Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1193 Going Home for Dinner (Second Update)

The evacuation process had little to do with being smooth.

Although patrol officers from the 10th and 18th Precincts set up barricades and parked their police cars outside as cover, these barricades were weak and easily breached due to lack of manpower and poor security. Irish and Black residents of the neighborhood either frantically rushed into the streets, standing behind the yellow barricades and praying the fire wouldn't spread to their homes, or hid in their basements, clutching weapons of questionable legality, vowing to fight off anyone who tried to cause trouble.

If two civilians were to fearlessly walk into the street where the fighting is raging, even the most oblivious patrol officers on the perimeter would come looking for trouble, not to mention the Homeland Security, who might have received some kind of tip-off. At that point, Salomon's fabricated credentials would be useless; neither FBI nor S.H.I.E.L.D. credentials would be acceptable, and their work would be significantly delayed by the overly conscientious Homeland Security agents.

"What do we do?" Little Lorna was a little anxious. She gripped the pistol handle tightly inside her motorcycle jacket, trying to keep her voice down so the ordinary people around her wouldn't hear. But Salomon thought she was being too nervous. After all, the civilians weren't paying attention to them right now; the scene was just as chaotic as the gunfight inside. "We can't get in without magic."

"This is Hell's Kitchen, anything can happen here." Salomon glanced at the police cars parked on the side of the road. Perhaps because the commotion this time was so great, the patrol officers were too hasty to remember where they were, or perhaps having too many colleagues gave them a false sense of security; they hadn't even removed their car keys. Perhaps the patrol officers thought they could park safely when they were less than ten meters away from the police cars, but this was Hell's Kitchen, the slums of Manhattan, where anything could happen because it was plagued by a disease called poverty. Salomon drew his pistol and the small dagger hidden in his wrist, pressing the latter against the back of a child riding a bicycle towards him. "Move forward, you little pickpocket. I can smell your marijuana from a kilometer away. Next time, take a shower before you steal. Do as I say, don't move, and I guarantee you'll survive."

No one expected that a police car would break through the cordon.

"Duck!" Salomon was driving this time. He yelled at Lorna to duck under the passenger seat while listening to the 9mm bullets from the police officer's Glock pistol clattering against the car. The two unlucky guys who originally owned this police car would never have imagined that they would one day be attacked by flashbang grenades.

Salomon didn't retaliate. Instead, he floored the accelerator and sped through the human wall formed by officers from the 10th and 18th Precincts of the NYPD. He then threw a smoke grenade out the shattered window to obstruct the view. The officers responsible for the blockade didn't dare give chase. They felt it was unnecessary—the NYPD's SWAT team was inside, with armored vehicles and numerous automatic rifles. Whoever the car thief was, he would only be killed.

They quickly reported the situation, and then the SWAT team ahead replied that they had seen the police car.

However, the SWAT sniper said he didn't see anyone in the driver's seat, and the police car continued to speed forward without any intention of stopping. The SWAT officers, feeling a chill, first shouted warnings, then opened fire on the police car, but this still couldn't stop its momentum. Only after the police car crashed into a parked armored vehicle did the SWAT officers cautiously approach to check on the suddenly stopped police car.

They opened the car door and saw a broom pressed against the accelerator. Before the SWAT officers could even breathe a sigh of relief, several flashbangs and smoke grenades bundled together fell from the driver's side door. Thick white smoke and a piercing noise immediately spread outwards from the police car. Two figures, one tall and one short, emerged from the trunk and rushed into the building surrounded by SWAT. Amidst the continuous, suppressed gunfire and the screams of SWAT officers from their calves pierced by bullets, Salomon and Lorna had already entered the building, leaving behind a group of SWAT officers shouting "Someone's been shot!" A sniper observing from a high vantage point attempted to fire, but the thick smoke obscured their target, preventing them from making any rash moves.

The SWAT officers had surrounded the building for over thirty minutes. During this time, they attempted to enter but heard gunfire and quickly retreated to maintain the siege. Frank Cassel had actually left the passageway long ago, but the SWAT officers had no intention of entering for Closed Quarters Battle (CQB). After all, their meager salaries weren't worth risking their lives for this operation, especially with the infamous "Punisher" on the other side. Holding their guns and blocking the way from the outside was already more than enough to justify their paychecks from the New York State government.

"Frank Cassel! Nick Fury wants me to pick you up!" Salomon shouted as he loaded his pistol with the last bullet in the magazine. "Do you remember me?"

"Put down your weapons, don't make me say it again."

Although Salomon had already spotted him, he allowed Frank Cassel to leap out of the door beside him and point a gun at his head. While the weaponry handled by Nick Fury was powerful, it wasn't well-suited to the combat environment. After the agents delivered the weapons, Frank Cassel only selected some of them, excluding those used to create improvised explosive devices with mortar shells. In other words, the explosion wasn't Frank Cassel's doing, but a trap set by Nick Fury's agents.

"I remember you. I've seen you twice." He glanced at the hostile little Lorna. "This isn't a place for children."

"She is indeed not yet an adult, but she has already joined the game of this world."

Salomon calmly holstered his gun, and he made Lorna do the same. "I'll get you out of here." He looked Frank Cassel up and down. Although black clothing made it difficult to see bloodstains, Salomon could still see several bullet holes in Frank Cassel's black skull bulletproof vest, and blood was seeping steadily from his fingers and the soles of his shoes. "You can't get out in this state. Even if all the SWAT officers outside are shot in the calves, the remaining sniper is not someone you can handle. So you either take my advice, or you die here."

"So you're with S.H.I.E.L.D.? Where are you taking me?" Significant blood loss was fading his senses, but Frank Cassel remained vigilant. Meanwhile, Lorna was examining the scene, analyzing the evidence to determine what had happened—first, machine gun fire that killed most of the Irish gang members; then flashbangs and CQB; a survivor was tortured and ultimately killed; the bloodstained dagger lying on the ground spoke volumes, including the brutality of Frank Cassel's interrogation methods.

"The safest place in New York, with medical services, all you have to do is agree to share intelligence." Salomon impatiently held out his hand. "Are you coming or not?"

"How do you plan to leave?"

"That's none of your business, just hold my arm. No matter what happens, don't let go, understand? Remember what happened in the glass? What's coming next will be beyond your comprehension." Frank Cassel pulled his gun back while keeping the muzzle pointed, and then reached out his bloodied hand to grasp Salomon's arm. "What bad luck, I can't wear this outfit anymore. Lorna, hold my hand. We're going home for dinner."

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)