American Gossip King

Chapter 30 This is Professional Ethics

Standing on the street, Ian looked around.

As darkness fell, the streets were deserted, exuding a desolate atmosphere.

After a moment of contemplation, Ian's face broke into a slight smile.

With his hands in his pockets, he walked towards the end of the street.

At the end of the street was a dilapidated old shop with a black lacquered wooden door. At the top of the shop was a sculpture of a Remington shotgun, and below it hung a sign that read "Old Peter's Gun Shop".

Upon entering the gun shop, you'll see only an elderly white man inside, with the surrounding walls covered in various long guns and short guns.

The old man was sitting behind the counter, wiping a gun.

Ian approached the old man and said, "Give me a gun, boss."

The shop owner, an elderly white man, looked at Ian and chuckled, "Ian Carl? You're here to buy a gun? That's interesting."

Ian wasn't surprised that he knew him, but asked in astonishment, "Is it not allowed?"

The boss replied, "I've seen your news reports. I remember you saying that freedom of the gun is a foolish national policy."

Ah, that was just something my predecessor wrote randomly... Although my predecessor was trash, he still had his own understanding, including his belief that freedom of guns was a foolish national policy.

It can only be said that even the smartest person has foolish moments, and even the worst person has moments of clarity.

At least the origin is correct, but the way it's presented is very stupid!

An America without freedom of guns is not America!

Gun freedom can provide weapons manufacturers with more markets and create more jobs.

It can make the work of the police more meaningful, benefit cemeteries, prisons, religious institutions, renovation and construction companies, and even fire departments, give journalists more good material, and make the American people feel that they have the confidence to overthrow tyranny—no death, no rebirth; no destruction, no creation. Why destroy a huge market that can bring a lot of jobs and self-satisfaction?

Ian Carr is now a staunch supporter of gun freedom in the United States!

Ian shook his head slightly: "Never believe the nonsense of reporters. In my heart, the freedom to bear arms is America's greatest national policy, the source of our greatness and our position at the top of the world! America cannot lose the freedom to bear arms, just as the West cannot lose Jerusalem!"

Ian shamelessly contradicted himself.

The shop owner smiled happily: "That's right! America is a great and free country."

As he spoke, he placed a Beretta pistol on the counter: "A Beretta 92F pistol, using 9mm pistol ammunition. It weighs 0.96 kg unloaded, has an effective range of 50 meters… The blood it spills on a human body is quite beautiful!"

Ian picked up the gun, felt it, and asked, "How much?"

"Five hundred US dollars, plus two magazines."

"Do you have a silencer?"

"Forget about it, that's not for sale."

Ian sighed, "America isn't free enough! By the way, is there a record of this shot?"

"An extra 500 for guns without a record."

"I want one without any records."

The shop owner happily took the money, then pulled a gun from under his stall and handed it to Ian: "You'll like it. Don't load it at the gun shop, buddy."

Ian shrugged: "You're really cautious."

Holding the gun, Ian strolled leisurely out of the gun shop.

You know what, I suddenly felt much more confident.

I continued walking, my X-ray vision scanning the surroundings.

After looking around, he turned and walked toward a secluded alley, where he quietly loaded the bullets.

It was already late, and there were hardly any people on the road.

Ian turned into the alley and stood there quietly.

Soon, a man dressed in black walked over.

He arrived near the alley entrance, carefully retrieved his gun, and walked towards the alley entrance.

boom! !

Gunshots.

A tiny spark appeared in the darkness.

The man in black stared in astonishment at his wrist.

His wrist was punched in a hole, almost shattering it.

The boss was right, the blood flowers were indeed beautiful.

"Ouch!" the man in black cried out in pain.

"Stop shouting. We both chose this place because there aren't many people here, right?" Ian walked out with a smile, the black muzzle of his gun pointed at the man's head. What was even more speechless was that he was also wearing a camera, which was in automatic recording mode.

The man shouted, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

boom!

Ian fired another shot, this time hitting him in the leg.

Blood splattered everywhere as the man knelt on one knee.

Ian looked at him coldly: "I've seen you before. You were in the car behind when I got into Jett's car before dinner. Although you didn't get out, I still remembered you... Being a reporter requires keen insight, otherwise you won't find any clues."

The man in black trembled, "It's just a coincidence."

Ian gently shook his head: "There's no coincidence."

He walked to the side, brandished the muzzle of his gun, and gestured for the man to come in.

The man gritted his teeth and staggered forward.

Ian picked up the other man's gun and followed behind him.

They walked through the alley and came to a grove of trees.

There is a ditch next to the woods, and a small wooden house next to it.

Ian gestured for the other person to come inside. Inside the cabin was a chainsaw, weed killer, and a fishing rod, clearly a makeshift cabin used by someone for fishing.

After closing the cabin door, Ian said, "Your name."

The other party replied helplessly, "Danny Koskerri."

Ian asked, "Why do you want to kill me? Was it Gitte's order?"

The man had no choice but to say, "I am a good friend of Charlie Mills. You killed him... I want to avenge him."

Ian sneered, "Do I look like an idiot to you?"

Kosker sighed. "Gitter doesn't like being threatened. He believes you didn't get the thing, but he doesn't like your attitude. He didn't order me to kill you, just to teach you a lesson, saying you might still be useful later. But because of Charlie Mills, I did think... about doing you. I'm sorry, sir, I won't do that again."

The latest novel is first published here!

He chickened out!

Ian sighed, "I don't like simplistic storylines; this won't be good news."

Koskerri exclaimed in horror, "You want to make this news?"

Ian laughed: "That's not surprising, after all, isn't that what Charlie Mills is like?"

Koskeri: "..."

madman!

This guy is a complete madman!

It was only at this moment that he realized what kind of person he had messed with.

Ian looked at him and sighed, "This can't be turned into a righteous counterattack, so I can only be an unsung hero. What a pity."

What is he saying?

Then Koskeri saw Ian's gun pointed directly at him.

Koskeri was horrified: "No!"

boom!

Ian shot him between the eyebrows, and amidst the gushing blood and brain matter, he fell swiftly and cleanly.

Seeing the other person's unseeing eyes, Ian smiled.

Then he touched the other person's body and was surprised to find that the other person had brought several kilograms of flour.

I guess he was planning some kind of deal and wanted to take care of himself in the process, but it ended up benefiting Ian.

Depend on!

What kind of cheapness is that?

I have my bottom line: I only kill people, I don't traffic drugs.

Ian shook his head and said, "Sorry, it's all for work. We all have professional ethics."

As he spoke, he drew a six-pointed star on the ground, placed the corpse on it, and struck a pose as if performing an evil ritual.

Out of mischievousness, they even drew a clown on the other person's face.

After finishing that, he cleaned the room again, removed any traces, and made sure nothing was missed. Then, he started taking pictures of the surroundings with his camera.

Having done all this, he took the flour and left, returning home.

As usual, I started writing the article.

The next morning, Ian drove his rented car to the vicinity of the crime scene and parked quietly to wait.

People fish at the dock every day. Ian deliberately left the door open when he left, so the body wouldn't have been discovered for long.

After waiting for about two hours, Ian finally heard his long-awaited siren.

With a slight smile, Ian got out of the car with his camera, looking like a wandering traveler.

Police cars sped up from afar, stopped near the stream, and quickly headed towards the wooden house.

Before even reaching the cabin, the pungent stench of blood filled the air. Through the doorway, one could see the corpse in the center of a six-pointed star, and the sinister, ghostly aura made the police officers pale.

"Set up the cordon!" a police officer shouted.

Just then, a figure rushed in, burst into the wooden house, and started frantically taking pictures inside with a camera.

"Damn it!" Several police officers rushed over, grabbed Ian, and dragged him outside. One of the officers even kicked Ian in the backside. "You damned, smelly dogs, get out of here!"

Ian clutched his head and shouted, "You can't stop me! I'm a journalist, I have the right to know everything!"

Catherine strode over, grabbed Ian, and shoved him away forcefully: "Ian Carl, it's you again! You're interfering with the police's work; you're ruining the scene!"

That's exactly what I need, just in case there are fingerprints that haven't been wiped off.

From now on, I'll have to carry rubber gloves with me at all times.

Ian shrugged: "Okay, okay, I know I was wrong, I'll leave now!"

He shouted and ran away, looking just like a cowardly rat with its head in its hands.

The policeman behind yelled, "Never come back, you bastard!"

Ian muttered, "You'll be proud to have insulted me in the future, and it'll be something you brag about for the rest of your life."

(End of this chapter)