Chapter 1106: The Motel's Strange Tales and Unease

The interstate highway branch office telephone rang. The operator answered it with slight impatience.

The interstate highway was long and had many branches. Their jurisdiction looked small on a map, but it included the main thoroughfare and numerous branches, managing thousands of kilometers of roads, including remote and inconvenient areas.

Not only were frontline police officers frustrated by the emergency calls, but dealing with them often meant a full day of rushing around. Moreover, most cases on the interstate were homicide cases, involving a high degree of danger.

This led to a general dislike for emergency calls.

"This is Highway 22 Branch, how may I help you?" Despite her dislike for the call, the operator tried her best to be professional.

"Uh... I'm the owner of the Big Hot Dog Motel. Do you know the Big Hot Dog Motel?"

At the mention of the motel, the operator immediately thought of its signature item: a massive hot dog with a thick, long sausage, extra toppings, and a large bun. They were quite famous in the jurisdiction.

Even people in surrounding cities drove there just for their hot dogs, drawn by the reputation.

"Yes, I know it. Your hot dogs are delicious!"

Finding that the operator was a customer of his, the owner's anxiety eased somewhat. "Thank you for your support."

"So... are you in trouble?" the operator asked.

The owner stammered, unsure how to explain. The operator patiently prompted him. "Is someone robbing you?"

"Or did you find a body when cleaning the rooms today?"

"Whatever happened, if you need our help, you must tell me so I can dispatch an officer."

Perhaps the operator's gentle tone helped, or for some other reason, the owner asked, "Did I hear you are looking for out-of-state vehicles?"

The operator was momentarily confused. "Why are we looking for out-of-state vehicles?"

But her gaze quickly fell on a work notebook beside the phone. She remembered something, flipping to a page written recently.

"I mean... yes, we are looking for out-of-state vehicles. Did you find something?"

The motel owner stood by the window, looking at the cars parked below. "Some people arrived here just now. Outsiders. Their cars have Gold State license plates, and they look very panicked."

"They're still here, I think. They booked some rooms. I'm not sure."

The operator immediately pressed a button and picked up her pen, recording the important information. "How many people are there?"

"I'm not sure. About thirty or more?"

"I didn't count carefully, but around that number."

"I heard... there's a reward for reporting them. Could I ask how much that reward is?"

That was the reason for his call. He had heard from a patrolling officer that there was a large reward for catching the wanted criminals.

Normally, such bounties were reserved for professional bounty hunters, who specialized in scanning the wanted posters at the branch office and trying to monetize the information.

He hadn't paid much attention to it until he saw these panicked outsiders arrive. He felt he might have a chance to claim the reward.

The operator looked at the notebook. "Five thousand dollars ($5,000)."

"Holy moly! Please send someone quickly. Should I prepare anything?"

"No, you don't need to. Someone will contact you shortly..."

That night, after sampling the motel's specialty food, the men returned to their rooms.

The day's events had left them physically and mentally exhausted. The shock and fear were so intense that they had no desire to stay up late. After filling their stomachs, they fell asleep quickly.

Around 10:00 PM, over a dozen vehicles—including several police cars and pickup trucks—silently drove into the motel.

After parking quietly, everyone disembarked without a sound.

The leader of the group, a gang member, and a police officer went to the owner's office. The office had an attached room that served as the owner's bedroom, where he was sleeping.

When a knock came at the door, the owner instinctively grabbed the handgun beneath his pillow.

People who ran businesses like motels and restaurants on the interstate were rarely simple folk.

"Who is it?" He got out of bed and walked to the door, but didn't open it.

"It's me."

Hearing the familiar voice, the owner relaxed. He opened the door slightly. The man outside, standing under the porch light, was the officer who regularly patrolled here.

"I thought you weren't coming."

The officer, accompanied by two other men, smiled. "This reward isn't our jurisdiction. These two gentlemen are. If you want the reward, you need to cooperate."

The owner looked through the crack at the two men beside the officer for a moment. "I don't know them."

The officer introduced them. "These two are from the Lance family. The people staying at your motel are enemies of the Lance family. Do I need to make it any clearer?"

The motel had a small bar, which the branch officers knew about. But it wasn't their concern.

While the police had the authority to investigate smuggling and illegal liquor sales, it wasn't their priority. Without a specific report, they rarely bothered the bar.

Confiscating liquor offered no bonus and was just ordinary work, which also risked offending locals. It wasn't worth it.

Besides, they sometimes came back in civilian clothes for a few drinks after work.

Who could resist a drink after a long shift?

Where did the motel get its liquor?

It was bought. The motel wasn't far from the Lawrence Farm, making liquor easy to obtain and cheap. Thus, the owner was very familiar with the Lance family and the Lawrence Farm.

Hearing they were from the Lance family, the owner immediately shut the door, flipped the safety latch, and opened the door fully.

He knew clearly that if they were truly Lance's people, locking the door wouldn't matter if they intended harm.

"What do you need me to do?" He became cooperative. The officer's face showed a hint of mockery, but the owner ignored it.

One of the two men with the officer said, "I need the room numbers where these people are staying, and the spare keys."

The motel owner showed no resistance. Many motels claimed they didn't keep spare keys, arguing social instability and rampant theft made it necessary to issue only one key per room.

But in reality, they always had spare keys.

A few minutes later, a door that should have been locked was slowly pushed open. The dim porch light couldn't penetrate the room entirely, leaving the whole space shrouded in shadow.

Several people quietly entered the room. Perhaps the slight change in light caused by their entry disturbed one of the occupants. A man lying on the outer edge of the bed suddenly woke up.

He stared wide-eyed at the two figures standing by the bedside, but his mind hadn't fully woken from sleep; only his body reacted.

The next second, his face grew alert. Just as he tried to shout, the man standing by the bedside quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, pinning his head down with his entire body weight.

He then felt something pierce his chest. The strength that had just begun to surge through him drained away with every agonizing stab.

In his final moments, he struggled to turn his head and saw his companion on the next bed also having his throat slit in his sleep.

"What's wrong?" someone whispered.

The man who had looked at the corner shook his head. "Nothing. Maybe a mouse."

After a brief exchange, they began wrapping the corpses in bedsheets, rolling them up like giant tamales, then covering them in tarps to prevent blood from leaking everywhere.

The motel was not entirely silent during this period, but any sudden noise was quickly muffled.

However, some guests were sensitive to the sounds of leather shoes on the floor.

They watched from behind curtains as people they couldn't identify threw what looked like rolled-up carpets into pickup trucks, driving them away one after the other.

No screams or sounds of struggle were heard. Although many guests found it strange, they didn't intervene.

They even saw police officers standing under the streetlights, which likely reinforced their decision to remain silent.

But after this incident, the Big Hot Dog Motel gained a few "ghost stories." These tales were told, embellished, and spread by passing travelers, gradually becoming a unique local culture that attracted curious adventurers from the Federation.

In the future, the motel owner would even hire staff to regularly act out these "ghosts" to enhance the motel's appeal.

But now, the motel owner hadn't realized any of this. He was counting his money.

Lance's people gave him $10,000 outright. This was a massive sum for a motel owner.

He reluctantly counted out $500 and slipped it to the officer who was preparing to leave.

The officer looked at the roll of cash, a smile growing on his face. He patted the owner's shoulder, saying nothing.

But both men knew their relationship had deepened.

Looking at the highway where the cars had disappeared, then back at his quiet motel, the owner was thrilled. The large sum of money might be a life-changing opportunity!

Not just because of the money, but because he had established a good relationship with the officer, and gained a connection with the Lance family and the Lawrence Farm.

If he could capitalize on this opportunity, perhaps...

Over a thousand kilometers away, in Old City, Bob lay sleepless in bed. The positive effects of his decisions a few days ago were quickly fading.

His initial decision to consolidate forces and strengthen defenses had limited the Lance family's attacks, making people think his leadership was effective.

But his counter-attack efforts over the past two days had failed. While they reclaimed a few minor businesses, those were properties the Lance family hadn't bothered to hold.

The major nightclubs, for example, remained in the Lance family's hands. Their defenses were strong, and crucially, the police were siding with them.

Now, the plan to strike at Lance's base in Likalai State had failed, leaving Bob with an indescribable feeling.

He was not as smart or capable as he had thought!

He sat up, a movement that woke his wife lying beside him.

His wife was seven or eight years younger than him and was his original wife. He turned on the bedside lamp, took a cigarette from the nightstand, lit it, and took a drag.

His wife also turned on her bedside lamp and sat up, looking at Bob. "What's wrong?"

"Are you worried about something?"

Bob smoked, staring at the wall covered with beautiful, elaborate wallpaper.

He didn't answer immediately. After about ten seconds, he said, "Take the two youngest children and go travel for a while."

His wife was still young and enjoyed leisure. She was initially happy, but her expression quickly turned to panic.

She clutched Bob's arm. "Is the situation serious?"

She had never experienced anything like this since marrying into the Perez family. They had never been provoked and attacked so fiercely!

The situation was so serious that she had to take the children away to avoid danger!

Bob didn't explain. He simply looked at her, put his arm around her shoulder, and stroked her collarbone. "It's just for peace of mind."

"We are the Perez family. We've had many challengers over the years, but the ones who vanish are never us."

He patted his wife's shoulder. "I just don't want family business to upset you. Besides, with so many people coming and going with weapons, it's not good for the children."

He offered many explanations, but they failed to erase the worry from his wife's face. Fortunately, she wasn't a total airhead and agreed to his request.

She wrapped her arms around Bob's waist and whispered, "Whatever decision you make, please remember you have your family—me."

The night passed silently.

The next morning, Bob arrived at the office early, rubbing his temples. His head was pounding.

The family members gradually gathered. The consecutive setbacks had left them visibly anxious and discouraged. No one spoke. The atmosphere in the room was exceptionally tense.

After a long silence, someone finally spoke. "Our strength is much greater than the Lance family's, but the problem is that the police, for some reason, are siding with them."

"If our men are arrested, they're locked up for a long time, but Lance's men are released quickly."

"Now the police response time is instantaneous. The moment shots are fired, the police arrive, and we don't even have time to reclaim our businesses."

The man walked out of the crowd. As most eyes focused on him, he walked to the desk, rested one hand on the edge, and tapped the desk with the other. "What we need to do now is deal with the police first."

Bob nodded. "I know we need to deal with the police, but that old dog Hull is completely disobedient now, and the Mayor refuses to cooperate much."

"We need a higher-level intervention..." He paused. "We need to stop moving for a few days. I'll go see Fran and ask him what to do."

Bob had met many influential people with Fran over the years, but he didn't have their contact information, and more importantly, he hadn't established genuine connections or favors with them.

This was the biggest hurdle to his succession.

If Fran didn't transfer those contacts to him, even if he became the patriarch, he would struggle to maintain the family's current scale.

Federal social networking was far more complex than people imagined. Without those connections and favors, the Perez family would quickly devolve into an ordinary, or even minor, gang.

The police siding with the Lance family now made him painfully aware of this deficiency.

When the police were on their side, they could act with impunity. But when the police turned against them, he felt the stifling, constrained frustration acutely.

He issued a few simple commands, then immediately left for the hospital to see Fran.

Fran still lay in bed, breathing heavily through his slightly parted mouth, struggling with each breath.

He was watching television. The news was reporting on the recent unrest in Old City. The City Hall spokesperson claimed they would do everything possible to protect the city and its people's lives and property and crack down on criminal behavior...