"You’re actually using that as an excuse???"
What a flimsy, nonsense excuse!
Massa said indifferently, "I was just giving him a way out. Barton knows our brotherhood isn’t worth much—certainly not two hundred thousand US dollars. That’s the adult world for you."
"Alright, let’s just hope we don’t bump into your good brother Barton on our way back," Dean said, rolling his eyes.
Since, in Massa’s eyes, Barton isn’t worth two hundred thousand US dollars, it stands to reason that in Barton’s eyes, Massa’s life is even less likely to be worth five million US dollars!
Massa revealed a cunning smile. "Dean, guess why I asked you to come along? Because the bounty is too big this time; Barton can’t be trusted! But with you, Anthony’s student, around, he wouldn’t dare make a move. Trust me. In at most half an hour, he’ll know I’ve teamed up with you. As long as he doesn’t want to die, he’ll have to act as if nothing has happened."
Dean silently took out a cigarette and lit it.
Damn it! These sly old foxes sure know how to scheme. My cleverness alone can’t outplay these bastards until I accumulate enough experience. Still, it’s alright. Facing people , I can always choose to just pull out my gun.
The Hagar Mountains are located more than a hundred miles west of Los Angeles. The terrain is complex. During the cowboy era, it was a stronghold for some outlaws. Now, it has become a public ’Wild Hunter’ hunting ground. It’s home to wild deer, rabbits, various birds, snakes, and other animals, as well as predators like black bears and cougars.
And yes, cougars in the suburbs of Los Angeles are not uncommon.
Every year during the hunting season in autumn, around October or November, many people who don’t want to spend money or find hunting in fixed locations unsatisfactory refuse to go to specialized hunting grounds. Instead, with their unregistered firearms, they sneak into the Hagar Mountains to get their fix.
It was mid-December now. It was possible that during their search of the mountains, the two would encounter some of these ’Wild Hunters.’ These individuals could also pose a potential danger.
Considering certain risks, neither Dean nor Massa planned to use weapons with registered serial numbers for this operation.
Massa stepped away for a moment. When he returned, there were two crude backpacks in the car. They contained a set of infrared thermal imagers, a set of military night-vision goggles, a semi-automatic rifle, a Glock 19, an M1911, several spare magazines, and enough food and water for two days.
As for tents and the like? Totally unnecessary. Sleeping in one of those made you an easy target for an ambush.
"You really like using the M1911?" Massa asked curiously, watching Dean continuously disassemble and inspect the handgun. "I thought you detectives all preferred pistols like the Glock 19, with a higher magazine capacity."
"Just because I’m a good shot doesn’t mean every hit is lethal," Dean said, picking up a shiny bullet. "Some creatures are incredibly tenacious; even a headshot might not stop them from fighting back. These 11.43mm steel-core rounds, however, don’t have that problem. These little guys guarantee that any poor bastard they kiss ends up thoroughly ventilated, front to back."
Actually, in the mountains, a rifle is more satisfying. It’s powerful, with a high rate of fire. Ordinary shrubs offer almost no cover against it. But I’ve already decided that other firearms will be the unique signature of ’White Masked Gentleman,’ my alias. And as a five-star Los Angeles detective, I’ll cultivate the image of someone skilled with pistols and in hand-to-hand combat, but who rarely handles long arms!
Seeing the cold, steel-core bullets in Dean’s hand, Massa said no more.
Strong individuals don’t need others telling them what to do. They trust only themselves. This was true for Massa as well, especially in the field of Trace Tracking.
The two finally reached the outskirts of the Hagar Mountains. The location they chose was the very direction the Skinning Brothers had taken into the mountains.
Dean looked up at the sky and said with a slight frown, "Massa, I think it’s going to rain soon."
Massa stuck out his tongue, flicked it twice, and said confidently, "No, it won’t. The humidity isn’t high enough. But the temperature is probably only around ten degrees Celsius now. At night, it’ll get very cold in the mountains. The Skinning Brothers might build a fire to keep warm."
After hiding the car and dividing the gear, Massa took a deep breath. His demeanor shifted, becoming somewhat grim, and he warned, "Dean, the Skinning Brothers are psychos, not fools. They have at least two semi-automatic rifles, a chainsaw, a shotgun, and an unknown amount of ammunition. Plus, they’re good at setting traps. Are you sure you want to go in with me now, kill them, and trade their lives for that green cash?"
"Enough talk," Dean said. "Just don’t forget to teach me Trace Tracking."
"Alright, a high-five to seal the deal—no harming each other! Though I don’t really trust these things, life needs a bit of ritual."
I have a feeling Massa is actually a bit nervous, just trying to distract himself from his own tension. This gives me an ominous premonition. Is this guy really reliable?
After the high-five, Massa, carrying the semi-automatic rifle, pointed towards the expansive mountain range ahead. "Searching such a vast mountain range inch by inch would be difficult even for a whole battalion of soldiers, let alone just two of us. We’d inevitably miss things. So, we must use our brains."
"Like what?" Dean asked.
"Thinking and observing!" Massa declared. "Traces are essentially information. It all depends on your observation and analysis:"