Chapter 943: Norman’s Curtain Call

Weasel regretted not figuring out the other party’s background before swindling him.

Looking at the information he had gotten from his acquaintance in NYPD, he couldn’t help but smile bitterly.

Luke Coulson had just been transferred to NYPD in November, and was currently with HQ’s Detective Bureau.

Needless to say, this young man and John McClane were colleagues.

Weasel didn’t know why Luke had asked John for help, but John, the jinx, had indeed come to help the young detective.

Compared with Luke, John McClane was the real deal.

Even though this man had never been promoted higher than a detective for so long, many bigshots owed him favors. Otherwise, Internal Affairs would have long recommended that he quit his job.

Weasel was a businessman, not a tough guy.

He could not get along with others, but he couldn’t not get along with money.

Thus, he chose to compromise without any hesitation.

At the very least, the 20,000 dollars was his. He comforted himself with that fact.

After Luke and Selina entered the bar, which wasn’t open yet, Weasel took out a file. “I put together a proper list last night. Including the previous batch, it’s a total of 68 people. This is all I can do.”

Luke didn’t look at the file. Pondering for a moment, he said, “You should know brokers in New York in this line of work, right? The kind who are well-informed and take a little longer to do the job.”

Weasel hesitated.

Luke didn’t think much of it. He tossed him another paper bag.

Weasel caught it and opened it without hesitation. It was another two stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

But this time, he wasn’t as happy as the first time he took the money. “What’s this?”

Luke said, “I’m a man of principles. Business is business. I think the info is worth the money.”

Holding the paper bag, Weasel was conflicted for all of two seconds before he decisively knelt down in front of this tycoon. “Old Tony. It’s an Italian restaurant on 144th Street in West Upper Manhattan. He’s been in this business for decades. Although he doesn’t do much, he’s very well-informed. Also, he’s not from the Continental Hotel, so he should be easier to talk to.”

Luke nodded in satisfaction. He liked people who talked for money.

As long as he sorted them out first, it would be easy to communicate with them in the future.

“Okay. Happy cooperation.” He then prepared to leave.

Weasel quickly said, “About the suspension notice…”

Luke didn’t turn around. “It wasn’t printed. So, I hope you have a good day.”

Weasel smiled bitterly.

If he hadn’t given Luke the information he wanted just now, the bar would’ve been in for an unpleasant month.

Thankfully, this matter was resolved.

I would be a son of a b*tch if I ever do business with you again! Weasel swore inwardly.

But the heavy paper bag in his hand was very solid.

Forget it. At most, he would double the price the next time he sold Luke info; it would be fine as long as the info was real

A certain person only hesitated for one moment; between being a son of a b*itch and money, he decisively chose money.

In this world, who had never been cursed as a son of a b*itch before?

…

Luke returned to the lab, and he and Selina were going through the new information they had when Sponge sent an alert. “Sir, urgent news on Norman Stanfield.”

Luke hummed and said, “Throw it up.”

A virtual screen appeared not far away, but it was a live feed.

Looking at the bright golden DEA letters on the door, Luke knew where this was.

This was the building where the DEA’s office was located.

Not the whole building belonged to the DEA, but the entrance did.

On the screen, Norman was holding a middle-aged man at gunpoint as he roared with a deranged expression, “How much have I done for you? How much have I made for you? Do you know how much pressure I feel when I help you sell several tons of illegal drugs every year?”

Selina exclaimed in surprise. “Isn’t this info too explosive?”

Luke chuckled and poured two cups of latte in the kitchen.

Selina took one and asked suspiciously, “Aren’t you in too good a mood?”

Her latte even had a flower pattern in the shape of a cute foam heart.

She would never believe that Luke wasn’t in a good mood.

Luke chuckled. “You would be happy too if you knew who Norman is holding.”

Selina couldn’t bear to touch the heart. She put her latte down carefully and asked, “Who’s he?”

Luke said, “Norman’s connection when he sells drugs, and also his boss: Jot Huckleson, the boss of the DEA in New York.”

Selina was stunned. “Why is Norman holding him at gunpoint? Hm, he doesn’t look as strong as Deputy Director Bill from the DEA in Los Angeles.”

Luke chuckled. “Jot has a first-class background, but he transferred to a desk job a long time ago because of an injury. Thanks to the great contributions he made when he was injured, however, his road was smooth sailing and he became the boss of New York’s DEA branch.”

As they spoke, Jot Huckleson’s expression on the screen was especially wonderful.

He was a little panicked, but no more than an ordinary person.

He tried his best to remain calm, but wasn’t succeeding very well.

What was most obvious was his “Are you crazy?” expression, as if he was silently asking Norman the question.

Unfortunately, Norman was holding him from behind and couldn’t see his expression.

Jot could only lower his voice and squeeze out, “Norman, do you know what you’re saying? The DEA hasn’t made a decision on the matter yet! You still have a chance to retire.”

Norman, however, burst out laughing. “Retire? You’re waiting for an opportunity to silence me, aren’t you? Someone tried to kill me the night I was injured. If I hadn’t sounded the fire alarm, I would’ve died.”

Jot: “Huh?”

He was dumbfounded by the answer.

As the person most likely to kill off Norman, Joe was sure that he hadn’t sent anyone to kill him. The fire alarm that night had also been ruled a false alarm.

As for Norman’s claim that someone had tried to kill him, Jot didn’t care at all.

Norman was a drug addict. When he was delusional, he would often say strange things.

If it wasn’t for the fact that it was too troublesome to groom another “trustworthy” subordinate like this, Jot really wanted to kill Norman now.

The madness on Norman’s face became even more obvious. “You want me dead, don’t you? Don’t lie to me. What did you tell Malky? If there’s an opportunity, he can take my place. Do you think I didn’t know? Haha.”

Jot’s heart jumped.

He really had said that, but how did Norman know? Malky wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell Norman about it, right?

What Jot didn’t know was that Malky had told Luke himself.

Norman observed Jot’s expression from the side behind him, and guessed what he was thinking. “Haha, you can’t fool me, Jot. If you want me to die, we’ll die together today.”