I Will Be The Crowned King

Chapter 38 In the name of the sheriff

"boom--!"

The slightly reddish barrel of the gun spewed out a fire like the breath of a dragon, and the fireworks-like barrage mixed with gunpowder smoke hit the suspect. Under the kinetic energy carried by the lead bullet, the chest and neck were torn apart like glass that was heavily smashed to the ground.

Looking at the suspect who was shattered into a pile of coal, Lisa, who was holding a shotgun, was quite satisfied, and even raised her chin proudly.

The amazing Sheriff Lisa has once again saved the people of Moby Dick from evil criminals!

Of course, there were some minor setbacks in the middle (meaning that I almost lost it), and it also caused a little trouble to the people of Beluga Harbor (meaning that the grenade was used many times to bomb the street, and many wooden sheds and houses were collapsed) ), and almost revealed his identity (referring to being found to be the caster, but anyway, the suspect is dead so no one knows)...

But compared to the results, all of this is obviously worth it!

If I have to say that there is something that makes the girl particularly regretful, it is probably that she failed to capture the suspect alive. After all, a living suspect is more valuable (because a guardian did not perform his duties, Lisa can't distinguish between "important" and "important". value" difference).

As for the other, it was because the other party did not plead guilty in the end, so she failed to say "In the name of the sheriff, sentence the criminal to death!" when she pulled the trigger!

Lisa thought this sentence was very handsome.

From the movements to the expressions, she practiced it no less than twenty times, and the mirror of the headquarters can prove this - it still retains the crater left by the shotgun.

"Well……"

But just because the suspect didn't plead guilty in the end, the actions and slogans that had been practiced so hard turned out to be completely useless... Just thinking of this, the happy Lisa immediately puffed out her cheeks angrily, staring at the "broken coals" on the ground with fierce eyes. ".

Although very angry, Lisa did not forget her important duty as a "sheriff"; she squatted down and began to fumble among the "debris" all over the floor.

[Article 9 of the Sheriff's Code: As a sheriff, you can never let go of all details related to criminal behavior. 】

Although the suspect's body was first blown away by a grenade and shot by a shotgun, it was still "complete" - at least all the fragments were still there, and even if it couldn't fit together, it would not hinder the search for clues.

But to Lisa's particular disappointment, the suspect may be in a hurry to escape, and he didn't carry much on his body at all; there were no signs or badges to prove his identity, no strange magic props, no weapons with special shapes...

There was only an ordinary short knife, a few silver coins and copper coins stuck to flesh and skin because of the explosion, and a few hidden in his clothes, and the boots on his feet were barely intact.

Disappointed, Lisa picked up the evidence and carefully hid it under her coat, before handing it over to Anson or Carl for disposal.

After doing all this, the big sheriff picked up the weapon that he had dropped on the ground, tidied up his collar and scarf a little, and took out a "cigarette" from his pocket again. The feet go in the direction they came from.

Five minutes later, the soldiers of the Storm Division with shotguns finally arrived at the scene one after another. They stopped ten meters away from the center of the explosion in a very "tacit understanding", and stayed in place one by one.

In the center of the street was blasted an irregular giant hemispherical dirt pit, which looked almost like a forty-eight-pound mortar shell falling from the sky; gunpowder smoke mixed with the stench of various household garbage wafted out from the center of the pit, making the Soldiers were hard to come by.

The houses on both sides of the street were even more appalling. They were completely covered by the "blizzard" that exploded and rolled up in pieces. Many wooden sheds that were already crumbling were simply finished, and only the ones buried in the black and white snowdrifts could be seen. "Components".

And those houses that were originally "solid" were even more miserable. Many were thrown out by the air waves in the first round of explosions, smashed to the ground like toys, and then completely disintegrated, turning into broken bricks and rubble everywhere.

As for the craters left by the lead bullets, the **** and **** thrown everywhere, the wooden sheds and smashed walls that were devastated... There are simply too many; crying and screaming one after another, even the next door community can hear Clearly.

It doesn't look like a certain "sheriff" is chasing the fleeing suspect at all, more like two evenly matched armies have just started a **** battle on the street, and the process is quite tragic.

"Clean up the scene... There is another person, go and call Captain Alexei over."

Carl Bain sighed helplessly-although it was not that he had not guessed the consequences of the incident, the first time it was so violent was far beyond his expectations.

"Oh, right!"

Before the herald could run away, the chief of staff raised his hand to stop him again: "Tell your regiment commander, remember to bring more staff when you come here - at least an entire company!"

"This is to arrest the murderer?!"

The messenger's eyes lit up.

"This is to save people!" Carl Bain rolled his eyes:

"And then...and possibly rebuilding the whole community."

………………

Meanwhile, the Big Teapot Tavern.

In the quiet tavern, only the sound of the big teapot "gudugudu" was heard.

The trembling guests were all lying on the table, and they didn't even dare to leave their seats easily, except for constantly looking around with corners of their eyes, or stretching their necks to look at the street.

The soldiers of the garrison and the "sheriff" have already left, but the movement outside has not stopped. In addition to the messy sound of iron boots and the sound of gunshots, there was a sound of explosions from a distance not long ago.

The tavern owner was lying in front of the bar, wiping the spotless table with the dry rag in his hand over and over again, repeating his movements mechanically as if obsessed, trying his best to reduce his sense of existence.

The hot big teapot was still gurgling, and the boss who didn't raise his head kept looking around from the corner of his eyes, secretly observing the behavior of the guests and the movement outside.

Soon, the street seemed to have quieted down; although the patrolling soldiers could still be seen on the street, they all carried their weapons behind their backs, just like the usual patrols, but the number increased, and they all seemed to be in a hurry.

Even the guests who were still trembling at the beginning gradually relaxed their vigilance, and began to cautiously form a few tables in groups, and lowered their voices to discuss in a low voice; some were still lying on their desks and slept soundly...or pretended to wheeze. big sleep.

Teapot Street is the newest of all neighborhoods, populated by the poorest immigrants and Aboriginal people, who have nothing to do with each other, and want to live in other neighborhoods.

But this does not prevent them from getting together when they are in danger. After all, whether it is immigrants or indigenous people, it is natural for them to stick together when things go wrong.

After a while, the tavern owner finally put down the rag in his hand and planned to quietly leave the bar without making a sound.

Just as he turned around, a voice suddenly blocked his path.

"Cough cough... Here's a drink."

The shocked boss slowly turned his head and found that a thin figure suddenly appeared on the bar in front of him.

The man was wearing a tattered and faded old coat, his body exuded a strong fishy smell, the messy hair under an old top hat covered most of his face like seaweed, and he was holding a rather delicate pipe. .

The tavern owner remembers a guy.

He's been coming to his pub a lot these days; unlike the "true regulars", he never asks for hot water, sometimes a beer, sometimes a beer mixed with water, and sometimes even a fish...

Coupled with the briar wood pipe that the other party always holds in his mouth, the tavern owner probably guessed the identity of the other party: a poor aristocrat or a wealthy businessman who went bankrupt.

This kind of guy is definitely not uncommon in the colony, they usually have a hard time getting rid of the past at once, and will spend all their property in the fifth to six months of arriving in the colony, and become like all the residents of Teapot Street.

He has no sympathy for this kind of guy, the tavern owner, and just wants to hollow out the last few copper plates on him. He even looks forward to the moment when the other party will exchange the pipe for himself.

So he immediately lost a smile: "What would you like to drink?"

"Have a beer." The man paused, hesitated for a moment, and said:

"...mix some hot water, it's too cold."

"Yeah, it's getting colder recently."

The tavern owner quickly took a glass, poured half a glass of beer and placed it on the table, staring straight at the pipe at the corner of his mouth: "Six copper coins."

The man was stunned: "Isn't it three?"

"That's the previous price." The tavern owner raised the corners of his mouth inadvertently:

"It's been too cold recently, and firewood is so expensive. It's impossible not to increase the price."

"Of course, for the sake of our friendship these two days, if you're in a hurry recently, I can invite you to drink a cup of hot water... As for the time you stay, you can count on the price of the drink."

The man was suddenly silent.

The tavern owner didn't speak, he deliberately pushed the half glass of wine forward, held his shoulders and waited patiently, his eyes kept swept to a corner of the tavern.

The soldiers outside the door are still coming and going, and they are getting more and more frequent.

After a while... Just as the tavern owner was about to leave, the man suddenly took the pipe from the corner of his mouth, his clenched right hand trembled, and gently placed it on the bar.

"Bring me... a full bottle."

His deep voice seemed to have made up his mind.

"no problem!"

The ecstatic tavern owner agreed decisively, and immediately took a whole bottle of wine from the shelf behind him and put it in front of the man.

But when he went to get the pipe, the other party did not let go.

"I want to ask something." The man said suddenly:

"Actually, I just suddenly thought of it, but no matter how I think about it, it doesn't feel right."

The tavern owner timidly withdrew his hand, glanced at a corner of the tavern again, and smiled at the man: "Please speak."

"It's just that... Mrs. Sheriff, she said that the murderers ended up here." The man said slowly, and silently picked up the half glass of wine:

"And you said the three rented the attic and never met them again."

"Yes." The boss blinked:

"What's up?"

The man put down the wine glass and pointed to the door that was blown up by the grenade: "But one of them just ran out from here."

"Uh..." The tavern owner's expression changed slightly:

"That's what I said, and I don't even know those guys—why do you care about that?"

"I don't care, I said... This is just something I just suddenly thought of." The man still said slowly:

"I just think that if the three of them opened a room here for the first time and were covered in blood, the usual tavern owner... should be impressed with this kind of 'guest'."

"How can you forget about the other person's appearance in just a few days?"

"So I suddenly thought of a possibility: you actually know them, just because they are the murderers of soldiers, so you dare not tell others." The man continued:

"You allow them to hide in your tavern, and give them a place to hide from the limelight - because Teapot Street is a remote and dirty place, and usually the big guys don't want to come."

"But... they're here."

The smile on the tavern owner's face faded away.

"But actually the most interesting thing is the guy who suddenly ran out just now." The man changed his words:

"It's interesting, isn't it? In fact, the sheriff and the soldiers didn't find any clues or evidence at all, so he suddenly ran out - as if he was deliberately telling others that he was the murderer. Isn't that stupid?"

"But I don't think so, I think he's brave; it's very likely that this gentleman was going to use himself as a bait to get the soldiers' attention by thinking the killer had run away."

"And his accomplices... are probably still in this tavern."

"Who are you?"

The tavern owner's face turned completely cold.

"Are you upset, sorry."

After a gentle apology, the man finally released his right hand from the pipe, and at the same time stretched his left hand to the wine bottle: "I just have nothing to do~www.wuxiamtl.com~I just want to chat with you."

The tavern owner snorted coldly and reached for the briar wood pipe on the table.

At the moment of encounter, his pupils shrank suddenly, and the entire portrait was stunned as if it had been petrified.

This pipe...is a magic item!

click-

The sound of the hammer being knocked off suddenly sounded in the ear, and the man in front of him suddenly had a revolver in his right hand, and the muzzle of the gun pressed against his chin.

"But to be honest, I don't think you and your accomplices are very smart." The man continued, the wine bottle and body in his left hand cleverly blocked the view, so that people behind him could not see the revolver in his hand:

"I'm not guessing that the murderer should still be hiding in this tavern, but I know 100% that you are hiding here... I just don't know who it is and how many accomplices there are, and it's only been ambush for so many days."

"So...Thank you for the news just now, so that I can finally be sure that there are really only three people - after removing the ones who ran out, there are only yourself and the one in the corner, right?"

"who are you?!"

"who I am?"

The man put down the wine bottle, put it down under the terrified eyes of the boss, raised his hand and took off the hat and wig on his head, revealing a thin face like a musician:

"The Commander of Beluga Harbor... Anson Bach."

The moment the voice fell, Anson tapped the bar with his knuckles; instantly, the tavern owner heard a loud noise behind him.

"boom--!!!!"

Along with the choking smoke, the wall behind him collapsed, revealing the street behind him.

As well as Lieutenant Colonel Alexei who came to inquire, and his entire line of infantry with guns in place.

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