Shadow Empire

Chapter 1151 Corpses and Life and Death

At dawn, seagulls awaken from their slumber and fly in flocks over the sea.

Sometimes they would perch on the masts of those ships, standing in rows on the mooring lines or the ship's side, searching for food nearby.

Only tourists living inland areas would like these birds; for people living by the sea, seagulls are not actually very popular.

They're like thieves, secretly stealing the property of seaside residents, such as small items they leave on their windowsills.

If you forget to close the window, seagulls will come in and snatch things away.

They may not necessarily want to eat it; they are more likely just curious. Once their curiosity fades, they will simply throw it away.

What may be just an uninteresting little thing to these seagulls could be very important and meaningful to their owners.

Just as early as the seagulls, the dockworkers also benefited. Under the protection of the Lance family, the dockworkers' wages and benefits are now much better than before. More importantly, there is no longer any conflict here.

Unlike before, where, under the guidance of some individuals, perhaps the federal government, there were always various ideological conflicts between different races, and between native-born and undocumented immigrants.

Violent conflicts erupt between them from time to time, such as strikes, marches, and riots, making the living environment in Jin Gang City not necessarily a good one.

However, after the Lance family rose to power, these problems disappeared because everyone became a "partner" of the Lance family.

Moreover, the withdrawal of the union did bring a novel experience to everyone, making people realize that they may not really need the union, and that the union may not really be able to provide them with any high-value services.

It's not as good as the Lance family, at least they can provide work safety equipment for free, which saves the workers a lot of money.

A worker responsible for inspecting nuts and bolts at the port started his work early in the morning, carrying a heavy cloth bag on his back and a huge wrench in his hand.

His job was simple: he had to walk around the section of the dock where he worked. There were many mooring posts on the dock, and he needed to use a wrench to tap and loosen the nuts and bolts to make sure they were all tightened.

For various reasons, sometimes vibrations or the rope pulling back during the winding process can create a force on the bolt, which may pull the nut to rotate and loosen the bolt.

Even if it's loose, it won't cause too much of a problem, but it's better to have no problem than to have one.

He kept tapping and banging along when he suddenly noticed a large flock of seagulls circling the beach not far away, with more and more seagulls landing from the sky. Feeling something was amiss, he walked over in that direction.

As far as he knew, seagulls wouldn't usually gather together like this unless there was some food available.

As he approached the place, a bad feeling welled up inside him. He was a little scared, but he still mustered up his courage and went over.

Every year, some bodies float ashore at the port. They might be people who accidentally fell into the water, or they might have committed suicide. In any case, there are always some.

He had developed a certain level of resistance to corpses, but being this close still made him a little scared.

When he could vaguely see what was swirling among the seagulls, he couldn't help but scream.

He never imagined that his high-pitched voice could pierce through the air above the dock. Before long, police cars arrived with a wailing sound.

Police set up a cordon and kept chasing away the curious seagulls in the vicinity.

Deputy Chief Duke's police car quickly pulled up on the road by the sea. He walked over from a distance, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The officers responsible for maintaining order immediately set up a cordon, allowing him to crawl in from the outside without bending over.

Deputy Director Duke glanced at the reporters surrounding the beach, a headache forming in his eyes. "You arrived even later than them?"

The deputy sheriff in charge of criminal cases at the city police department scratched his head. "Someone called a reporter. You know, if one person knows, a lot of people will know."

In the federal government, even an ordinary person who hasn't had much schooling knows the importance of news and that news can be sold.

When people learned that a body had been found there, and that it appeared to have been executed by a gang, some called the police, while others called reporters from newspapers.

Almost every newspaper has a phone number for "paid news submissions" in the middle pages and at the end of some important columns.

For local journalists, the news they obtain can not only be used by themselves, but also sold to their colleagues.

There are many “news companies” in the Union, which have a large number of journalists who collect news from all over the Union and send it to headquarters, where it is then sold to newspapers and magazines.

Cities like Golden Harbor City or Valley City have news every day, which is acceptable, but some cities are more dull and don't have much news every day. They can't just stop publishing newspapers because of that.

Or you can read the newspaper each time based on the news of the day.

More news means more newspapers printed.

With less news, there are fewer newspapers printed.

This is clearly unreasonable. It would only cause the publication cycle to change from daily to bi-weekly, to weekly, then bi-weekly, or even monthly, which is inappropriate for newspapers and magazines.

The purpose of capital investment is to make money, not to do charity. If you can print newspapers every day, why save up to print them every week?

To ensure readers find the newspapers informative and enjoyable, these newspapers purchase news items from large news companies, typically through long-term contracts.

This way, they wouldn't need to send more reporters to other places to gather news; they could simply type and print the news faxed to them by the news company every day, saving them the trouble of writing.

News like today's, if someone writes it out first and adds photos, can often sell it for a high price of twenty or thirty yuan.

Therefore, they are willing to spend five or ten yuan to get the latest news.

Chief Duke cursed a few times, these scoundrels were always causing trouble for the police department. He told the sheriff, "Go and warn them that they are not allowed to publish anything in the newspaper until the case is cleared up, otherwise we reserve the right to prosecute them for leaking case information!"

This is one of the few methods the police have, but it's not very effective because some major newspapers will still publish it. Compared to the influence and economic growth brought about by readers' attention, the police department's warnings are not taken seriously at all.

The sheriff nodded, then hesitated for a moment, "You'd better go in and take a look first."

Chief Duke glanced at him, realizing this might not be an ordinary case, and went deeper into the investigation.

To avoid being photographed by onlookers and seen by more people, they brought some tarpaulins from the dock and cordoned off the area where the body was found, making it impossible to see inside from the outside.

When Chief Duke walked in from outside, he paused for a moment when he saw the body, then cursed "Fuck you," and tried to turn and leave.

But in the end, he turned his head back.

The corpse had its hands behind its back, and a spear-like object pierced its body from behind, pinning it to the beach. Its head was down, and the blood gushing from its mouth and nose was dark red, clearly having oxidized over time.

The forensic doctor in charge of the on-site autopsy hadn't done much work yet, so he started explaining things to Deputy Chief Duke.

"His left hand held his tongue, his right hand clutched his own heart, and his face was peeled off and stuffed into his mouth."

"Then the spear pierced his body from behind, and you see the words 'thief,' 'liar,' and 'traitor' written on his chest and stomach."

"Without a doubt, this was a very typical ritualistic execution."

"He was most likely a member of a gang before he died, but he was killed and left here because he did something he shouldn't have done."

Deputy Director Duke took two deep drags on his cigarette. "I have eyes, and I saw it..."

He paused, then said, "Do you think it might be..."

Could it be the Lance family? That's what he wanted to say. It wasn't that he had any ill intentions towards the Lance family, but if this matter involved the Lance family, it would become somewhat troublesome.

The coroner nodded. "It should have been them. I'm just a little curious that they didn't hang the body on the streetlight this time, so I'm not entirely sure."

"Aren't you on good terms with Mr. Lance?"

“You can call and ask.” The coroner knew about the relationship between these police officers and Lance, as well as the Lance family. He himself was also a member of the vested interest group under this relationship. He could receive an extra “bonus” of about eighty dollars every month from the fund established by the Lance family.

This money helped him a lot and brought about a dramatic change in his life.

Moreover, after the rise of the Lance family, serious crimes in the city became very rare. They did not allow anyone to cause trouble on their territory, and those who disobeyed were basically secretly eliminated. Those who remained were cooperative and obedient.

Deputy Director Duke took two more puffs of his cigarette, grunted, and said, "I'll go make a phone call."

He soon arrived at a roadside phone booth. To prevent eavesdropping, he instructed officers to block nearby reporters from rushing over to inquire about the news.

The call was answered quickly. "Mr. Melo, they just found a body on the beach. I'd like to know if it's..."

“Yes,” Melo answered almost without hesitation. “This is the Boss’s decision.”

Deputy Director Duke paused for a moment, "Has Mr. Lance already returned?"

Yes, he is in Golden Harbor City right now.

Upon hearing this news, Deputy Director Duke was no longer confused. "I know what to do."

"There are many reporters here. Should I let them take pictures?"

He felt that if this was something Lance had made a special trip for, perhaps it would be necessary to use the media to promote it?

Lance seemed to be nearby, and Melo was talking to him. After about seven or eight seconds, Melo said into the receiver, "There's no need to spread the word. We can give them some information, like... we suspect that a gang is executing a traitor."

Traitor—that's a key word. Deputy Director Duke didn't know what kind of traitor could make Lance come back specifically for this, but he knew he had to handle this matter well.

After making a promise to Melo, he came out of the phone booth, and reporters immediately swarmed towards him like a tide. The police officers around him dutifully pushed the reporters away to prevent them from getting close.

Deputy Director Duke coughed. "If you continue to break the rules like this, I'm not going to say anything more."

The scene quieted down considerably as the reporters looked at him with expectant eyes. Deputy Chief Duke cleared his throat and then began to speak about the case.

"Based on our on-site investigation, the study of the body, and the examination of some remaining items at the scene, we believe that this is very likely an honor execution by a gang. The victim was from a gang, and he betrayed the gang by doing something he shouldn't have done, which ultimately led to all of this."

"That's all the information I can provide right now. If there's any more information, we'll release it through the police department's press officer."

"Okay, that's all for now..."

The reporters weren't about to let him get away, and one of them immediately shouted, "Chief Duke, which gang do you think was behind the execution?"

The reporter talked about many gangs, but he didn't mention the Lance family. After all, living in this place, he had to be somewhat sensible.

Someone else asked, "Were you on the phone just now confirming the origin of the body?"

"Can you tell us who you're calling, and whether you've already identified the body?"

Faced with these life-or-death questions, Deputy Director Duke could only shake his head with a straight face and say "no comment" before quickly leaving.

The body on the beach was photographed for record-keeping before being removed by the coroner, but because a little too long had passed, it was completely stiff.

So we had to use some small tools to help him stretch out again, which inevitably damaged some joints in the process, but that didn't matter.

The body was put into a body bag and put into a car. As the police left, a number of reporters gathered at the place where the body was found. They took pictures of the small patch of beach stained red with blood and wrote the first draft of today's sensational news in their minds.

Lance doesn't care much about what others think of the case. As he has always said, a crime is only a crime if there is evidence and law enforcement has seized the evidence.

If there is no evidence, then it is not a crime.

Since it's not a crime, no one can blame him.

This is the federal rule—once a person has a certain amount of power and status, the law will provide them with comprehensive protection.

This is unlike the lower classes, where if these people become targets of law enforcement, sometimes whether the law enforcement officers have evidence is not very important.

No?

Let's just make one up, that should do it.

But this tactic doesn't work well against someone like Lance who has status and influence.

As he entered a room in the "family prison," the senior detective supervisor sitting in the corner suddenly stood up, but then swayed twice.

He hasn't eaten or drunk anything since last night, and he only rested for a short while when he was in a daze.

His physical strength and energy were completely exhausted. The fact that he could stand up meant that he was actually in pretty good shape!
"Are you crazy?" The senior detective looked at Lance. He knew Lance; he had not only met him in person once, but had also seen his photos many times.

The photos of Lance were taken from many angles, so he recognized Lance the moment he walked in.

Instead of screaming hysterically, he started with a "Are you crazy?"

His gaze was fierce, but not malevolent, because he couldn't bring himself to be malevolent. "Do you know what you're doing?"

Lance went into the room, and Melo brought him a chair from outside. He sat down and asked, "Want a smoke?"

He pulled a brand-new cigarette case from his pocket. It looked very high-end; it was made of silver and inlaid with some gemstones.

This is the cigarette case Barbara gave him. That's why they met last time; Barbara thought Lance's cigarette case was a bit too old.

She inquired and found that it didn't have any special meaning, so she picked out a cigarette box that cost a little over a hundred yuan and gave it to Lance.

Lance wasn't bothered by this; he figured he might as well use whatever he wanted. The cigarette one felt nice, though it was a bit yellowed.

He put a cigarette in his mouth, lit it with the other side of his mouth, and took a puff.

The senior detective supervisor hesitated for a moment, but accepted the offer anyway; he did need nicotine at this time.

"You ask me if I'm crazy? Don't you already have the answer?" Lance licked his lips and exhaled smoke.

"Roland was the first to go crazy. No matter how important these things are to you now, you need to think about yourself and how to get out of here alive."

"Instead of whether I'm crazy or not, or anything else."

The senior detective supervisor had a somewhat gloomy expression. He stared intently at Lance, as if assessing the truthfulness of his words and wondering if Lance would really dare to kill him.

After a while, perhaps feeling that Lance wasn't lying, he seemed a little downcast. "I'm a senior FBI official. Killing me will get you into big trouble."

Lance chuckled twice. "Even if I don't kill you, will my troubles be any less?"

"Come on, we all know Roland will keep an eye on me like a mad dog, except this dog has a collar and someone is holding him."

"Whether you live or die, he'll still bite me, so why should I care?"

"More than that, I want to know whether you want to live, or whether you would rather sleep here forever for someone else's ideals, career, ambition, or something else."

"I don't know if you've heard the legend of Lake Angel, but I'll definitely pick out the sturdiest oil drum for you!"

(End of this chapter)