American Gossip King

Chapter 35 The Burning Torch

night.

Ian drove the newspaper's news van, carrying a camera, and headed out.

Ian drove to the vicinity of Tarrant Street, parked the car at the intersection, looked around, and confirmed that there were no surveillance cameras.

Looking through the lens, I saw the house across the street; that was Garrick's residence.

There was no one in the house.

It was late at night, and there was no one else on the road.

Ian arrived at Garrick's house carrying a case of gasoline.

He took out a wire and gently moved it through the keyhole.

For his second copying ability, he chose lock picking!

It must be admitted that this is an extremely helpful skill for secret operations, so Ian went to see a locksmith who was said to be able to open safes.

The results proved that one's own skill level had nothing to do with the level of the target being copied, but only with one's own level of copying.

Ian can only open ordinary locks now, and opening safes is impossible—but with X-ray vision, some safes might be able to be opened, although X-ray vision consumes too much metal.

It's okay, it's enough. Anyway, I don't plan to break into the safe.

Ian opened the door easily and began to set up.

He quickly finished everything, closed the door, went out, returned to his car, smoked a cigar, and waited quietly.

At one o'clock in the morning, Garrick finally returned.

He hummed a cheerful tune, took off his coat, and then habitually went to open the refrigerator to get the wine and turn on the TV to watch TV.

For a gang, 1 a.m. is far from their sleep time.

As I was watching TV, the lights in the room started flickering on and off.

Garrick looked around in confusion, staring at the flickering light and shadows, and said angrily, "Damn power company, their voltage is terrible."

Just then, he frowned, sniffed the air, and asked in confusion, "What's that smell?"

Garrick got up and followed the smell to the kitchen, then pushed open the kitchen door.

boom!

A large bucket of gasoline was poured over his head.

"Fuck!" Garrick cursed.

As a seasoned gangster, Garrick instantly realized something was wrong.

He quickly drew his gun from his waist and nervously looked around.

A power line not far away was flashing with electric sparks.

"No!" Garrick cried out in terror.

Completely on instinct, Garrick threw the mop next to him over and covered the power line.

The power line suddenly twitched a few times, and Garrick's heart jumped into his throat.

But at that moment, the room went dark with a bang.

The power is out.

"Phew!" Garrick breathed a sigh of relief.

Just as he was congratulating himself on escaping death, a soft bang was heard and the window next to him opened.

Garrick turned to look.

Then he saw a spark flying outside the window.

It was a cigar twirling in the air, its graceful light and shadow piercing the darkness before falling.

boom!

Flames roared up.

As it turns out, creating a spontaneous fire using a combination of electricity and gasoline is not as easy as it seems.

Ian isn't Death; he can't pull off those fancy maneuvers.

It's not possible right now, at least not.

Compared to gasoline, gas explosions are actually simpler.

But firstly, that would harm innocent people, and secondly, it wouldn't meet Ian's news needs.

At that moment, he tossed aside his cigar, then quickly returned to his car and picked up the camera.

At the same time, a flame shot into the sky from inside Garrick's house.

Ian rushed in carrying a camera, kicked open the door, and pointed the camera inside: "Sir, are you alright?"

Then they saw Garrick, covered in flames, rushing outwards.

As Ian filmed Garrick, he steadily backed away, speaking into the microphone: "This is Ian Carr, a reporter from the Los Angeles Herald. I'm witnessing a self-immolation incident firsthand. Let's interview the victim now."

He then pointed the microphone at Garrick, who was lunging at him: "Sir, what caused this fire? Was it due to your improper operation? A short circuit? Or some other reason? What are your thoughts on this?"

Garrick, engulfed in flames, screamed frantically, "Help me!"

He lunged at Ian.

Ian pulled back the microphone, grabbed the camera, and hurriedly backed away: "As we can see, this gentleman's life seems to be in grave danger. I don't think he can hold on much longer."

Dodging Garrick's lunge, he pointed the microphone at Garrick again: "Aren't you going to say something to the public at the last minute, sir?"

"No!!!!" Garrick cried out in despair.

Ian shook his head regretfully: "He doesn't seem to want to talk to me much."

The latest novel is first published here!

Garrick screamed frantically, "Help me! Help me!"

Ian said calmly, "Sir, please calm down. We need to find the root cause of this problem to prevent similar tragedies from happening again. Your experience, though painful, will serve as a reminder to the public not to play with fire; you may save countless lives!"

Garrick looked at Ian with despair.

The flames consumed his life, leaving him powerless to move.

He fell to the ground and crawled forward, reaching out his hand to Ian.

For a fleeting moment, Ian wanted to take out a cigar and light it using the flame on his body.

But firstly, he wasn't sure if this guy still had the ability to catch him, and secondly, that would make him seem too cruel.

I still have my bottom line.

So he refrained from doing so.

Pointing the camera at Garrick, he continued filming calmly: "Cherish the last moments of your life."

With his last breath, Garrick said, "It was you...you did it..."

Ian sighed, "Edited news is no longer the original... You shouldn't have said that."

He continued to back away, looking at the other person with a calm and cold gaze.

Only then did someone finally notice what had happened.

Lights came on in the nearby houses, and people poured out of their homes to look at Garrick, the fireman, who was screaming and wailing in the street.

People exclaimed in surprise:

"Oh my god! It's Garrick!"

"Is it that annoying guy? What happened to him?"

"Can't you see? He's carbonizing."

"That looks pretty good."

Ian chuckled: "You're not exactly popular, Mr. Garrick."

Garrick had gone from being white to black, and he was completely withered.

Ian put the camera aside, picked up his own camera, and began filming Garrick, saying as he filmed, "Could you look at the lens, sir?"

Garrick wasn't quite dead yet; the flames had blinded him, and he was still struggling to reach out.

Like a torch!

"This pose is good, the public will like this picture. Can you smile? Say cheese! Great! I'll take that as a smile." Ian quickly pressed the shutter, capturing the pose in the flames in succession.

There are also those bursting with a sense of justice.

A young man rushed over with a fire extinguisher and lunged at Garrick, yelling, "What the hell are you doing? Help him!"

Ian generously said he didn't mind my attitude.

He stepped aside and continued filming the rescuer.

His focused gaze demonstrates the absolute professionalism of an excellent journalist.

(End of this chapter)