Super Detective in the Fictional World

Chapter 951 - Withdrawing and Switching Targets

Chapter 951: Withdrawing and Switching Targets

Wesley frowned. “Boss?”

He didn’t think it was a good thing that the smiling man was too good.

Looking at the falling snow, the man said in a low voice, “Keep an eye on the transfer plan yourself. We need to speed up and ignore this smiling person for now.”

Wesley was surprised. “What? Then our business...”

The man smiled. “If Smiley Face dies, then nothing changes. If the hitmen are all killed, how will the people at the Continental and the High Table react?”

Wesley immediately understood. “They will have to do their best to track down this smiling man, or their strength will be questioned.”

The man said, “If not even a hundred mid-range hitmen can kill a smiling man, how can the Continental Hotel claim to be the ‘strongest’? This isn’t about the money. It’s more beneficial for us to complete the transfer plan.”

Wesley agreed. “Got it, boss.”

The man said, “Go do your thing.”

At that point, he couldn’t help but add, “Leave New York. You can go to Boston or Philadelphia. Don’t stay here any longer. The Continental Hotel will suffer a huge loss this time. It’s very likely they’ll start investigating D’Amico’s wife for the real person behind the bounty. Remember to clean up the aftermath. There’s no need for us to take part. Just watch them fight to the death.”

Wesley hesitated, but still agreed. He hung up and went straight to the airport.

During this time, he quickly dialed a number and arranged various matters.

He wouldn’t question his boss’s judgment or decision.

In less than ten years, his boss had earned the honorific title of “Kingpin.”

It wasn’t purely because of his strength, but because his boss was far smarter than the gang bigshots.

Bringing the transfer plan forward would be quite the loss.

But it was worth it to screw over the Continental Hotel and Smiley Face at the same time, and increase the chances of the transfer plan succeeding.

If it were any other gang leader, they would definitely be reluctant to part with their territory and business.

Kingpin, however, already had a foothold in other industries.

They would lose 20% of their revenue from the underground business in New York, but that wasn’t enough to shake their foundations.

Also, by temporarily pausing in their conflict with the masked men, they would have more energy to focus on the transfer plan and successfully plant their own force at the High Table.

By then, they could indirectly influence the Continental Hotel.

In the end, whether they swallowed this powerful hostile force or let it go to bloody war with the smiling man would be a matter of a thought.

They could attack or retreat, or could even stand safely on the side as a spectator and watch the two sides fight.

Thinking that, Wesley boarded his private plane.

In front of the cabin door, he turned around to look at the familiar New York night view.

Under the snow, New York at night seemed to be enveloped in a murderous atmosphere.

Wesley couldn’t help but sigh. “I’ll be back. Just you wait, New York!”

With that, he strode into the cabin without hesitation.

A few minutes later, the private plane took off and flew toward Boston.

...

A fierce battle continued In Swamp Park.

Wade couldn’t stop cursing.

Thankfully, the V suit had a voice block function, and he wasn’t discovered because of his endless trash talk.

Alright, there were few moments now when he went undetected.

After the prelude a few minutes ago, his battle with the hitmen quickly heated up.

Both parties had a rough idea of each other’s abilities.

The hitmen were certain that they had the advantage in numbers. The biggest problem was that they didn’t want to be buried along with this smiling man.

Wade had been shot seven or eight times. What gave him a headache was how he was going to explain this to Vanessa when he got back.

He didn’t even need to look to know that his body was now as ugly as a Dalmatian’s.

It was just that a Dalmation had black and white splotches. By the time he got home, his own splotches would be bluish-black.

But thinking about the remaining 2.5 million, Wade was full of energy.

So what if he was a human-shaped Dalmation? Five million was enough to make countless people want to be dogs.

Also, he wasn’t fighting alone.

Killing his way out of a hail of bullets, he had long realized, as a mercenary, that someone was secretly eliminating the hitmen.

He didn’t know why the hitmen hadn’t noticed, but Wade had.

His combat skills and intuition were at least two levels higher than that of the strongest hitmen, so he was certain of it.

Several times when he was surrounded and almost killed, the support system would send him a notification, indicating a certain escape route.

As long as he followed it, he would escape again.

Wade was very sure that there had been hitmen on these routes earlier.

The support system had been keeping an eye on the hitmen around him at all times, taking note and sending out warnings. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have lasted so long.

As soon as these escape routes appeared, some hitmen who had fired for less than ten seconds on the way would have mysteriously disappeared, naturally creating gaps in the circle.

If Wade couldn’t tell that something was wrong, he was definitely a sh*tty mercenary.

It was for this reason that he hadn’t decisively run away after all this time.

Wade wasn’t stupid.

He had already gotten 2.5 million, and had no intention of fighting to the death.

He could take risks in order to complete a mission, but he wouldn’t refuse to run if he knew he would die.

The rate for completing missions was only meaningful to the living; the dead had no need for it.

Like V said, only when Wade was alive could he live happily with Vanessa.

If he died, his future wife would be taken advantage of by another man.

On top of that, the V suit gave Wade a lot of confidence. He even had the time to ridicule the other hitmen.

It was a pity that he couldn’t activate his “critical hit speech.”

Luke, who had a deep understanding of his foul mouth, wouldn’t give this cheap person a chance to destroy V’s character setting, much less turn him into a legendary neurotic chatterbox.

In addition to no eating, the low-end V suit didn’t have a voice system.

Wade didn’t need to talk tonight. He just needed to be a moving target.

...

While Wade was in pain yet cheerful, Luke was silently reciting a doggerel: One, two, three, four, five is one thousand and five. Four, five, six, seven, eight is two thousand and eight.

These hitmen were all “fat and juicy” small bosses.

It was only when he disposed of people who appeared to be lookouts that the system only gave him 40 experience and credit points.

When Luke tossed another man into his inventory, a thought flashed through his mind. This man was probably the one who was responsible for intelligence and logistics, so he hadn’t killed many people!