yasinovel Chapter 17 The Great Bread and the Treacherous Minister
Chapter 17 The Great Bread and the Treacherous Minister
The police officer was completely baffled.
You can report me if you want, but what do you mean by making the sheriff come out to see you?
These days, you have to wait in line to report someone. Who do you think you are? Who do you think I am? A public servant?
He was momentarily stunned by Martin's words. Looking at Martin, who seemed so self-righteous, and then at Winston behind Martin with his hostile gaze, the curse that was already on the tip of his tongue circled around his tongue a few times, but he just couldn't bring himself to say it.
On the other hand, the young man next to him, who had only been working for a few days and lacked social experience, was already feeling guilty because of the conversation earlier, and was now hurriedly explaining:
"The officer is apprehending the suspect, along with two accomplices who were protecting him... Uh, we received a report from a resident, a legitimate report, but I didn't mean to imply that the previous reports were illegitimate..."
"Shut the fuck up." The older officer turned and cursed, casually pulling out an old, damp pipe. He tried to light it with a match three or four times before finally succeeding, then shoved the mouthpiece into his mouth and asked Martin, "Are you here to cause trouble?"
"How could that be?" Martin feigned surprise. "To be honest, my 'friend'," he said, tilting his head slightly in Winston's direction, "has a good relationship with Inspector McLeod Angus. We only decided to approach him after hearing his name."
That's half true.
McLeod Angus and Winston had met once before and were both impressed by each other—Angus had escorted Winston to Westminster Palace on the day he went to the Prime Minister’s inauguration.
In other words, the detective is one of the few people in this country who knows what the prime minister looks like...
The older officer squinted at Winston, who remained silent, and his first impression was that the man had a certain air about him.
Style and appearance are related, but it's more about aura. Even if Winston's face is covered, people will still think that his messy, slightly curly black hair and the coat he casually wrapped around his body are very stylish, rather than "Why doesn't this guy even comb his hair and just throw on some pajamas to go out?" If Winston's face isn't covered... well, I guess I'll have to cover it up, the old police officer thought.
His detective instincts, which he had struggled with for years and whose very existence was uncertain, stirred faintly.
"That's right, these two are probably still here to cause trouble," he thought, squinting. Only, they weren't targeting him, because Winston made no attempt to hide his bad mood. If they had a good relationship with his superior, they wouldn't be acting this way.
After deducing the answer, the veteran officer became even more cautious and gave his younger colleague a meaningful look:
Go and tell the officer to prepare for battle.
The young man understood, his heart pounded, and he turned and ran into the garden.
The veteran officer held his breath, pretending to remain calm and silent, but in reality, he didn't know what to say. The two people opposite him seemed to be influential figures. Helping his superior in a fight would easily offend people, and trying to build a relationship with them would risk losing his job.
Martin, on the other hand, chatted with Winston leisurely and as if nothing had happened. His unhurried demeanor and sophisticated vocabulary gave the misty park the feel of Westminster Palace.
The veteran police officer became increasingly uncomfortable under the pressure of this mysterious force, but he couldn't afford to lose his temper for no reason, so he had no choice but to endure it and take a few deep drags on his pipe.
Finally, someone came out of the garden. He breathed a sigh of relief and, suppressing his joy, went to greet them.
"Sir, these two people..."
"What brings you two here?"
Inspector McLeod Angus completely ignored him, his forehead wrinkles crinkling as he grinned so wide that his deepest teeth were showing. He sincerely took off his hat to greet Winston and was about to shake hands with him, but Martin pushed him away.
"Detective Angus, it's a pleasure to meet you," Martin said, gripping the detective's hand tightly. "I have a few friends who I heard were reported to the authorities."
He didn't mention that the person reported was Winston's friend, only that he was his own friend, but Inspector Angus subconsciously glanced at Winston.
Winston was in a better mood by now and gave him a slight smile.
Detective Angus: "..."
He has the same name as a steak, and he's as muscular as a cow, with two large, rib-bread-like biceps on either side of his square, tough-guy face.
But that doesn’t mean his brain is all muscles.
In fact, as a detective, McLeod Angus was very quick-witted; he immediately and without hesitation said:
"It's a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding."
"Really?" Martin asked, seemingly still uneasy. "I'm not one to side with my own people, and I've always supported Scotland Yard in handling cases impartially. If you find any evidence of cult members' activities here, I will fully cooperate with the police to bring my friends to justice."
"Haha." Inspector Angus chuckled dryly, glanced at Winston again, and mentally unleashed a torrent of curses. After insulting the whistleblower and his blood relatives, he launched a fierce attack on the pretentious Martin.
A sycophant who relies on the Prime Minister's glib tongue! A treacherous minister!
"It's really a misunderstanding," he insisted. "You are a law-abiding and honest gentleman. As the saying goes, birds of a feather flock together, and your friends are naturally all upright and reliable people."
"I see." Martin suddenly understood. "Then I'm relieved."
He turned to Winston and asked, "Are you relieved now?"
Winston, who had been watching his performance the whole time, barely managed to keep his composure, nodding seriously and saying, "I'm relieved."
Inspector Angus breathed a sigh of relief.
"Okay, we'll head back to the police station now..."
"Wait, Inspector."
Winston's voice, like a demonic whisper, froze McLeod Angus in place. "I know you're busy, but if you have the time, it would be best to report the investigation's progress to your superiors—I mean real progress, not the kind that's just going through the motions. But I'm not saying the previous investigations were all just going through the motions. What do you think?"
"..."
The young police officer standing to the side wished he could bury his head in his neck, and Detective Angus's shoulders slumped.
He wiped the smile from his face, straightened his back, and said to Winston in a solemn and serious manner, "Yes, sir... I will."
Winston nodded and said calmly, "That would be perfect."
He didn't say anything more, and strode into the depths of the garden, with Martin following closely behind him.
Inspector Angus held his hat to his chest and watched them until they were out of sight.
The two officers standing nearby were completely dumbfounded. After a long while, the older one asked in a low voice, "Sir, who exactly are they...?"
Inspector Angus glared at him upon hearing this.
What an idiot! He didn't expose Winston's identity the whole time, but deliberately cooperated with Martin's act, of course, because there were some things he couldn't say in public—how could the Prime Minister be associated with a heretic? Even if he was framed!
"You have the nerve to ask?" the detective said coldly. "I was just about to ask you that. What do you mean by 'the previous investigations were all just a charade'? Who the hell said that, and even had the chief...that guy overhear it??"
The young officer reflexively looked at the older officer, whose face instantly turned deathly pale.
Seeing this, Detective Angus understood perfectly. He immediately launched into a long, eloquent speech: "Fuck you @%#￥&……"
After a barrage of clapper talk, the police officer was thoroughly berated, his face turning white and then red, then white again. The detective, finally exhausted from yelling, stopped and suddenly remembered the whistleblower.
"Who the hell said there are heretics?"
The young police officer had never seen anything like it before and was almost in tears. He timidly replied, "They were two thugs with one leg crippled..."
"I'll give you a way to arrest them and break their other legs too!!"
……
While Inspector Angus was transitioning into becoming the great British poet Ode to 300, Winston, on the other hand, pushed open the door to Professor Lovecraft's house.
Margaret, like a fledgling returning to its nest, immediately ran to him, lifting her skirt: "Prime Minister, you're back!"