The Daily Life of American Drama Detective

Chapter 11 Itchy skin looking for a beating

Chuck could just wash his hands in front of Kelinda.

That is an attitude and a habit that is most in line with his nature.

After pressing my sister's head, I endured it for a long time before going to the bathroom to avoid my sister washing her hands.

This is family love.

But now that everything has been revealed and my sister is still so naughty, naturally I can't let it go.

So Chuck avoided Hailey's hand and reminded him with his eyes.

"Don't be shy."

Hailey's eyes were excited, she was laughing, and reached out to grab Chuck's hand again.

Chuck's eyes narrowed and he ducked away.

Hailey stopped pretending and chased Chuck with greater intensity, as if she was determined to touch Chuck's hand to see if he would wash his hands.

Chuck kept dodging.

The brother and sister chased each other from the bedroom to the corridor, and then broke into a pink boudoir, rushing in and out. Hailey was so tired that she lay down on her bed and looked at Chuck:

"Why are you so powerful?"

"You're not bad, have you practiced?"

Chuck's breathing was steady, and there was no sign that he had exercised violently just now. He looked at his sister on the bed and asked his curious question.

Hailey's movements towards him clearly indicated a professional grappling.

"You can see it."

Hailey smiled and said: "But it's far worse than you."

"Because you were beaten less."

Chuck told the truth and began to look at his sister's boudoir.

As a detective, quickly interpreting the environment you are in is a basic quality.

"..."

Hailey smiled for a moment, then smiled even happier: "If you want to hit me, how many more times do you want to hit me?"

"It's not that I want to hit you."

Chuck withdrew his gaze and fell on his sister's face. He understood her meaning and couldn't help but frown: "You want to be beaten by me, why?"

"Can I become as powerful as you after being beaten by you?"

Hailey changed her position and lay on the bed, holding her neck with her hands, looking up at Chuck and saying curiously.

"It depends on talent."

Chuck looked at her: "Most of them were directly maimed."

I think his predecessor was taken to India by his father when he was a child, where he hired a special monk master to beat him continuously. At one point, even the master monk couldn't bear it anymore and asked him to rest and recuperate. However, his strict father refused at all and continued to beat him.

He felt that the monk master didn't beat him hard enough, so he forced the monk master to use all means to punish him.

Because in the father's view, this world is a world where the weak eat the strong, and his son has this kind of disease, so he must be strong enough to survive on his own.

Furthermore, my son cannot touch others, so he has to adapt to it as much as bright light and noise. Being hit and being beaten are both physical contact.

After changing masters one after another and practicing almost all the famous fighting techniques in the world, I finally came back.

But this was a gift from his predecessor. If it had been someone else who had been beaten so cruelly at such a young age, they would have probably been disabled.

"I've also had professional training with a master, and I've also searched the Internet for the essence of various fighting techniques, but I'm still way behind you."

Hailey said depressedly: "Now it seems that it is still just talk on paper and there is no theory. But it is not surprising that those teachers don't dare to actually hit people, so how can they practice it? Can you teach me well?"

"Why?"

Chuck didn't refuse, he just asked why.

"Do you think the world is safe?"

Hailey put her chin in her hands and swayed on her feet.

Chuck was silent.

As a person who used to be an accountant and is now a detective, in just a few years, he has seen the sinister people and perversions in this hybrid world of American dramas.

Safety?

That is an illusory bubble of extravagant hope, and it will burst as soon as you poke it.

"Can you always stay with us and protect us?"

Hailey asked.

"I'm going to speak to Mr. McGough."

Chuck thought for a moment and said.

"Better not."

Hailey sat up and shook his head: "Like most people, he doesn't care about the truth of the world at all, and he still clings to the illusion that bad things will never happen to him. How could he be willing to let his precious daughter be killed?

Fight, if you insist on telling him, either he will accept it uncomfortably, he only has that little hair, so don't embarrass him anymore, or he won't accept it and will encounter misfortune one day, but we will be helpless and desperate, what do you think?"

"A bald head is more handsome than a bald one."

Although Haley was very persuasive, Chuck ignored her temptation at all.

"Then why don't you shave your head...Okay."

When Haili saw that her persuasion failed, the moment she lowered her head, a trace of annoyance flashed through her eyes, and she muttered: "You are the brother, you have the final say."

Chuck nodded, turned around and left.

"Hey, where are you going?"

When Hailey saw Chuck leaving, she immediately jumped out of bed and shouted.

"Pack your bags and talk to Mr. McGough."

Just do what Chuck says.

His time was limited, and if he hadn't taken into account the emotions left over from his predecessor and the bald director who introduced Little Sheldon to him and gained an additional +10 points of positive and negative points, he would not have been willing to come and stay for a few days.

Now that he is ready to train his sister, strengthen her ability to protect herself, and relieve him of some worries, he should seize the time.

"Wait a minute, you are a detective, and I heard you are very good at it. What do you think of my room?"

Hailey stopped him.

"It's a good disguise."

Chuck said a word and left without looking back.

Hailey looked at her boudoir and saw that the main color of the room was pink. There was a large bed by the window with a messy quilt. There was a bear doll on the bedside table, a delicate and beautiful bedside lamp, and a hamburger-style phone next to it.

There is a potato stool and a study table. There are books and fashion magazines scattered on the table, a photo frame of a family photo, and a funny photo of her and her best friend that she feels is interesting. The walls are covered with the latest celebrity posters and interesting pictures.

The ceiling is no exception.

"This is clearly the boudoir of a sunny and happy girl, why is it disguised?"

Hailey muttered, touched her chin with her fingers, lost in thought, and murmured: "Is it too much?"

Just then, the bald director shouted with suppressed anger from downstairs: "Hailey!"

"Why does this brother move so fast...he's here."

Hailey came back to her senses, complained, then responded loudly, rubbed her face, and ran away.

downstairs.

Mother Bran was busy in the kitchen, indifferent to her husband's stern calls for her daughter. She only looked at her lost son Chuck from time to time.

"dad."

After Hailey went downstairs, she gave Chuck an "I told you so" look, then walked up to the bald director, hugged his arm, and called with a smile.

"What did you say to your brother?"

The bald director was very angry and refused to accept this. He threw his hand to the little cotton-padded jacket and shouted with a straight face: "If you feel that your skin is itchy, don't bother your brother. I have plenty of time, and I really want to exercise recently.

"

(End of chapter)