out this door, you'll be my most valued VIP customer; I know nothing else about you.

Lyon stepped forward, picked up the heavy garbage bag full of antibiotics, medical alcohol, and suture instruments with one hand, and turned to walk towards the basement stairs.

"Let's go, old man," Leon urged without turning around. "There are dozens of bad assets outside waiting for you to save them."

Thomas glanced one last time at Bart, who was slumped over the operating table with his eyes rolled back, shook his head, and quickly followed Leon.

Ten minutes later, the Ford Explorer's large off-road tires once again rolled over the muddy clearing outside the Church of St. Jude.

Before the car had even come to a complete stop, Thomas had already impatiently pushed open the passenger door.

He snatched the black garbage bag full of medicine and, without even saying hello, rushed into the church nave with red eyes and brisk steps.

Lyon pulled out the car key and slowly pushed open the door to get out of the car.

He didn't go inside immediately, but instead went to the back seat and took out two steaming bowls of mashed potato soup from a bag from a fast food restaurant he had stopped at on the way back.

Christopher, the Pfizer researcher, had been starving in the woods near the chemical plant for who knows how long, and his leg had been bitten through by a coyote. Due to blood loss and weakness, if you were to force-feed him a hamburger as soon as he woke up, the old man would most likely choke to death.

This was his third major pledge of allegiance, following old Bill and Arthur, which he was preparing to pack up and send back to his hometown. He absolutely could not die from a piece of hard-to-digest, low-quality carbohydrate.

Lyon, carrying a paper bag, walked into the church, stepping on the muddy steps covered in unidentified excrement.

The wailing from the central hall was still deafening.

Thomas, now like a crazed battlefield medic, knelt between several homeless men with severely infected wounds.

He roughly tore open the package of the gauze he had just bought and used medical alcohol to directly wash the homeless man's festering flesh, causing the homeless man on the ground to let out a scream that was no less agonizing than Bart's.

Ignoring the horrific state of the nave, Lyon walked straight to the baptismal chamber on the side of the church.

Meanwhile, inside the baptismal chamber.

Alex was leaning against a stone pillar next to the baptismal pool, looking completely unkempt. He had two blue medical masks on his face, which made his ears turn red.

He stared idly at the water stains on the ceiling, occasionally raising his wrist to check the time.

On the marble countertop, the old man whose suit had been cut open and covered with a dust cloth still had his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling only slightly.

"That's absolutely amazing!"

Alex mumbled something through his mask, his voice muffled.

As Renai Bio's top corpse collector, Alex has an extremely high level of patience with corpses.

He can spend hours alone in a refrigerated truck with an unidentified corpse that has been rotting for half a month without changing his expression.

But the problem now is that there's a living person lying on the platform.

Moreover, the sounds of Thomas cleaning his wounds and the screams of the vagrants coming from the outer nave were penetrating the thin wooden door.

The vivid, painful sounds of a short-lived species struggling in the mud made Alex feel a surge of irritation and oppression.

He straightened up and rubbed his face in frustration.

Alex glanced at Christopher on the marble table, confirming that the old man wouldn't die anytime soon, and then strode toward the door. "Forget it, I'll go outside and hand that old priest a pair of scissors. If I stay in this gruesome room any longer and do nothing, I'm going to go crazy."

Just as Alex's hand was about to touch the doorknob.

A faint rustling sound of fabric came from the cold marble table behind me.

Immediately following was a burst of rapid breathing.

"Well----"

Alex abruptly stopped and turned around.

On the marble table, Christopher's deep-set eyelids trembled violently a few times before snapping open.

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