"Ah!" Senator Bracken woke up from his coma with sweat all over his forehead and found himself still in the Lincoln limousine.
He struggled to stand up and looked at the shiny bald head in the driver's seat, then shrank back and tried to lean back.
The car was still driving on the road, but the sirens in the distance were almost inaudible, and the bodyguards around him were nowhere to be seen, which made the last bit of courage in the senator's heart disappear.
"Who are you?"
Frank glanced back at him, his tone without any fluctuation, "One of the people you want to kill."
The atmosphere in the car was obviously stagnant. Perhaps some people wanted to kill too many people recently, or for other reasons, the conversation that should have continued normally was stuck for a while.
After a long time, Bracken grunted and replied, "I don't know what you are talking about."
Frank was too lazy to continue the conversation, because the protagonist behind it was not him, but someone else.
The car pulled into an abandoned factory building. Frank had just stepped out when a Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up in front of him. Jack, Anna, and Marvin all got out.
Next came Ivan's old Cadillac, with a pale-faced Victoria sitting in the back.
Seeing Frank looking at her with concern, the elderly woman, who had been helped out of the car, shook her head slightly, indicating she was fine.
Footsteps echoed through the empty factory building. Beckett, who had been hiding there, hurried toward the group. Jack opened the door of the Lincoln and, holding his nose, lifted the trembling Senator out.
"Detective Beckett?" Senator Bracken's puzzled gaze swept across the faces before him, finally spotting someone familiar.
Suddenly, as if a flash of insight had struck him, he straightened his back almost instinctively, even adjusting his tie. He cleared his throat and asked, "So you hired all these people? What do you want, ma'am?" "
The truth!" Beckett didn't try to correct his misconceptions, but got straight to the point.
For some reason, Bracken suddenly looked cocky again, revealing a mouthful of white teeth. While not as perfect as Jack's standard fake smile, with four teeth on each side, it was clearly a smile he'd practiced countless times in the mirror.
"Mark Twain once said, 'If you don't lie, you don't need to remember anything.' You're actually expecting a politician to tell the truth. Isn't that ridiculous?"
"What's wrong with him?" Anna whispered in Jack's ear.
Someone's behavior was clearly a bit unexpected. His trouser legs were still wet, so where did he get the courage to speak so confidently to Beckett?
Jack was also a little confused. Trying to put himself in his shoes, he could barely understand where Bracken's confidence came from.
In his previous life, he had watched some anti-corruption TV dramas. In those dramas, corrupt officials always bluffed when they were first questioned by the Commission for Discipline Inspection, especially before the hidden stolen money was found.
Perhaps he was confident in his previous success in silencing witnesses, or perhaps it was because both Commissioner Montgomery and later Mr. Smith, after obtaining the so-called "evidence," chose to threaten him rather than directly expose it.
Even Beckett, who didn't directly accuse him of murdering his mother but wanted to know the truth, gave the congressman a false impression.
"He probably thought, or rather, tricked himself into believing, that Beckett was confronting him as a detective," Jack said, his tone rather elusive.
He acted with impunity, yet he expected his opponent, driven to the brink of destruction, to act within certain "rules." Politicians' mindsets were indeed wired differently from ordinary people, perhaps reflecting a kind of inherent arrogance. Sure
enough, Bracken was still talking. "I'm sorry, Detective, but since you've resorted to such means to come to me, doesn't that mean you already know the truth?"
"Yes, Roy Montgomery, John Raglan, Gary McAllister, and my mother and her colleagues—I know they all died because of you,"
Beckett said, slowly approaching Bracken. "What I want is for you to admit your guilt!"
As if finally sensing the detective's murderous intent, Bracken's throat rolled, and he took a half step back, raising his hands in an effort to offer soothing gestures.
"Calm down, Ms. Beckett. Your mother's death was a tragedy. I'm deeply sorry for your loss, but I don't agree with the crimes you're alleging."
"Can I shoot him in the leg first?" Marvin muttered disapprovingly from a distance, watching the show. Frank glared at him fiercely.
The bald man had no interest in this kind of shit.
He just wanted to capture the person, lure out the culprits, and be done with it. Talking big was never the old agent's style.
But his son had just slept with the girl, and they were going to get married. So, all he could do was sit back and listen to this nonsense.
Beckett frowned in confusion, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he asked impatiently, "What exactly do you want to say?"
Bracken tried his best to muster his eloquence, and even tried to force a smile on his face, "When I was 14, a boy from my neighbor's house became my good friend. His name was Blackhawk.
I often helped him with his homework after school, but one day he didn't come to school, so I went to his apartment."
There were even tears in the corners of his eyes, "The door was open, I walked in, and found Blackhawk lying on his mattress, dead.
His sister was the same as him, and his mother died in the bedroom, hanging herself.
She left behind "I left a note because she'd lost her job and her landlord was threatening to evict her family. So I kept thinking, 'What could have made an Aboriginal woman so desperate that she'd crush up pills and put them in her hot chocolate, poisoning her own children?'
That was the moment I discovered my dream: to help people live a better life, and I've done just that."
As if giving a campaign speech, Bracken grew increasingly excited. "I've sponsored many important bills in Congress, strengthening legal protections for impoverished Aboriginal people, especially children.
I've created many jobs in the community and accomplished a lot of great work."
"Bang!" Jack pulled the M1919 from Frank's waist and shot Bracken squarely in the thigh.
(End of Chapter)