After Sugar saw Proctor leave, he sighed with relief and quickly poured himself a drink to calm his nerves—a reaction that didn't go unnoticed by Hood.
—Why are you so afraid of him? I don't think he's that dangerous,— Hood said, sitting down with a perplexed expression.
—You just got to Banshee Town. You don't know much about him yet. I've seen it unfold step by step.—
Sugar sat down and continued, looking at both of them:
—He went from being an Amish boy, cast out by his family with nothing to lose, to the most powerful man in this town. Would you believe me if I told you he's not dangerous at all? As far as I know, his influence has spread across Pennsylvania. Believe me, don't provoke him unless you have to. I don't want to get shot one day. It's not worth being that bastard's enemy.—
After hearing Sugar's words, Hood remained silent.
After several people drank quietly for a while, Hood pulled a gold watch from his pocket and tossed it onto the counter. The light hit the diamond-encrusted dial, casting a dazzling reflection.
—No need to say anything,— Ethan said as he saw Hood about to explain. He drank the rest of the wine in his glass, got up, and added, —As I said, I don't care about this stuff. Just don't forget my share when the time comes.—
He stood and left without another word, dropping a few bills on the bar. After the door closed and the sound of his car faded, Sugar looked at Hood with concern.
—You realize if your fake identity as police chief is exposed, we're all screwed.—
—Don't worry. He won't find out. You have to trust my friend's skills. No matter how much they comb through the system, I'm Lucas Hood now.—
—I still don't get why I didn't just take a cut myself,— Hood said, spinning the gold watch in his fingers.
—I guess not all cops are like Lotus, right?— Sugar said, taking the watch. —I'll find a way to sell it. It won't fetch much, but it's better than nothing.—
—Just make sure to give him his cut after the sale. The kid took some hits tonight…—
They kept chatting at the bar, speculating about Ethan's true intentions, while he drove his car and answered a call.
He checked the caller ID and smiled.
—Mr. Proctor, what's up?—
—Officer Ethan, I'm at the Savoy Gentlemen's Club. You interested in relaxing and converting a little mouse?—
Is this a recruitment attempt? Ethan thought for a moment before answering, —I'll be there soon.—
He hung up, turned the wheel, and headed for the Savoy.
When he entered the club, two guards noticed the scars on his face and stopped him, indicating they wanted to search him.
Ethan raised his coat, showing his badge and service weapon. The guards stepped aside.
—Admission is $20, sir. Thank you.—
A blonde at the reception desk wearing rabbit ears gave him a charming smile.
—Elizabeth, no need. He's Mr. Proctor's guest,— said Burton, Proctor's bodyguard, who appeared in a suit and tie and motioned for Ethan to follow him. —He's waiting for you. This way, please.—
Ethan walked into the lobby. Soft pink lighting from the lamps highlighted metallic surfaces. In the center, the dance floor was surrounded by steel poles where dancers moved sensually.
Ethan ignored one of the bunny girls approaching with a tray and walked toward a door marked —No Entry.— Inside was a bustling dressing room where more than a dozen dancers got ready in front of lit mirrors.
It was peak time. Most of the women wore thongs and nipple pasties.
Seeing Ethan and Burton enter, no one seemed to care. They just kept working.
It was Ethan's first time in such a setting, and he could get used to it. He tried to look calm as he followed Burton without glancing around.
A gorgeous Ukrainian girl next to him took a drag from her cigarette and blew smoke from her red lips in his direction. Ethan's steps faltered, and he chuckled, his chest shaking.
Clumsily, he followed Burton until they reached a room. Burton knocked, opened the door, and entered.
Proctor was behind his desk. When he saw Ethan, he stood and went to a display case.
—Ethan, welcome to the Savoy. I remember you like whiskey, right? I've got a bottle of vintage bourbon a friend gave me. Care to try it?—
—Sure, thanks,— Ethan said, casually sitting down.
As he poured the drink, Proctor looked at Burton.
—I can handle things here. Go find Agent Dunn from Sánchez's team. We've got business with him. Bring him back.—
Burton nodded, his eyes flashing with intent, and left the room.
—I don't know why you're here. I don't think you came to settle accounts,— Ethan said, smelling the bourbon.
—Of course not. I know you were just doing your job.—
—I appreciated your call last time.—
—Shame that so many people in this town have the wrong idea about me.—
Ethan leaned back in his chair.
—Don't get me wrong. I didn't call you last time to help you. That bastard nearly got me killed. Anyone who threatens my life has to pay. And let's say I just wanted to use your hand to get rid of him.—
Proctor was caught off guard by Ethan's bluntness. He shrugged. The night before, Ethan had warned him about Hansen's arrest, and Proctor had known Hansen wouldn't survive. Maybe Ethan had a grudge, maybe it was money—but it didn't matter. He couldn't let Hansen talk.
—That's a good enough reason. But it doesn't mean the end result wasn't beneficial to me, right?—
He leaned over, pulled a suitcase from under the table, opened it, and pushed it toward Ethan. It was packed with green bills.
For the first time, Ethan saw so much cash right in front of him. His breathing quickened.
—This is a token of my gratitude. Also, if anything ever comes up about me, I hope you'll let me know.—
Ethan took a long drink of whiskey and stared at the cash. He fought the urge to take it, closed the suitcase, and pushed it back.
—That won't be necessary.—
He patted the suitcase.
If I take this money, Proctor will own me. Even if I don't dislike him, I'm not going to be his pawn.
—If you really want to thank me,— Ethan said, grabbing the bourbon bottle, —this'll do.—
The message was clear: I'm not working for you, but I don't hold a grudge either.
Proctor was stunned. He didn't expect Ethan to resist temptation.
—You're an interesting guy, Ethan. I'm starting to like you.—
—I liked the girl outside more,— Ethan replied, pointing to the door.
Proctor tossed him a cigarette and both men laughed.
Days later, Ethan was holding a cup of coffee while looking through the glass in front of the police station. A banner hung from a nearby tree, announcing the event: —The 90th Banshee Festival.—
—Siobhan, you're a local. What's the history behind this Banshee Festival? —Ethan asked.
—It's just a legend, nothing special. A woman from the Kinaho tribe was killed on her wedding night. Since then, her soul is said to roam this town. She became a ghost to torment the man—the murderer —Siobhan replied.
—Is that all? —Ethan turned to Siobhan—. So, what exactly are you commemorating or celebrating?
—Just forget it, it's time for us to go on patrol —Siobhan said, patting the watch on her wrist—. It's just a memorial event for the Kinaho tribe... and for us. I'll go first.
Ethan threw the empty coffee cup in the trash, picked up his equipment, and walked away from the police station for his patrol. There was a lot of movement in the city today, so everyone at the station would be on duty until tomorrow.
As he passed through the city, he saw small tents installed on both sides of the normally empty streets. The townspeople were busy placing staples, agricultural products, and souvenirs on the shelves.
Ethan smiled, stepped on the gas, and left. Usually, if he didn't have a special mission, he would just cruise through the jurisdiction in the police car. When he got tired, he would find an intersection and stop.
When he reached Route 80, he parked the car on a small side street blocked by tall trees. If passing vehicles weren't paying attention, they wouldn't even notice a police car parked there.
The mission from the previous system had been completed, and he had claimed the reward for defeating Sánchez.
This time, he chose to allocate points to handling long weapons. For now, firearms were his main means of attack and survival; increasing these skills ensured he'd survive future encounters.
When skill points were insufficient, he had to prioritize improving his aim.
After waiting a long while, a paid vehicle passed. Ethan yawned, looked at his watch, and prepared to move on with his patrol.
Just as he was about to leave, a black motorcycle roared past, heading in the same direction as the vehicle.
Ethan became interested and chased the motorcycle from the side road. He drove a short distance and quickly caught up with it.
After flashing the police lights twice, the motorcycle slowed down and stopped.
—Motorcycle driver in front, turn off the engine, step off the vehicle, and remove your helmet —Ethan ordered, parking the police car behind the motorcycle.
After the driver turned off the engine, Ethan opened the door and got out of the car.
—You were above the speed limit. License and registration, please —Ethan said.
—Sorry, officer. It wasn't my intention to speed —replied the man, wearing a black leather jacket, taking off his helmet to reveal his shining bald head.
—Well, isn't this Hood's best friend—a professional transvestite hacker with a sharp tongue—Job. He's the one who created Hood's current identity —Ethan thought, looking at the bald Asian man in front of him.
Looking at him, Ethan decided to tease him. He reached out, took the key from the motorcycle, and asked:
—Sir, do you have a firearm with you?
Before Job could respond, Hood's voice came over the radio on Ethan's shoulder:
—Ethan, where are you?
—Chief Hood, I'm making a traffic stop. Please wait —Ethan replied.
—I need your help here. Come now.
—Okay, send me your location —Ethan said, turning off the radio, disappointed. He hadn't expected backup to come so quickly. He tossed the key back to Job—. You're lucky. Drive slower next time.
—Okay, thanks, officer. I'll be more careful —Job said calmly, catching the key.
After Ethan left, Job pressed his earpiece.
—Fuck you, Hood. Why didn't you tell me there were cops patrolling the area?
—I haven't been to the station yet. I forgot to check. He's gone now, right?
—It's miserable having a friend like you —Job said, taking a deep breath—. You should be able to see the stock truck by now. I've followed it for four days. Same route.
—Okay, I see it. Go back to the bar. Sugar and I will come find you later —Hood said.
Job hung up, looked at the cows mooing by the side of the road, and angrily pulled a pistol from his jacket, firing two shots into the sky.
—Get away from me, damn it. You smell like cow shit —he muttered.
The cattle bellowed, startled, and slowly moved away from the manic two-legged beast.
Ethan saw Hood and Sugar sitting in a light blue, wrecked truck in the distance. He stopped his car, and Hood handed him something wrapped in greased paper.
—Three thousand dollars. This is your share —Hood said.
—Thanks. What are you two up to? —Ethan asked, taking the oily paper bag and patting Hood's hand.
—Nothing. Just shopping with Sugar.
—Alright, I'll get back to patrolling —Ethan said.
Seeing that Hood didn't want to talk, Ethan didn't push further and drove off to continue his patrol.
When noon came, it was time to find something to eat, so he turned the wheel and headed back to town. He figured the festival meant there'd be plenty of food available. The celebration area was no longer as deserted as it had been that morning. People were flowing through it, and children wearing white masks cheerfully chased balloons.
Passing by a stall, he saw Rebecca wearing a traditional long skirt and a white scarf, standing at a food stand. She was idly drumming her fingers on the counter, with several cakes placed on display.
Ethan stopped the vehicle, got out, and approached the stand.
—You're Ethan, right? —said a woman with deep blonde hair, an intense presence in her dark blue eyes. She wore a tight denim skirt that accentuated her curves, paired with a ruffled white blouse with a touch of retro style.
Ethan stopped and said nothing.
—Don't you recognize me? My name is Kat Moody. Cole was my husband.
—Nice to meet you. What flavor is this? —Ethan asked, pointing to the food in her hand.
—Damn it! You murdered my husband and that's all you have to say? You actually asked me how the cake tastes! —Kat widened her eyes, staring at Ethan in disbelief.
—Well then... you're welcome? —Ethan shrugged—. I looked into Cole's background. He had a long history of domestic violence. You must've suffered a lot with him. You don't have to thank me.
A moment later, a chunk of cake hit Ethan in the face with a loud pop.
After yelling —fuck you,— Kat flipped him off and stormed back to her food stall.
Ethan shook his head, wiped his face calmly, and—seeing the stares of those around—let the matter drop. He walked over to Rebecca, who was covering her mouth to hide her laughter.
—Miss Bowman, what would you recommend?
—Of course, the crispy piece of peach pie that hit your face is our specialty. Though, I suppose you'd prefer to try it in a more civilized way —Rebecca smiled and handed him a towel.
—How much is it? —Ethan asked, taking a bite. It tasted great.
—Five dollars.
Handing her the money, and seeing she was still chuckling, Ethan took another big bite of the crisp peach pie.
—I'll make sure you're not laughing next time.