The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 367 Ch.366 The clever snitch

Old Bach is old enough to know that every person has countless faces.

Treat your family, treat your business partners, treat your friends or enemies.

A few minutes ago, this little green-eyed bastard had demonstrated a superb technique of "how to change one's temperament in half a sentence" in front of him - it must be said that women are better at this than men.

The most important thing is…

Men really believe it.

Just like every hearty midnight, her wife said: You have to restrain yourself, restrain yourself more. I'm just a weak woman. I wash clothes at home, cook dinner, and kick the kids a few times at most.

I don't have much strength, you have to restrain yourself.

This made the old Bach very proud.

He felt like an undiscovered horse trainer who should be world-famous, majestic and mighty, and should be admired.

Until one day.

His daughter ran wildly around the yard holding a metal bar.

It looked like a cane, or something a few sizes larger than a cane, and it already had traces of peeling off due to corrosion.

You need to restrain yourself...

Fucking restrain yourself.

He was furious, crazy and unrestrained, and opened fire like a wild hunter in his youth!

He wants revenge on his wife!

Half a month later.

He put his arms around his wife and said the same thing.

‘You have to restrain yourself. ’

‘I’m just a policeman. I have to get up in the dark every day, facing the cold wind or the scorching sun. You have to deal with those nasty people, and physical conflicts are inevitable. ’

'Honey, you have to calm down. ’

Old Bach looks back today, thinking that if he could meet his former self, he would pat him on the shoulder a few times and tell him:

convergence point.

Shit ball.

Otherwise that metal rod is what will happen to you.

It took him a long time to muster the courage to pursue his wife.

Later, it also took a long time to muster the courage to open the bedroom door every night.

The green-eyed little shit ball in front of him has this kind of virtue - just like his wife, it sounds sweet and looks sweet, but only those closest to him understand how terrible it actually is.

Old Buck turned around following the sound, wanting to see who this unfortunate guy was.

Getting off the carriage...

Huh.

This shit ball is quite...handsome?

To be honest, he has seen a lot of things that are boasted about - whether it is boasted by women or boasted by men, so-called beauty, strength, elegance, gentleness, wisdom...

Old Bach has seen a lot of people, but this shit ball is the most... he has ever seen in his life...

A beautiful or handsome one.

It all makes sense.

To use an easy-to-understand expression: He can rely on this face to live and feed well.

"Hi, Lillian."

"Call Rose." The girl curled her lips.

She liked it when he called her Rose, which was a short word, but Roland would always read it with the corners of his mouth pulled up - he had a beautiful smile.

'The stink of one shit ball meeting another. ’ Old Bach half-raised his hand and sent the pretentious girl away from the scene.

She can't care about swearing now...

Oh, she must have never scolded a talent in her life.

"Child, this is not a good place for romance. I suggest you find a tavern or a hotel." Old Bach rummaged through his pockets, weighed the empty cigarette in his hand, squeezed it, and said in a bad tone: "Don't imitate those things. A little fat pig with no worries about food and clothing is looking for excitement. If you have eyes, you should know what this dress of mine represents——"

He came closer.

I saw the pair of unfocused ambers.

"...I'm sorry."

The old sheriff frowned slightly, took off his hat, and clasped it on his chest, revealing the thin, thin hair on his head.

"Excuse me, sir."

he said.

"Stay away from here with your friends."

Rose turned to look at him with some surprise - she knew very well the treatment Roland's eyes had received.

This old guy's reaction was rare.

"What happened?" Roland asked.

"A man is dead, sir."

"It's not peaceful lately, it's been a dozen or so, isn't it?"

"To be precise, it's -" Old Bach was stunned and looked at Roland again: he was dressed in black, clean leather shoes and a cloak, and there was a golden button on his shoulder.

The cane is well-painted, the hair is neatly combed, and the cuffs are spotless.

There seems to be a ring on her little finger...

This is not a man who is short of money.

"You are..."

"Not introduced yet." Roland smiled and stretched out his hand, "The official executive officer of the Tribunal, Roland Collins."

"Heiwu——" a policeman suddenly shouted.

Old Butch turned around suddenly and yelled: "Shut your ass...get in!" He winked at his nephew, and then, when he turned back, there was only respect on his face.

He bowed firmly to Roland.

Standard.

Maybe he only did this the first day he became a police officer.

"Sir, I can take a look...Yes, yes, don't mind." He saw Roland unbuttoning his collar and revealing the golden badge pinned to his chest under the cloak before he continued: "...There have been several incidents in the East District recently. Homicide."

"The body...is not quite complete."

He gave Roland a rough explanation, saying that Scotland Yard could not handle the case and was preparing to hand it over to the Inquisition.

"We have some guesses, but you also know that they are all a group of children who have not grown up. If anything goes wrong in the case, I am afraid it will delay the important affairs of the important people... so."

Roland understood his hints inside and out.

"You're a pretty good boss."

Rose put her hands behind her back and swept one shoe on the ground.

Old Bach didn't dare to speak like that anymore and sneered: "I doubt them. They probably won't be able to do this. What if it's delayed..."

"I understand, Mr. Bache." Roland nodded: "You have considered it carefully. Please transfer it to the office of Fernandez Devinson of the Tribunal. By the way, can you tell me in detail?"

Old Bach was not without his doubts.

Tell him: This thing was done too crudely, not by those mentally disturbed murderers who fought alone - usually, fewer people means less evidence left behind.

"You know, we guys deal with gangs all the time. The Gold Tooth Gang..."

Bucky Sr. mentioned this is the largest gang active in the South Side.

"Recently, I have been hiding the whereabouts of a group of people. Even if my people arrive half a minute late, they will no longer be able to distinguish anything from the scene... We are lucky today."

He gave a thumbs up and shook it over his shoulder.

"A bunch of women."

"Their intrusions have been witnessed...at night."

Roland glanced at his Snitch.

Rose is the same as Old Butch.

Recently, I have also been keeping an eye on that group of ladies who are running around like rats in the East District——

John Shelley, Madeleine Tyree.

And her girls.

This group of people surrounds the mystery box, but not just for the mystery box.

"Among them are fifty-year-olds and girls who are underage..."

On the carriage ride back, Rose was worried about this.

Two of her men are not back today.

Otherwise, she wouldn't have followed it personally and would have been scolded by the old guy.

"I'm afraid I'll have to report this, Rose. I feel like something's not quite right."

Roland leaned on the car seat and closed his eyes with the bumps.

There can be raids in London, such as the low-ring ritualist in the salon.

There can be ghosts, there can be nobles who trade with cultists.

But there should never be a situation like this: a group of cultists openly hunt down mortals, eat their flesh, and then leave with a swagger, continuing to do so the next day.

Cultists are not fools.

They will soon be sent to the Inquisition to roast themselves under the fire.

What's more, the people involved in cannibalism this time are most likely led by John Shelley and Madeleine Tyree——

A Shelley heir.

The daughter of a golden arbiter.

Roland had a hard time imagining how this thing started: How did the cultists hiding behind these two people gain their trust?

So what do cultists want?

Simple hatred?

Or a ritual with serious consequences?

"Guess who is more stupid, John Shelley or Madeleine Tyree."

Rose stood on the sidelines and made a more interesting point.

"Roland."

"Um?"

"You think these two people are so valuable that they won't be protected by ritualists, right?"

"certainly."

"But judging from my experience - well, Mr. Anne was once considered a noble one among us, right?" Rose seemed to be tired after running for a day, her waist softened, and she leaned on Roland's shoulder, He muttered softly, "But she never brings anyone with her."

"You often go out alone to pick cigars, buy a cup of coffee, and listen to performances at the West End Plaza... or something like that?"

"Everyone thinks that a big shot must have a protector around him - in fact, the Gold Teeth Gang never once planned to attack Annie, she always caused trouble..."

"To be honest, if they do this, they will be more careful and they will definitely succeed."

"I mean."

The girl leaning on his shoulder came a little closer, her face gently rubbed against Roland's clothes, and she raised her head: "You tell me."

"Is it possible..."

"There are no cultists behind them."