After Sugar saw Proctor leave, he let out a sigh of 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 puzzled expression.
—You just got to Banshee. You don't know much about him yet. I've watched it happen 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 isn't 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. Being that bastard's enemy isn't worth it.—
After hearing Sugar's words, Hood fell silent.
After the three of them drank quietly for a while, Hood pulled a gold watch from his pocket and tossed it onto the counter. The light struck the diamond-encrusted dial, sending a dazzling reflection across the bar.
—No need to say anything,— Ethan said when he saw Hood about to explain. He finished the rest of the wine in his glass, stood up, and added, —Like 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 away, Sugar looked at Hood with concern.
—You realize that if your fake identity as police chief gets 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 dig through the system, I'm Lucas Hood now.—
—I still don't understand why I didn't just take my own cut,— Hood said, spinning the gold watch between 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 bring in much, but it's better than nothing.—
—Just make sure to give him his cut after the sale. The kid took a few hits tonight…—
They kept chatting at the bar, speculating about Ethan's true intentions, while Ethan drove away 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. 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, clearly intending to search him.
Ethan lifted his coat, revealing his badge and service weapon. The guards stepped aside.
—Admission is twenty dollars, sir. Thank you.—
A blonde woman at the reception desk, wearing rabbit ears, gave him a charming smile.
—Elizabeth, that won't be necessary. He's Mr. Proctor's guest,— said Burton, Proctor's bodyguard, appearing in a suit and tie as he gestured for Ethan to follow him. —He's waiting for you. This way, please.—
Ethan walked into the main area. Soft pink light from the lamps gleamed over the metallic surfaces. At 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 followed Burton toward a door marked —No Entry.—
Inside was a bustling dressing room where more than a dozen dancers were getting ready in front of illuminated mirrors.
It was peak time. Most of the women wore nothing but thongs and nipple pasties.
Seeing Ethan and Burton enter, no one seemed to care. They simply kept working.
It was Ethan's first time in a place like this, and he could almost get used to it. He tried to look calm as he followed Burton without glancing around.
A stunning Ukrainian girl beside 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 slightly.
A little awkwardly, he followed Burton until they reached a room. Burton knocked, opened the door, and stepped inside.
Proctor was behind his desk. When he saw Ethan, he stood and walked over 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, sitting down casually.
As he poured the drink, Proctor looked at Burton.
—I can handle things here. Go find Agent Dunn from Sánchez's team. We have business with him. Bring him back.—
Burton nodded, his eyes flashing with intent, and left the room.
—I don't know why you asked me here. I don't think you invited me to settle accounts,— Ethan said, smelling the bourbon.
—Of course not. I know you were only doing your job.—
—I appreciated your call last time.—
—It's a shame 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. Let's just say I 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 held a grudge, maybe it was about money—but it didn't matter. He couldn't allow Hansen to talk.
—That's a good enough reason. But that doesn't mean the final result wasn't beneficial to me, does it?—
He leaned over, pulled a suitcase from under the table, opened it, and pushed it toward Ethan. It was packed with stacks of green bills.
For the first time, Ethan saw that much cash right in front of him. His breathing quickened.
—This is a token of my gratitude. Also, if anything ever comes up involving me, I hope you'll let me know.—
Ethan took a long drink of whiskey and stared at the money. 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 become his pawn.
—If you really want to thank me,— Ethan said, grabbing the bottle of bourbon, —this will do.—
The message was clear: I'm not working for you, but I don't hold a grudge either.
Proctor was stunned. He hadn't expected Ethan to resist the temptation.
—You're an interesting guy, Ethan. I'm starting to like you.—
—I liked the girl outside more,— Ethan replied, pointing toward 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 window at the 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 story 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, they say her soul has wandered through 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, tapping the watch on her wrist. —It's just a memorial event for the Kinaho tribe... and for us. I'll go first.—
Ethan tossed the empty coffee cup into the trash, picked up his equipment, and walked out of the police station to begin his patrol. There was a lot of movement in town today, so everyone at the station would be on duty until the next day.
As he drove through town, he saw small tents set up on both sides of the normally empty streets. The townspeople were busy placing basic goods, agricultural products, and souvenirs on the shelves.
Ethan smiled, stepped on the gas, and drove away. Usually, if he didn't have a special assignment, he would simply 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 hidden by tall trees. If passing vehicles weren't paying attention, they wouldn't even notice a police car parked there.
The previous system mission had already been completed, and he had claimed the reward for defeating Sánchez.
This time, he chose to allocate the points to long-gun handling. For now, firearms were his main means of attack and survival; improving those skills would increase his chances of surviving future encounters.
When skill points were limited, he had to prioritize improving his aim.
After waiting for a long while, a paid transport vehicle passed by. Ethan yawned, checked his watch, and prepared to continue 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 to it.
After flashing the police lights twice, the motorcycle slowed down and stopped.
—Motorcycle driver up ahead, turn off the engine, step away from 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 driving over the speed limit. License and registration, please,— Ethan said.
—Sorry, officer. I didn't mean to speed,— the man replied. He wore a black leather jacket, and when he removed his helmet, it revealed his shiny bald head.
Well, isn't this Hood's best friend—the 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, are you carrying a firearm?—
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 arrive 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?—
—Having a friend like you is miserable,— Job said, taking a deep breath. —You should be able to see the livestock 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 in fright and slowly moved away from the manic two-legged beast.
Ethan saw Hood and Sugar sitting in a wrecked light-blue truck in the distance. He stopped his car, and Hood handed him something wrapped in greasy 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 into town. He figured the festival meant there would be plenty of food available. The celebration area was no longer as deserted as it had been that morning. People flowed through the streets, 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 displayed in front of her.
Ethan stopped the vehicle, got out, and approached the stand.
—You're Ethan, right?— said a woman with deep blonde hair and 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're actually asking 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 have 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 splat.
After shouting —Fuck you,— Kat flipped him off and stormed back to her food stall.
Ethan shook his head, calmly wiped his face, and—seeing the stares of those around him—decided to let the matter go. He walked over to Rebecca, who was covering her mouth to hide her laughter.
—Miss Bowman, what would you recommend?—
—Of course, the crispy peach pie that hit your face is our specialty. Though I suppose you'd prefer to try it in a more civilized way,— Rebecca said with a smile, handing him a towel.
—How much is it?— Ethan asked, taking a bite. It tasted great.
—Five dollars.—
Handing her the money, and seeing that she was still chuckling, Ethan took another big bite of the crispy peach pie.
—I'll make sure you're not laughing next time.—