Law America, the Devil's Agent

The three groups gathered in the lobby of the Blood Angels bar.

The Blood Hands Gang's red handprint flag still hung on the wall of the hall, but now there were several bullet holes in the flag, through which you could see the row of shattered wine bottles behind it.

The air was filled with the lingering smell of tear gas, the acrid stench of burning gunpowder, and spilled whiskey.

Daniel is taking inventory of the equipment and personnel of the AnDun team.

All twelve veterans were present.

The only injury was a fracture in the arm caused by a piece of debris that bounced off the goalkeeper during the play; it has been immobilized with a tactical bandage.

Compared to the Blood Hands gang's heavy casualties in this raid, this number seems almost absurd.

Meanwhile, members of the South African gang in Mankla huddled on the other side of the bar, some bandaging knife wounds on their arms with torn shirts, others gulping down painkillers.

They all bore scars to varying degrees, but were in high spirits, as if they had just taken a lot of drugs.

Link and Benny stood next to the bar.

Benny was holding his phone, the screen scrolling with reports from Miles about the blockade.

Kona appeared here at some point, leaning against the bar, holding a glass of bourbon whiskey, the only unopened bottle she had salvaged from the shattered glass on the floor.

Link was clearly taken aback when he saw her.

"Why are you here? I clearly told you and Benny to stay on the outside."

"It's too boring on the outskirts."

You said this is a novel and interesting event, I can't miss the most exciting part.

Kona shook the bottle in her hand, smiling casually:

  

"Besides, I've never seen a lawyer command a joint raid by a private security company, the official drug enforcement agency, and a gang all in one morning."

Tickets for this play are sold out no matter how much money you offer.

Link didn't say anything more, but simply looked at her to make sure there were no injuries on her body, and then turned to Daniel who was walking towards him.

The two met in the center of the bar lobby. Daniel opened his arms, and Link went to meet him. The two hugged each other tightly.

"I didn't expect Mr. Klaus to send you."

Link pounded his chest hard:

"How was it? Was the battle exciting?"

"To be honest, these roadside stray dogs are not even as good as the women and child soldiers in the Middle East."

At least those children carried countdown clocks with them, showing their determination to die.

These guys don't even know how to find cover, they just stand there and shoot, like they're filming a fucking gangster movie.

Daniel loosened his grip, shaking his head with a smile.

"Keep those words to yourself and report them to Klaus later."

Link patted him on the shoulder, not having time for those hellish jokes, and turned to Mankla, who was walking through the crowd.

Mankla took off her gold-rimmed glasses, carefully wiped the dust off the lenses with a chamois cloth, and put them back on.

A few streaks of blood were splattered on his refined face, and a button was torn off his shirt collar, but he still maintained his deliberate gentlemanly demeanor.

He reached out his hand, and Link took it.

"How's the situation on the outside?" Link asked.

"Your men were surrounded by a big sack, and none of them escaped."

Most of them are under our control; the few who tried to resist... we no longer need to consider them.

He put his glasses back on, and a meaningful smile slowly spread across his tired but excited face:

"The Blood Hand Gang is dead."

Link also said with a smile.

"Yes, the Blood Hand Gang is dead."

After another round of pleasantries, seeing everyone's eager expressions, Link smiled slightly and announced:

"Post-war distribution has officially begun."

Mankla chose territory and remaining forces without any hesitation.

The Bloody Hands gang's black market network, which had been operating in North Philadelphia for so many years, from drug distribution points to underground casinos, from protection money territories to smuggling routes, was all naturally taken over by the South African gang.

This was their deserved spoils, the piece of cake that Link had promised him from the very beginning of the negotiations.

In return, they no longer touched anything else.

Link and Daniel then found Gerard's private vault, guided by several captured Bloodhand accountants.

The storeroom was hidden behind Gerard's bedroom walk-in closet. The room wasn't large, but the contents inside silenced everyone present for a few seconds.

Piles of US dollars were neatly stacked on steel shelves, roughly estimated to be at least seven figures.

No consecutive serial numbers, no markings, all old banknotes—

This was Gerard's personal savings accumulated over many years from drug trafficking.

For a moment, both AnDun and the law firm remained silent.

But then Link broke the silence with a soft whistle.

"Gentlemen, what are you waiting for?"

I already spoke with my police friends outside; this belongs to us, and it's your reward today.

The veterans of AnDun let out a suppressed cheer.

The twelve people had clear divisions of labor: counting money, bagging, and registering. Their efficiency was no less than the tactical coordination they had just demonstrated on the battlefield.

When Link came out of the warehouse, his coat pockets were bulging, and he had a smile on his face that Benny found somewhat unfamiliar.

When he and the group of veterans came out of the bar, Mankla was already standing by the roadside waiting.

Behind him was a car covered by a dark tarpaulin, its outline barely discernible beneath the fabric.

"Attorney Link!"

There was a subtle hint of ingratiation in Mankla's tone:

"Thank you for your help today."

We just found something interesting while taking stock of Gerard's collection.

I think you'll like it.

"Oh?"

Link looked at him with great interest.

Mankla then gestured to his men. Two members of the South African gang simultaneously lifted their tarpaulins.

That was a car.

A matte black Aston Martin DBS, with its sleek and sharp lines, gleamed proudly in the afternoon sun.

The leather interior is a deep burgundy, hand-stitched, and the metal emblem on the steering wheel still has a protective film on it.

Gerard clearly hadn't had a chance to actually drive it more than a few times.

The wheels are custom forged, with a black multi-spoke design, and the calipers are matte gold.

The car was parked outside the Blood Hand Gang headquarters, which was riddled with bullet holes and broken glass, like a black pearl forgotten in a garbage dump.

"This is Gerard's most prized vehicle."

Mankla said, with just the right amount of humility in her tone:

"I feel it's a waste for it to stay here. Perhaps it would be more suitable for you."

Link slowly walked around the Aston Martin, his fingers lightly tracing the outline of the hood.

Then he remembered his silver-gray Corolla—

That junk had an engine that sounded like an old ox, an air conditioner vent that always smelled of engine oil, and required three prayers every time it was started.

He chuckled.

"Isn't this a bit too ostentatious?"

Mankla respectfully shook his head:

"Perfectly suited to you."

"Then thank you for your gift, I really like it."

"My pleasure."

……

Meanwhile, a few blocks away.

The anti-narcotics bureau's cordon stretched into a long blue chain in the morning light, and the red and blue flashing lights of the patrol cars rotated quietly.

Miles White leaned against the hood of the police car, holding a cup of coffee that had gone cold.

Standing next to him was a tall woman with long, dark brown hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She wore a well-tailored dark prosecutor's suit that framed her proud, curvaceous figure.

Her features are somewhat similar to Miles', but her lines are sharper and her eyes are colder.

Elena White.

The deputy head of the Major Crimes Unit at the Philadelphia District Attorney's Office, and Miles' sister.

"Miles, you dragged me out of three cases today and made me stand here in this godforsaken place drinking cold coffee with you."

Her voice carried a directness that was characteristic of prosecutors, unadorned and straightforward:

You say there are benefits. I haven't seen any benefits yet.

All I saw was you leading the entire DEA team around a gang's territory, listening to the gunfire erupting inside, and then doing nothing.

Did I come here to watch a show?

"Of course, it's to watch a play. And a grand play at that."

The end is almost here.

Miles took a sip of his coffee, a sly smile playing on his lips:

"You know, your brother really needs to show off some impressive achievements lately."

And you, as the prosecutor for the White family, have been dealing with a constant stream of small cases lately, but none of the big ones.

My sibling and I have worked hard in this city for so many years; the White family bloodline can't remain mediocre forever.

Elena crossed her arms and squinted her eyes.

"Do you have a big case? Or is your case inside? Then why don't you go in and arrest them?"

"It's too much trouble to go get it myself."

Miles placed his coffee cup on the roof of the car, his gaze sweeping over the police cordon and landing on the quiet neighborhood in the distance:

"As sheriffs and prosecutors, we sometimes don't have to get what we want ourselves."

Some things you have to do yourself, like tearing a crack in Philadelphia, this impenetrable place.

Sometimes, all you need to do is wait.

A truly intelligent person will deliver what you need to you, along with a complete list of evidence.

"What if he can't come?"

Miles smiled calmly.

"Then he is not the one I'm waiting for."

Shortly after the two finished their conversation, the roar of an engine came from the distant, chaotic neighborhood.

A matte black Aston Martin was slowly driving along the empty street, its body gleaming calmly in the morning light.

The narcotics officers instinctively tensed up, several hands simultaneously resting on their sidearms.

But the car didn't accelerate or swerve; it simply stopped calmly in front of Miles.

The car window slowly rolled down.

Link sat in the driver's seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other out the window, waving at Miles.

"Sir, I believe the result you've been waiting for has arrived."

After saying that, he pushed open the car door, stood up, and shook Miles' outstretched hand.

The two held hands tightly in the morning light.

Miles glanced at the street behind Link—

Order has long since been restored.

He smiled and patted Link on the shoulder.

"Looks like I waited for this scene for nothing."