"Hello, Mark Hall Chief Inspector, I just saw a female guest over there being sexually harassed by a police officer under the pretense of a body search. I'm afraid the inspector in front of me might harass me too, so I had a bit of a stress reaction—hope that's not a problem?" Robert Bolton looked at Mark Hall, used one hand to pull David Brooks up from the floor, reached out to pick up the wine glass beside him, and his eyes flashed with a sharp glint.

Mark Hall patted David Brooks's shoulder, helped brush the dust off David Brooks, and said with a smile, "No problem, no problem."

"Smart cooperation, mutual understanding, it's a small matter, a small matter." Mark Hall said, his face flushed with alcohol, "I'm just here to relax after work as usual. Who knew they'd do a spot check on your Brother Ben's turf? Since your Brother Ben's place is clean, our police will leave right away."

"If all the bosses' places in Hong Kong were run as honestly and legally as yours, we'd save ourselves a lot of trouble."

"Sir, there are minors in the club." Nearby, David Brooks said in a low voice.

"Is this little thing really worth arguing with Brother Ben about?" Mark Hall suddenly raised his voice: "No wonder you're just a Senior Inspector—you don't know how to handle things!"

"Brother Ben, I'll drink this glass for him." Mark Hall grabbed a whiskey from the bar, raised it in a toast, and downed it in one go, very straightforward.

"Let's be friends."

"Let's be friends." Robert Bolton also downed the drink in his hand in one gulp.

"Let's get out of here. Since Brother Ben runs such an honest business, we should give Brother Ben some respect. Don't be too rigid with the rules—when dealing with people... you need to be flexible."

Mark Hall stuffed his badge into the inner pocket of his suit.

He turned and walked a few steps away.

Robert Bolton bent down and picked up a gun holster from under the bar floor, calling out, "Sir, don't forget your stuff."

Sir Huang turned his head, saw the gun holster, and gave David Brooks a slap on the head.

"Aren't you going to thank Brother Ben?"

David Brooks lowered his head, came over to take the gun holster, and squeezed out through his teeth, "Thank you, Brother Ben."

But his eyes looked murderous.

Chapter 012: How Many Four Heavenly Kings Are There?

Robert Bolton watched their backs as they left the bar, holding a cigarette between his fingers, put it in his mouth and bit down, then turned to ask Big Howard, "Where is that officer from? He doesn't seem like a cop, more like someone from the underworld."

Big Howard looked back at Wayne, and Wayne leaned in and said, "Mark Hall, I heard he's the new head transferred to the Organized Crime Unit. He used to be an undercover in the Yi Qun gang, nicknamed Ming King in the underworld. The case of Yi Qun's Brother Yong was his doing."

"Oh, so he's Seven Brother."

Two plus five is seven,

A 'two-five' guy,

In the underworld, a derogatory nickname: Seven Brother!

Robert Bolton sat back in his chair with a look of disdain, quietly accepted the lighter handed over by Wayne, took a deep drag, and started thinking.

His way of thinking was different from that of the typical triad members. When they heard a new officer was taking over, their first reaction was: Oh, the crooked cops have changed bosses again.

But with his experience as a former secretary in the provincial government office, his first reaction was: The police are probably planning an operation!

Because there hadn't been any recent promotions or transfers in the Organized Crime Unit, nor had any of their leaders been arrested for corruption, the most likely reason for internal personnel changes was that they were redeploying for a major action!

Since arriving in Hong Kong, Robert Bolton had subscribed to seven newspapers: "Police News," "Business Daily," "Oriental Daily," "Entertainment Morning Post," "Hong Kong Film Times," and so on...

Among them, he never missed an issue of "Daily News," "Police News," and "Business Daily"—he read every issue, thought about every article, and always drew conclusions.

This was a habit he developed as a government secretary: using all available public information to judge the current situation. The information and implications in government statements were worth their weight in gold, representing the direction of the wind.

Of course, believing everything you read is worse than reading nothing at all; reading the news is pointless without your own analysis.

But as a former provincial secretary, Robert Bolton had long since turned the ability to interpret, judge, and analyze into instinct. If many businessmen had even half his ability, they would have gotten rich long ago. In his previous life, Robert Bolton had to follow the rules and serve the people, but now, in a capitalist region, this ability directly translates into money—he could finally go all out.

That's why so many bosses and officials read the news every day—they love reading the papers for this very reason.

Robert Bolton's big-picture perspective was thus far beyond that of ordinary triad members or even the top bosses. At this moment, he keenly made a judgment: "Seven Brother is probably here to scout the place. Could they be targeting me?"

"Luckily my turf is squeaky clean, or else I'd really have been taken in today." Robert Bolton took a drag, slowly exhaled the smoke, and his brows unconsciously furrowed.

"Everyone, keep playing, keep playing, it's fine..." Wayne clapped his hands, grabbed the microphone, and shouted loudly.

As the police left, the guests and hostesses in the club slowly sat back down.

But their expressions were still a bit sour.

The music resumed. Seeing the atmosphere in the club was off and some guests were packing up to leave, Robert Bolton simply said to Wayne, "Send a glass of foreign liquor to every table."

"Yes, boss." Wayne took the microphone and shouted out the message. The place erupted in cheers, and the atmosphere gradually recovered.