Chapter 611: Hierarchy
The crowd of people pressing forward moved faster and faster, with the last few even half-raising the clubs in their hands, looking somewhat like a “murloc charge.”
The tall and burly Sanders stood in front of Wayne, holding one hand out flat with fingers splayed, his clothes starting to pull taut.
He raised his voice towards them: “Stop! Any closer will be considered an attempt to attack.”
The guide named Selun, who was standing beside the two, also quickly shouted, “@#$%^&&**%$##…”
A few short and sharp responses came from the opposite side, likely not saying anything pleasant.
The two “little murlocs” charging at the very front quickly raised their wooden clubs over their heads, accelerating and leaping up in unison, like brave boarding ruffians in a pirate movie.
“Whack,” “Thud,” “Whoosh…,” “#%^&!”
“Bang!”
Sanders crouched and lunged forward, and the first one that flew over was pushed back by him in mid-air. After landing, it slid backward a short distance on the ground due to inertia. It didn't knock down all ten like bowling, but it did momentarily slow down the opposing charge formation.
The one that flew over later was more unlucky, taking a solid uppercut to the belly, and then his whole body went limp and slid downwards.
However, what truly made the opposing side stop was Wayne’s shot into the sky—this was a common sight in the West. At least half of the bullet holes in the Blackstone Town saloon’s ceiling were fired by Sheriffs; the frequency was so high that repair costs didn't even need to be reimbursed every time, they just settled the bill with the Police Station quarterly.
Wayne blew on the muzzle of his gun, his gaze darting back and forth among the hoodlums.
Some things might be related to presence. Sheriffs in Western towns, once they confirmed aggressive behavior, would truly “kill on the spot” without a second thought.
Although Wayne didn’t spout any trash talk, as their gazes met, the scene quickly quieted down in the standoff, with no one in the entire court daring to speak.
However, while they might lose men, they wouldn't lose face. Although their advance stopped, one of the guys eventually stepped out from the crowd, stood at the front of the line, and started jabbering.
Wayne turned his gaze to the guide, who quickly translated: “He says our community doesn’t welcome outsiders.”
“We have authorization from the Richmond City Health Committee and are only conducting plague screenings for residents of this block. We will not charge any public fees.” Wayne tugged at the red armband on his arm and looked over again, “The Dock Area is also within Richmond’s jurisdiction. Those who violently resist will be dealt with according to the law; others can disperse on their own.”
The guide quickly jabbered back and forth with the other side. After a few exchanges, some people’s clubs in their hands had already dropped. It was unclear what exactly convinced them.
However, Wayne could tell that the leader actually understood what he was saying. He raised a hand and pointed, asking, “What is his identity?”
The guide hesitated, not daring to answer. Wayne understood. “Tell them we are not police and won’t interfere with other matters. But gang members who lead in obstructing official duties must be punished. Attempting to obstruct will be considered the same crime.”
After the guide finished speaking, Wayne didn’t wait for a response from their side and simply made a gesture.
Sanders immediately pulled out his gear, holding a gun in one hand and a thin iron chain with a lock in the other, and walked over under Wayne’s rear cover—the Detective Agency couldn’t use official equipment, but the principle of handcuffs wasn’t complicated; there were plenty of similar devices in the West.
Some wanted to stop him but hesitated after seeing Wayne’s gaze fall first on their hands and then on their heads. More people gave up resisting, trying to maintain distance while having to retreat slightly.
The formation gradually changed in silence. The leader, of course, couldn't sit idly by. After shouting words Wayne didn't understand and his fist missing, he was smoothly pinned to the ground by Sanders.
The scene instantly changed from jabbering to a chaotic clamor. The leader was shouting, and the guide was also trying to mediate.
“Bang!”
“Ah—”
A bullet grazed skin, and a club fell to the ground, extinguishing the last bit of resistance sparked by the leader’s shouts.
Wayne’s gun barrel wavered at the person covering his hand, “You lie down too.”
This guy seemed not to understand what Wayne was saying, but fortunately, human communication isn’t limited to language.
Once he slowly lay down and covered his head, mimicking the others, the situation was basically under control. Only the leader was left, still cursing.
Wayne felt the leader was a bit too noisy and was about to tell him to shut up when Sanders, who had stood up, lightly kicked him, “Shut up! Or I’ll piss on your head in front of everyone.”
Hmm?! There’s a master here too?!
Noticing Wayne’s expression, Sanders explained sheepishly, “This is a little trick Liam discussed with us before he went to the office. He thought it might be particularly effective on hoodlums—he also said he got the inspiration from some of your methods, Boss.”
Bah,
I think he’s just itching for a beating.
…
Facts prove that even people “on the streets” have a hierarchy.
The Ireland Violent Group’s size is relatively large among the gangs in the Dock Area, but their manpower is still a minority compared to the residents of the territory.
Thus, there appear some “gang members” who aren’t actually gang members, resembling the type of guys who say, “Do you know who my brother/uncle/dad hangs out with?” They often have a few like-minded buddies in the block, committing no major crimes but constant minor mischief, and are particularly active in rallying for their respective gangs.
For example, the one whose skin was grazed by Wayne’s bullet.
After his other accomplices were dispersed, Wayne primarily questioned him.
Actually, the leader tied to the nearby lamppost probably knew more, and communication with him likely wouldn't have significant language barriers. However, that guy had already been rendered self-isolating by Sanders’s one sentence, so he was left alone to cool down for now.
After Wayne asked about the basic situation, he learned that the Ireland Violent Group was routinely instigating community residents to expel outsiders, and the community members, fearing trouble from the hoodlums and also official arrest or being levied fees, often tacitly agreed, basically avoiding them when seen.
Then Wayne continued to inquire about more details, “Ask him if the rats in the block have increased recently?”
“There have always been quite a few rats in the block…” the guide first mumbled, then honestly lowered his head and jabbered to the person, and then replied, “He hasn’t paid much attention to that, but recently, there seem to be some rats that look bigger than before.”
There seem to be signs, but they might not be related… further confirmation is still needed.
“Then does he know the families of the laborers who died in accidents recently? Can he take us to their homes to see?” Wayne pressed on.
After the guide translated, the guy looked at the leader who was being “publicly executed” a little further away, hesitated slightly, and then quickly nodded repeatedly.
“Very good.” Wayne gestured to Sanders while speaking to the guide, “Tell him to get up, we’re going to see now.”
The group quickly set off, with the underling leading Wayne and the guide ahead, and Sanders following behind, leading the leader. Passersby dared not get too close, but there were many onlookers secretly observing.
Even Kankakee State is not lawless; why should a mere Dock Area be an exception?
By parading this guy around, they aimed to gradually make the public realize who truly held sway in the Dock Area: the “red armbands” or the gang members.
After that, once the red armbands were removed, the Detective Agency would probably be able to start “building a reputation.”
