The iron-clad butcher, Derek Randall, was electrocuted to death.

He saw hundreds of men with bull's heads floating in the air and talking to him.

The butcher couldn't hear what the minotaurs were saying.

It was as if they were asking for his life.

"You shit! If I can kill you once, I can kill you a second time! ”

The butcher is angry.

His hands were tied, he was delirious, his body twisted, and he yelled viciously into the air.

"Yo, it's pretty horizontal." Chen Jianqiu hooked his finger at the agent next to the machine, "Increase the power!" ”

Under the repeated electric shocks, the butcher finally gave up.

He drooped his head, rolled his eyes, and saliva flowed out, dripping to the ground.

"Do you remember?" Chen Jianqiu shook his hand in front of him, and after making sure that this person was not in a coma or neurotic state, he asked, "Who killed those two policemen?"

Randall the butcher was already fast, only getting in and out.

"To, Torio did it, the former one was the hand of the 'gopher', and the latter one was done by himself, give, give me saliva to drink, okay?" He gasped and replied.

"Sign it, draw a note, and let the doctor treat his wounds, so that he doesn't have to say that I mistreated the witness when he takes it to Roosevelt later."

Chen Jianqiu, who had already gotten the answer he wanted, glanced at the butcher.

He turned, pointed with his thumb to the half-dead butcher hanging behind him, and said to Holiday :

"I'll go talk to Roosevelt later, you guys like this guy."

Just as the butcher was being tossed into a cart full of offal and taken to the Border Detective Agency's "Honest Happy House," a gangster meeting was going on in a warehouse on the other side of the downtown.

Almost all the gang leaders who were active in the lower city showed up here with their men.

For example, the Irishman with a high hat and a mustache sitting on the edge of a wooden table is Marty Brennan, the leader of the "Gopher Gang".

Their active areas, mainly from Fourth Street to Twelfth Street, were predominantly Irish, and were the heirs of the Irish gangsters of the mid-to-early 19th century in the eastern United States.

Half-lying in a chair with his feet on the table and his eyes closed was Munch Eastman, the leader of the "Eastman Gang".

This is an American Jew, who can basically be called penniless when he came to the United States, and at the same time carries a bunch of murders.

However, he can basically compete with the "Gopher Gang" and the "Five Point Gang" now.

A gloomy old Chinese man with a goatee, squinting at the edge of the table and smoking a "cigarette".

His name is Li Xiling, the founder and boss of the Chinese Tangkou Anliang Church, and the godfather-level figure in the New York Chinese gang.

This person is ruthless and has no bottom line.

An Liangtang's sphere of influence is near Chinatown, and this old man can basically be called a single-handedly covering the sky in Chinatown.

In addition to this, there are other small street gangs.

It's rare for them to sit at the same table with these bigwigs.

The atmosphere inside the warehouse is very quiet.

There are a lot of younger brothers brought by each gang, so there is no trouble.

There are a lot of grievances in ordinary times, but they are all conflicts of interest, and now everyone is just staring at each other.

Because, the master who convened the meeting has not yet come.

"Where's Torio? This bastard pulls us together here and stares at each other, but his own people are late, what is the matter? Brennan, the Irishman, finally couldn't take it anymore.

He is relatively thin and does not have much meat on his buttocks, so his butt hurts after sitting for a long time.

Once a person starts to hurt in this place, his temper will become very irritable.

"I won't wait, whoever of you likes to wait." Brennan stood up in frustration and waved at his men behind him, ready to leave.

Just as he was standing up, a sudden passage came in from outside the warehouse.

"Yo (well), yo, why are Irish people always so irritable, is it because they drink too much?" Torio walked in through the gate with a strong Italian accent of English.

He was still wearing the black tweed coat, a gray scarf around his neck, and black gloves on his hands.

He walked with one foot and one step, one shoulder high and one shoulder low, not at all as graceful as his dress, and his posture looked very flat.

"You don't give me yin and yang! I don't have that much time to talk nonsense with you! Brennan said angrily.

Eastman, who was on one side, opened his eyes and looked at the Italian with a mocking expression:

"Torio, you're still so unlikeable, people hate you wherever you go."

Torio's face glowed inexplicably, and he pointed to his nose with a sickly smile on his face and asked Eastman:

"Are you saying I hate it? Oh yes, my neighbors have been hating me since I was a child, and my dad said so too, so he kicked me out of the family, thank you so much for the compliment! ”

Eastman and Torio had known each other a little longer, and knew that this man was a little unreasonable, so they stopped talking to him and continued to close their eyes and recuperate.

Torio walked over to the only empty chair at the table.

He was followed by several people standing behind him, including his New-Politon dog named "Robert".

"Boss, the butcher doesn't know why he didn't come." A short, but sinister Italian leaned into Torio's ear and whispered to him.

Torio didn't answer, just waved his hand.

"Gophers! The last time you killed my brother and threw his body into the Hudson River, what are you going to do? A gang behind Eastman couldn't help but rush out when they saw the stout Italian.

"Hehe, he drank too much and fell into the river by himself, what does it matter to me?" The gopher smiled, looking more and more obscene.

"You fart" The gang was about to rush at the gophers, but Eastman coughed.

"I'll talk about it later." He cleared his throat, "Torio, if there's anything you say, don't grind, just like a woman." ”

"I want to take everyone to do the big ticket." Torio crossed his fingers and got straight to the point, "How about we go rob Wells Fargo?" ”

There was a sudden silence in the warehouse.

But soon, the crowd erupted in laughter.

"Rob the bank! He said he was going to rob the bank! ”

"This Italian really has a problem with his brain, no wonder his father wants to kick him out of the house!"

Torio straightened his collar and brushed the folds of his clothes.

He asked the old man Li, who was silent on the side, "Is there something wrong with my clothes?" Or is there something funny about it? ”

"You're a fucking idiot!" Brennan couldn't hold back any longer, he propped his hands on the table and glared at the Italian, "Do you know where Wells Fargo is?" Do you know how many security guards there are? ”

The more he talked, the more angry he became, and suddenly remembered the old account.

"Do you think we don't know who killed those two cops? You're already cheating us! ”

"The Tammoni Association will not let us go, they will take this opportunity to clean us up!"

"They're going to take this opportunity to shut down our bars and all sorts of underground businesses! Then ask us for a higher protection fee! ”

Torio looked a little disapproving:

"Oh? Then I can just clean up the Tammoni Association, after all, as long as I control the entire Downtown, I have the capital to compete with them.

Brennan couldn't hold back any longer.

He slapped the table:

"Whoever of you likes to talk to this madman, go and talk! I'm not going to accompany you! Good bye! ”

However, just as he was about to leave with the people.

Gopher and Torio glanced at each other.

The gopher whistled!

Outside the door, a group of black-pressed people suddenly appeared.

The muzzle of their guns was pointed at the gate of the warehouse.

(End of chapter)