Chapter 82: Vengeance Does Not Wait Until Dawn (Please Continue Reading)

Aoxi slipped into a nearby alley, stowed away the black pistol, and set fire to his face mask, gloves, and hooded sweatshirt with a lighter, tossing the burning remnants into a trash bin. He abandoned his bicycle, wandered around the alley a few times, and then emerged, blending in as a normal pedestrian. Faint curses and shouts echoed in the distance, leaving Aoxi with a hint of regret—he hadn’t expected the man to install a security alarm in the backyard. Modern times had indeed made life difficult for assassins.

But so be it. If the kill failed, at least he’d stirred things up as intended. After walking for an hour back to his apartment, he felt the lack of reliable transportation keenly—he was starving from the trek. He bought some oden from a roadside stall to take home.

Climbing in through the window ledge, he stripped off his clothes and tossed them in the washing machine, taking a shower while he was at it. When he stepped out of the bathroom, he found Zhuoning eating the oden.

“Where did you go? I opened my eyes and you weren’t here.”

“I was hungry, went out to buy some food.”

“It took you that long just to buy food?” Zhuoning eyed him suspiciously, moving closer and sniffing gently. “You even showered!”

“Sweat after a walk, of course I showered,” Aoxi replied, ruffling her hair. “My kidneys aren’t good, I don’t have much energy to look for anyone else.”

Zhuoning’s suspicions faded. “That’s true enough.”

Aoxi smacked her playfully on the rear and sat down to eat the oden. She curled up in his lap. “Just oden? Don’t you want something else?”

He blinked, looking from the oden to Zhuoning, a conflicted expression on his face. Zhuoning whispered something softly in his ear.

Aoxi threw the oden aside. “To hell with food! Not eating! Let’s go!”

Passion erupted, a harmony of bodies and spirits, united in flight—yet only in a world where kidneys are wounded.

“If I could meet you when you’re young, I’d give you my true heart in exchange for your deepest love.”

Half-awake, Aoxi picked up his phone. It was two in the morning, and the call was from Kales. What was he doing, calling at this hour?

“Hello, what’s up?”

Kales’ anxious voice came through the line. “Where are you?”

“At home, sleeping. What’s wrong?”

“Hurry to the precinct, suit up, and come to me.”

“I’m not going. I’m on administrative leave right now.”

“Cut the crap, something serious happened. Hurry up, I’ll talk to the chief.”

The call ended. Aoxi scratched his head, cursing under his breath. Was being a cop like selling yourself to them? Even the worst boss pretends to crow like a rooster; this one doesn’t even bother. But there was no choice—the fate of the working man. Aoxi changed clothes, drove to the police station to gear up, and set out for the address Kales sent.

It was a small, isolated farm near Deodar Road, with only one road and a single house nearby. A private car and seven or eight police cruisers were parked out front, and a dozen officers were hustling back and forth.

As soon as Aoxi stepped out of his car, his brows furrowed—a heavy stench of blood wafted from the house. Kales stood at the doorway, waving him over.

Aoxi nodded and approached, taking in the scene—a real spectacle. In the living room and foyer, seven or eight black men and women lay scattered, all dead, riddled with bullet wounds.

Judging from the surroundings, they’d probably been hosting a party—food, drinks, and weed—when chaos erupted. “Any survivors?”

“A few, sent to the hospital.” Kales took a tablet from a nearby officer. “Take a look at this.”

Aoxi played the footage. The security camera was aimed outside the house, capturing the road and a glimpse of the front door. The party was lively, judging by the crowd at the door.

Everything seemed normal, until two cars entered from the left, lingered outside, then turned away and drove off. So far, nothing unusual.

Suddenly, the two cars stopped in the distance—too dark and far to see clearly, but people emerged. Screams erupted from inside the house. Guests were suddenly shot, blood gushing as they collapsed. People shouted and tried to escape, but none made it past the door before falling.

A young black man managed to get out, drew his gun, fired toward the attackers, but after only a few shots, was hit, stumbling back inside.

Once the attackers were confident no resistance remained, the cars turned around, returned, and opened fire on the house again, riddling the wooden walls with bullets.

Apparently out of ammo, the assailants drove off. Two lucky survivors, unscathed, helped some others into a car and fled.

Aoxi handed the tablet back. “That bold? Are there really people this brazen in Los Angeles?”

“There are plenty. Everyone’s bold except the ordinary citizens.”

Fair enough.

“So, what clues do you have? Everyone here’s dead, why did you call me?”

“Earlier tonight, the third-in-command of Lomas 13 was attacked by an unknown shooter at home. He’s fine, but two bodyguards were killed, and three nearby gang members died. Rumor has it, the shooter was black.

This place wasn’t on record, but the victims have ties to Barrett Street, and the farm grows marijuana.”

Aoxi was startled—Lomas 13 responded so quickly, striking back before dawn.

Feigning shock, he said, “So it’s a dog-eat-dog situation? Let them fight, the more dead, the better.”

Kales shook his head. “I don’t care if they fight, but it can’t endanger the public. That’s why I want you to come with me to talk to them.”

Aoxi’s eyes widened—this guy had high expectations, wanting to confront a gang boss. Wasn’t he afraid they wouldn’t make it out alive? No way he’d follow. He quickly replied, “Even if we have to go, shouldn’t it be someone else? You don’t know them; will they even listen to you?

And anyway, it shouldn’t be now. At least wait until daylight—it’s too dangerous at night.”

Kales nodded, about to say more when an officer approached. “The data systems department found the identities of the ones who drove off. Should we go now?”

“Now. Leave a few for the gang unit and forensics, everyone else, come with me to catch those guys.”

Aoxi followed Kales. They drove back to San Gabriel, turning onto a small street.

The area was full of ordinary shops; their target was a dental clinic.

Dentists are easily entangled with gangs—being doctors, professionally trained, but their offices aren’t in hospitals; they’re right on the street, making them convenient. Their equipment is well-stocked: drills, lathes, grinders—small, but suitable for extracting bullets, and they keep standard-sized tools on hand, too.

As for whether a dentist is willing to operate, that’s irrelevant; unwilling ones are sent to the afterlife. There’s always someone willing, since gangs pay well, and won’t kill a black-market doctor lightly—after all, they need them.