Chapter 1061: Bar Talk

A man wearing a hat walked into the bar at Lance's Rapa Embassy in the New Golden City.

Although the New Golden City in mid-to-late March was no longer as cold as the previous two months, the temperature hadn't risen much.

He entered the bar, keeping his hat on, and looked around, finally settling his gaze on a corner booth.

He quickly walked toward the corner. The bartender glanced at him, then gave a nod to a bouncer, who stood up and slowly walked toward that area.

The newcomer seemed oblivious to this. He reached the corner, sat down in a booth, and raised his hand, signaling a waiter. "A large glass of whiskey, the cheapest you have."

The waiter showed no signs of disdain. A "large glass" usually meant five ounces or more, which, even for the cheapest option, cost four dollars.

People often said that residents of the New Golden City were wealthy, but those who could casually spend four dollars on a glass of whiskey were still a minority.

The waiter recorded the order and said, "I recommend you try our Silver Label Whiskey, sir. It's aged for three years in new oak barrels. If you don't like the taste, and can tell us why, the drinks are on the house tonight!"

The man, removing his hat, asked curiously, "How much is that?"

"Six dollars."

"I'll take one!"

The waiter smiled broadly. "Wonderful, sir. Coming right up. On the house, I'll send over some small snacks to go with the drink!"

In this bar, there was a commission for pushing mid-to-high-end drinks like Silver Label and Gold Label.

Starting this year, the distillery planned to produce wine, red wine, and brandy, but red wine and brandy would take some time, as both required aging and cellaring.

The distillery planned to import a batch of good quality red wine from elsewhere, then re-bottle it to open up sales first. When the company's own liquor launched in a few years, it could quickly fill the void.

So, any red wine and brandy produced by Lance and available in the New Golden City right now was of the "White Crystal Grade."

Higher grades included Yellow Crystal, Red Crystal, Blue Crystal, and Green Crystal, each representing a different tier.

"Liquor is just so damn expensive these days!" the man who was no longer wearing a hat complained, sounding like he was still begrudging the six dollars.

The man sitting opposite him couldn't help but laugh. "If anyone knew you were complaining about the price of a six-dollar drink, your house would be stacked with bottles they sent you by tomorrow!"

The man who had removed his hat shook his head. "Just because I have money doesn't mean I have to accept ridiculously high liquor prices."

"Before Prohibition, a bottle like this wouldn't even sell for six dollars. But now they are only giving me a large glass, meaning they're selling the bottle for thirty dollars. Do you think that's reasonable?"

The man opposite him picked up his glass and swirled the contents twice. "I also think it's unreasonable."

The man who had removed his hat gave a look that said, "See? I knew you were different from me." They both stopped talking because the waiter was approaching quickly.

He carried a tray with a neatly folded disposable paper coaster, a large square glass (empty), a small ice bucket, a half-bottle of liquor, and a measuring cup.

In addition, there were pickled cucumbers, carrot sticks, and some air-dried beef slices—snacks to go with the drink.

"Sir, would you like ice?"

It was early spring, but the weather was still cool, so some people might not want ice.

The man did not refuse. "A little, as long as the amount of liquor doesn't decrease."

The waiter smiled and bent down to set down the items, then added some ice to the glass and measured exactly five ounces of liquor with the jigger before pouring it in.

The amber liquid slid down the ice to the bottom of the glass, looking pleasant. Its aroma was distinctly stronger, carrying a faint nutty scent and a hint of smoke.

This was a complex-flavored whiskey. The man opposite him watched the waiter prepare to take the bottle away and immediately said, "Leave the bottle here."

The waiter paused, then realized they were ordering the rest of the bottle. This excited the waiter.

"This bottle has only been sold twice at two ounces each, so 21 ounces remain. Minus the five ounces I just poured, 16 ounces are left. I'll take it upon myself to charge you twenty-nine dollars for the rest."

Before the man could respond, the person opposite him pulled out two ten-dollar bills, one five-dollar bill, and two single-dollar bills, placing them on the waiter's bill. "Keep the extra as a tip. Just make sure no one bothers us!"

The waiter immediately bowed low. "Thank you for your generosity, sir. Everything will be as you wish!"

He retreated a few steps, spoke to one of the bouncers, and the bouncer proactively stood at a distance that prevented others from approaching the booth.

Including the man's own purchase, they had just spent over thirty dollars here. While this might not be considered an astronomical sum, it certainly wasn't small.

The comfortable part of being rich was precisely this: with money, they could enjoy all the pleasures of life.

After sampling some snacks, the two raised their glasses and toasted. "My treat next time," said the man who had removed his hat.

They each took a small sip. The man opposite him laughed casually. "It doesn't matter whose treat it is, it's fine."

He paused. "Lance returned today. Cleveland is hosting a banquet to welcome him."

"Even now, he is still at Cleveland's estate. Their relationship is closer than people imagine."

Any guest who stayed overnight at Senator Cleveland's estate had to be extremely important; even slightly less important guests would not be qualified to stay the night.

"He takes Lance very seriously, and we can see that he is now influenced by Lance on certain issues. That's the worst part."

"The more seriously he takes Lance, the more trouble we'll have taking these people down," the speaker said, picking up a small piece of air-dried beef. It wasn't bone-dry; it was still slightly chewy, allowing him to tear off thin strips.

This beef, mixed with the residual alcohol in the mouth, released a very unique, slightly intoxicating flavor.

The man who had removed his hat grew annoyed by the conversation. He took off his jacket, inadvertently revealing the police badge on his vest. He was a police officer, and the boss of all police in the New Golden City—

The Chief of Police.

Sitting opposite him was the newly appointed Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI). Since taking office, the Director had been trying to indirectly increase his power by strengthening Congress's control over local criminal cases.

Although his name was not yet widely known, people were starting to notice him. His methods were clever, allowing him to empower himself while centralizing power in Congress, all without causing discontent from local authorities toward him or Congress. He was clearly a capable man.

The FBI Director had no direct animosity toward Lance. However, Lance, or any other gang boss, was simply a bargaining chip on his road to greater power.

The war was ending soon. He planned to deal with all the big-name gangs in the five years following the war's end, thus gaining more opportunities to rise higher.

His ambition was not limited to being the FBI Director; he wanted more!

Therefore, Lance, a gang boss who had already gained notoriety in the Federation, became his target, even though there was no personal feud between them.

It was like a wolf eating a rabbit: the wolf doesn't hate the rabbit because of anything the rabbit did; the wolf is simply hungry. If a rabbit is nearby, the wolf will eat it.

There was no right or wrong, no love or hate, only interest—the most naked form of self-interest.

The Chief of Police nodded, a wry smile on his face. "You wouldn't believe how difficult this man is. He's made me lose face several times, yet I can do absolutely nothing about him."

"I was just about to make a move against him, and Tom... Do you know him?"

The FBI Director nodded. "I know, Cleveland's staffer, an aide, a runner or something."

"Yes, him!" the Chief of Police pointed at the other Director, then picked up a small piece of pickled cucumber and began chewing it.

The recipe for these pickled cucumbers was part of the Laurence family legacy. Although they were pickled, they retained the fresh crunch of a cucumber.

They were completely different from the soft, mushy pickled cucumbers sold elsewhere and were very popular with guests.

"Before I could even make a move against Lance, Tom would come over and hint that I shouldn't arrest him. And soon, someone else would call me—the Mayor, or even someone higher up. What am I supposed to do?"

"The Secretary of State even called me personally about matters related to Lance. He is the most difficult gang boss I have ever encountered, bar none!"

This was based on his professional experience. When dealing with other gang bosses, no matter how difficult they were outside, once they were in the police station, they had to abide by his rules.

But Lance was different. He wasn't difficult at all; he was cooperative as long as the matter wasn't excessive. Yet, even knowing he had committed crimes, the Chief of Police was completely helpless against him.

It was very discouraging. Moreover, Lance sometimes made subtle hints and threats, which gave the Chief of Police a headache.

After all, he wasn't alone; he had a family—parents, a wife, children, siblings.

The FBI Director nodded. "I've been thinking about this recently. I believe we can change our approach: not making his personal arrest the goal of our work."

"Let's change our strategy. Doesn't he have a huge feud with the Perez family?"

"Then let's create opportunities to let their feud and conflict escalate further."

"The war is over now. The prohibition on gang warfare will soon be lifted."

"My idea is to mobilize the Perez family to deal with Lance first, and let them fight each other. Regardless of who eliminates whom, it's a good thing for us, not a bad thing."

"While they are waging a family war, we gather massive amounts of evidence. No matter who wins—Lance or Fran—we will hold evidence that can be used to arrest a large number of cadres and captains of the winning side."

"First, we clip their claws, and then dealing with the bosses becomes easy. Plus, they don't just have one enemy; challengers will constantly emerge until they are completely defeated or expose a fatal weakness."

The Chief of Police listened to this approach but didn't offer an immediate opinion, instead looking at him meaningfully. "You aren't planning to arrest them and send them to trial."

The FBI Director took a drink and, with an expression that said he was looking at an idiot, replied, "Come on, you don't actually believe that putting them in prison is a victory for justice and the judiciary, do you?"

"They can still remotely control their criminal organizations outside the prison, and they might retaliate even more fiercely!"

"Given their status and network, there's a high probability that even a life sentence judge wouldn't give them the death penalty. That means our efforts would be meaningless."

"Since arresting them is useless, why not find a way to make them all a thing of the past? That way, we eliminate many of our headaches!"

The Chief of Police smiled. "Your definition of justice is as impressive as ever!"

The two were good friends and former police academy classmates.

They both had excellent grades and delayed graduation to receive officer training.

During this process, they got to know each other and left a deep impression on one another. The FBI Director, in particular, famously argued in school that arresting and sending heinous criminals to trial was the greatest injustice of the judicial system.

The Federation had not abolished the death penalty, though there were growing calls for it in some areas. But even so, the death penalty wasn't easily carried out; it was challenging.

Sometimes, a judge would prefer to sentence someone to a thousand years in prison rather than the death penalty. Though the outcome was similar—the condemned person would vanish from society—it avoided the complexity of an execution.

Furthermore, current regulations often allowed local authorities to offer criminals deals to expedite case closure and soothe public fear.

For instance, they would promise not to seek the death penalty if the criminals confessed all their crimes and pleaded guilty.

This was a good deal for many criminals, and convenient for the police. Everyone saved time, and justice was seemingly served.

But the FBI Director believed this was not true justice. True justice was making every criminal pay the price they deserved!

Not allowing them to arm themselves with the law and its loopholes!

To this day, the Director's views had not changed, which somewhat surprised the Chief of Police.

The FBI Director took two more sips of whiskey, poured out the remaining ice, added fresh ice, and poured himself another glass of Silver Label Whiskey.

The complex nutty and smoky flavors did indeed make for a more pleasant experience, and the mouthfeel was excellent—far better than ordinary mid-range whiskey. No wonder it cost so much!

If he knew that a large part of the perceived body and complexity came from added thickeners, he might not think so highly of it.

"These people—whether it's Fran, Lance, or the leaders of other major gangs—have likely been responsible for tens of thousands, perhaps over a hundred thousand deaths combined."

"If we just send them to prison, and they inevitably find a way out, that is unjust!"

"I've been thinking about how to legally eliminate them without making myself the perpetrator. You see, this is an excellent option."

The Chief of Police nodded. "I agree with your idea. The others might be easier to manage, but Lance's side..."

The FBI Director shook his head. "It's the same. I already had someone start watching him this morning."

The Chief of Police still had some unanswered questions. "What if Congress intervenes in these cases and orders you to stop?"

The FBI Director replied, "Didn't you mention that young man on your force, the one whose family was killed by Lance's people?"

The Chief of Police nodded gravely. "Yes, I recommended him for FBI training. He's working in the Likalai State branch now. He wants to get close to Lance and collect criminal evidence."

"We use him to expose the criminal evidence of the Lance family. Once public opinion erupts, even Congress and the Senator will have to distance themselves from Lance immediately."

"Even if they don't actively side with us, at least they won't interfere with our subsequent actions."

The Chief of Police considered this. "That sounds manageable. As for whether it will succeed, we'll see. It's too early to discuss that now, and I can't be too involved on my end; the main effort depends on you."

The city police lacked the experience for this kind of operation, and their jurisdiction level was somewhat inadequate. The FBI, now halfway through its expansion, had greater enforcement power, making them the perfect agency for the job.

After discussing these serious matters, they quickly moved on to casual talk about financial investment.

"I saw a new car parked outside, that latest model... car. Is it yours?"

"I noticed the license plate number is similar to your previous one."

The FBI Director's face beamed with pride. If you complimented his wife, he would scrutinize you.

But if you complimented his car, he would smile with the innocence of a child!

"That's right, I just bought it," he said. Wanting to show off a bit more, he added, "I made a good bit of money recently investing in the stock market. There's a stock called Hope Mining—it has great potential!"

"I earned a lot from it, so I bought myself a car as a reward."

For men in middle age, besides their careers, investing and making money were the only topics that could sustain a conversation. Soon, the two began sharing their investment experiences, as if this truly were just a casual chat after work.