HLM – Chapter 85 Deadly Force

Driving along Highway 8 for over half an hour, a small town finally came into Wang Bo’s view.

Just like those in American TV shows, the town had a small commercial district made up of two-story buildings along both sides of the road—cafés, fast food joints, flower shops, a supermarket, and even a movie theater.

Looking out into the distance, he could see farms and ranches scattered across the landscape, with many cows and sheep lazily lying in the fields, enjoying the light wind and drizzle. Compared to Sunset Town, Wang Bo felt that although the grasslands in Tahiti Town were flat, they weren’t green enough—or rather, the grass wasn’t as dense.

He shared his thoughts aloud, and Charlie chuckled, “Of course. The environment in Sunset Town has never been exploited or damaged. But here, these farms and ranches have been in use for who knows how many years. The difference is bound to be big.”

As they drove into town, the rain kept most people indoors. Or maybe it was because this section of the highway was set to be abandoned—either way, Wang Bo felt the town lacked vitality.

He called Carlisle Hani. The moment the number connected, a loud voice blared through the phone:

“Who is this?! You’d better not be one of those damn salespeople! I don’t need toilet cleaners, fertilizer, dog food, cat food, insurance, or that goddamn toilet paper! None of it!”

The voice was so loud that Bowen said, “Boss, you don’t need to put it on speaker.”

Wang Bo replied, “I didn’t put it on speaker!”

The roar continued: “Speak! Did you call just to piss me off?! Goddammit! Say what you’ve got to say! If your goal was just to piss me off—congrats, pal! You succeeded! But are you ready to face my fury?!”

Trying to stay calm, Wang Bo said gently, “Hello, is this Inspector Carlisle Hani? I’m a friend of Sheriff Smith. May I visit you?”

“Are you a damn sissy? Why are you talking like that? Speak with your balls! Let me hear your masculinity!”

“I’m a friend of Sheriff Smith! Hooah! Can I come visit?!”

“What the hell are you yelling for?! Why didn’t that sissy Smith come see me himself?!”

Wang Bo was speechless. Was this guy really a tax Auditor or a prison warden? Weren’t tax Auditors usually accountants—calm, composed people? Who had temper tantrums like this?

He tried explaining his purpose, but the moment he said he was the mayor of Sunset Town, Hani barked, “Sunset Town? What the hell is that? I don’t have time! Not seeing anyone!”

Beep… beep… beep. The line went dead.

Wang Bo put away his phone, stared gloomily out at the rain, and sighed, “Give me a cigarette. Nobody talk to me—I want to be alone… How could he treat me like this?!”

Charlie comforted him, “This is normal. I told you, it’d be hard to recruit him. Old Madman Hani is infamous in the Southern Island Auditor circle.”

In truth, most New Zealand tax Auditors had bad tempers. They worked in the tax system, dealt with boring numbers all day, constantly battled with tax dodgers, and had to monitor various departments. Naturally, their jobs weren’t popular, their pressure was high, and their moods weren’t great.

Juan looked utterly hopeless. “Shit, Boss… is this what I’m gonna turn into someday?”

Wang Bo was devastated, but he had to console the traumatized Juan—he didn’t even have time to lick his own emotional wounds.

It was almost lunchtime, and Wang Bo wanted to eat here, but Charlie warned him that since the town was small, it’d be bad if they bumped into Robert. Better to head to the neighboring Drifter Town.

Drifter Town lay between Sunset Town and Tahiti Town, forming nearly an equilateral triangle.

Bowen was very familiar with Drifter Town—he had come from there when heading to the castle. Once they arrived, he pulled up in front of a rustic-looking restaurant and said, “This place has the most authentic Māori food. Let’s go.”

The delicious aroma of food soothed Wang Bo’s wounded soul. Bowen ordered a large plate of venison. New Zealand’s deer farming industry was well-developed, making it one of the world’s top venison suppliers.

The Māori had a unique way of cooking venison—slow-cooked in a large pot for about three hours, with licorice, Pinot Noir red wine, various herbs, and thyme in the broth. The result was tender meat that retained its juices and was incredibly flavorful.

“How about some Deadly Force?” asked the burly Māori waitress.

Bowen laughed, “Of course! Why not?”

Along with the drinks, the main course was served: a steaming mix of pumpkin, potatoes, and corn.

The main dish was wrapped in multiple layers—first aluminum foil, then a wooden container, and finally another layer of white cloth. It wasn’t an easy meal to prepare.

Even the drinks were special. The jug was made of tree bark, the cups were wooden, and the clear liquid poured out like a mountain spring—fragrant and fresh.

Bowen poured a cup for each of the three.

Juan gave him a spooky look. “What about yours?”

“I’m driving,” Bowen replied confidently. “Can’t drink.”

“Right. Don’t drink and drive. Don’t drive if you’ve been drinking,” Wang Bo nodded approvingly.

Juan added, “Then I’ll drive. Bowen drove us here, no need for him to overwork himself.”

Charlie said, “I’ll drive. Haven’t driven in a while. My hands are itching…”

“Then go scratch your hands on some bark,” Wang Bo shot them a glare. “What’s up with this drink? Why are you all trying to avoid it?”

They never pulled this crap when drinking beer—each of them drank like fish back then.

The three exchanged looks and shook their heads in unison. “No tricks!”

“If I believe that, I must be an idiot!” Wang Bo glared. He had zero trust in these three jokers.

Just then, a burly man at a nearby table turned and said, “It’s simple, friend. They’re scared of Deadly Force. Just listen to the name—you can imagine how strong it is. It’s 68% alcohol. That stuff burns like fire!”

Wang Bo burst into laughter. “Then I have to try it! High-proof liquor is good stuff. Come on, everyone drinks—no one escapes!”

“But who’ll drive?”

“We’re staying here tonight. Tomorrow we go chase that old stubborn mule again!”

Seeing them raise their glasses, the nearby Māori patrons gathered around to watch. Someone shouted, “Dare to chug a whole glass of Deadly Force?”

“Chug it!” Wang Bo yelled.

“No!” Charlie and the others looked horrified, like they’d heard a death sentence.

“Fuck it! Cowards! Drink up!” Wang Bo roared.

The four glasses clinked together, and Wang Bo downed his in one go. Partly to vent—Carlisle Hani had truly pissed him off that morning.

As the liquor hit his throat, his tongue went numb, then a line of fire shot from his tongue root down into his gut. Wang Bo jumped to his feet, feeling like his skin was on fire.

“Well?” someone asked.

“Awesome!” Wang Bo slapped the table.

The Māori around them whistled and pounded the table in celebration. The owner came over and said, “You’re warriors. 20% off the bill.”