Empire of Shadows

GOOGLE search TWKAN

The lights were still on in the dock management office, where some poor soul was working overtime.

The manager had told him he wanted to see the document on his desk before 9:30 AM.

However, the manager could swear to anyone that he hadn't asked anyone to work overtime voluntarily; it was all the employees' own initiative.

And the reason for the employees' voluntary overtime was that they didn't work hard enough during normal working hours to complete the work they were supposed to.

"Why is it that only you can't finish your work during working hours, but everyone else can?"

"Is this your problem, or my problem?"

When he said the third sentence, which was, "If you have any doubts about your ability in this job, or if you suspect I'm targeting you, I can arrange a transfer for you," the unlucky overtime worker chose to compromise.

After all, it wasn't like he had to stay and work overtime every day, just occasionally.

And as the manager said, he hadn't demanded that he complete the work overtime, but simply told him that he hoped to see the finished document before 9:30 AM.

He stretched, realizing it was only approaching seven o'clock. There were still many workers on the dock, and the thought of them still working overtime in the sweltering night suddenly made him less irritable.

They had to labor and work overtime in the hot night, while he was just sitting in the office. He was at least better off than ninety-nine percent of overtime workers.

Once he rationalized it that way, overtime didn't seem like such a big deal, and it even gave him a sense of superiority.

He had written more than half of the document; in another half hour at most, he could go home.

He made himself a cup of low-quality coffee and returned to his seat, ready to continue working on the document in hand.

Just as he had coffee in one hand and a pen in the other, the pen tip poised over the document to write some numbers, his mind wandering to alcohol and naked girls, a sudden burst of violent knocking made him shudder.

The pen tip drew a long, sweeping arc on the document, and coffee spilled from the tilted cup.

The still-warm coffee landed on his body, his legs, and his little brother. As a human being, the amplitude of his movements increased, and he instinctively reached to put the cup on the table.

The document not only had a seemingly natural arc but also a large coffee stain. He screamed and hurriedly tried to wipe it, but… the ink, reactivated by the coffee, became wet again, and as he wiped, his overtime efforts were ruined!

He angrily looked towards the door, then, filled with rage, strode to the door, yanked it open, and without caring who was outside or what they wanted, he roared, "Look what you've done?!"

However, the next second, a large hand grabbed his head, pushing him into the office.

In an instant, he calmed down.

He couldn't see who it was because the large hand was blocking his vision. He tried to grab the wrist of the hand, but couldn't break free.

"Who are you?" was the first thing he said.

"Let me go!" was the second.

"Otherwise, I'll…" The third sentence wasn't finished before he felt a blow to his stomach, and he stopped talking.

The person then released his head, and only then did he feel the throbbing pain from where his head had been squeezed.

A tall, burly man stood before him, with another fellow who looked like a simpleton behind him, constantly tossing his hair.

"I want Hammer's file."

The unlucky guy quickly scanned both of their faces. There were too many people on the dock; he didn't know who these two were, nor did he know who Hammer was. "I don't know who this Hammer you're talking about is."

The burly man drew a dagger from his waist and slammed it into the table with a thud.

Looking at the still-vibrating dagger, the unlucky guy swallowed hard. "I think I have a slight recollection…"

Similar things were happening all over the dock. Two dockworkers were sitting on the steps by the shore, having taken off their shoes and put their feet in the seawater, shooting the breeze.

Suddenly, someone disturbed them, asking if they knew a man named Hammer, and where he was now.

Someone was at home eating dinner, the cheapest ground beef and potatoes, when suddenly someone pounded on the door, asking if he knew where Hammer was…

There were so many dockworkers; not everyone knew Hammer, and even fewer knew where he was.

But, someone always knew.

People were reporting the current leads to Lance in front of the hospital when Ennio ran over, "Someone said they saw him and his colleagues go to the Red Harbor Bar."

Lance gave Allen a few instructions, then got into the car. Someone who knew the location sat in the passenger seat, guiding him.

Four cars carrying nineteen people sped along the road, and seven or eight minutes later, the cars stopped outside the Red Harbor Bar.

The Red Harbor Bar was one of the more well-known bars near Pier One, with a long history, but later, as more bars appeared in the port area, it lost its competitive edge and gradually declined.

Although not the hottest bar, it was definitely not the quietest.

As the four cars stopped outside the bar, two burly men smoking cigarettes by the entrance instinctively turned to look at them.

Lance was the first to get out of the car, looked around, and walked towards the bar entrance, followed closely by the others.

The bouncers felt a little apprehensive as they watched these people approach, but considering that the boss paid them their full salary every month, one of them stepped forward, raised his hand, and blocked Lance's path, "Sorry, we're not accepting customers right now."

"I'm looking for someone. I heard he's here."

The bouncer looked at Lance, sizing him up. "That's got nothing to do with me."

Lance patiently said, "A friend of mine was beaten up. The person who beat him up is here."

The bouncer still had the same look, even a little impatient. "I told you, that's got nothing to do with me…"

The next second, a gun was pointed at his head, making him tilt his head slightly, and he raised both hands.

The other bouncer was just about to put his hand inside his jacket when two more guns were pointed at him, and he could only slowly pull his hand out and raise it.

Hiram took their guns and handed them to the people behind him.

The bouncer standing in front of Lance still seemed a bit arrogant. He looked at Lance, as if trying to etch his appearance into his mind, while also stating his identity, "We're members of the Red Dog Gang."

Lance took the cigarette held between the bouncer's raised fingers, then pressed the lit end against the bouncer's cheek. "So?"

The muscles on the burly man's face kept twitching, and his features became animated. When the cigarette stopped hissing, he asked, "May I know your name, sir?"

"Lance." Lance glanced at the cigarette butt, threw it on the ground, "Can I go in and find someone now?"

The bouncer met his gaze, "We're closed now, Mr. Lance. Prohibition, you know."

"Then take me to where you are operating." Lance looked at the other bouncer, "Now there are two of you, but I only need one of you to lead the way."

The two bouncers' expressions changed slightly. They were both observing Lance, and perhaps realizing that this was not a joke, the first one who spoke compromised.

"I understand, come with me."

Lance left two people to watch them, "Keep an eye on him. If he makes any sudden moves, just kill him."

The bouncer leading the way gave his companion a helpless look, then led them around the main street and into an alley on the side of the road.

Now almost all underground bars are hidden in basements because they are more secluded. Ordinary people don't come to the back of buildings unless they need to pee.

But even if they need to pee, they won't run to the basement door to take a peek or a sniff.

"I hope you guys don't cause trouble, Mr. Lance. The Red Dog Gang is not to be trifled with," the bouncer said finally, after much deliberation.

The burn mark on his face began to ache, and blisters might form tomorrow. He felt some hatred in his heart, but he was also very cowardly.

Lance remained calm. "I just want to find someone. If you don't do anything extra, I guarantee nothing bad will happen today."

"But if you, and those friends of yours, don't want us to have a pleasant day, I guarantee your families will be crying for you tomorrow."

The bouncer had no choice but to walk to the basement door and knock.

The peephole on the door opened, saw the burly man and the people behind him, then slammed shut again with a crash, and then the door opened.

The musty smell of a sealed bar environment rushed out all at once!

Alcohol, the smell of sweat, the smell of fish, all kinds of strange smells mixed together, terribly unpleasant.

Lance looked at the dark entrance and said with a smile, "It seems I have a special connection with basements!"

Except for a few people, no one knew what that meant, but the person responsible for guarding the door inside had already sensed that something was wrong. He glared at the bouncer, "What do you want?"

Obviously, he was smarter. Most people responsible for guarding the door are a little smarter; they have to distinguish whether the person knocking on the door is a police officer, an agent, a special agent, or someone who has come to make a deal.

"I'm looking for someone named Hammer. Someone saw him here."

The doorman looked at Lance and the people behind him, "You can go and bring him out, but don't fight in the bar."

Lance smiled. "See, on this point, we have no disagreement!"

He signaled Ethan and Hiram to stay behind and watch these two, while the others entered the bar with him.

Passing through the dark, rural staircase, a boisterous environment appeared before them.

A girl was frantically shaking her hips on stage, surrounded by drunkards holding glasses, who cheered excitedly, some even throwing the coins in their hands onto the stage.

The entire bar had no seats, only those steel pipe tables—a steel pipe connecting the ceiling and the floor, with a platform in the middle, only thirty to forty centimeters in diameter, just enough for people to put their glasses on.

Everyone was standing, but even though the environment was terribly bad, it was still very lively here!

People didn't care about the group that had just come in; they were all chatting with the people around them. Lance squeezed to the bar, took out two yuan and put it on the bar, "Who is Hammer?"