Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 318 What is a Surprise?
Washington.

Most of the streetlights were broken, with only a few remaining, emitting a dim light.

Zhou Yi sat in the car, repeatedly checking the target window through the low-light camera lens.

The curtains on the third floor were drawn tightly, with pink showing through at the bottom edge.

The line of sight was completely blocked.

He adjusted the magnification, slid the lens across the facade, and finally confirmed that there were no new angles.

The sniping spot was originally well chosen.

The roof of the small restaurant on the west side provides less than two hundred meters of direct sunlight.

Unfortunately, now, not even a silhouette can be seen.

Zhou Yi wasn't disappointed. He put away his equipment, tucked his pistol behind his waist, and got out of the car.

This place is not far from the Anacostia River.

It falls under the category of "high-risk areas" in the police statistics.

A senator's secret lover lived there for several years without any problems.

It's hard to say whether it was good luck or sheer courage.

The red brick building has mottled exterior walls, and the windows on the second and third floors are fitted with cheap screens.

Zhou Yi followed the planned route upstairs and arrived at the target apartment.

He didn't act immediately; instead, he listened intently.

Classical music, laughter, and muffled groans drifted from afar.

No one lingered nearby, and no footsteps approached.

Safe for now.

Zhou Yi took out a thin piece from his pocket, inserted it into the door lock, and gradually applied pressure.

A few seconds later, accompanied by a slight "click," the handle was turned.

The corridor was pitch black.

The air was filled with a pungent smell.

Alcohol, marijuana, sweet powders, and even cheap cologne.

We continued walking until we reached the living room.

The deafening music was coming from an old speaker in the corner.

A sofa bed was haphazardly placed against the wall, and the ****'s actions were unrestrained and without any regard for propriety.

Two hunting rifles were even lying on the ground, with a dozen or so bullets scattered around.

Bruce Harrison was present, completely immersed in the chaotic revelry.

PID.

Zhou Yi stood in the shadows and silently turned on the camera on his chest.

The melody was booming, a classical symphony, but it was played out distorted by a cheap stereo.

The strings were pressed into a sharp, shrill tone, and the double bass vibrato sounded like a gasp.

He raised his pistol, about to pull the trigger, when he caught a glimpse of something on the bookshelf out of the corner of his eye.

A Glock 19.

The magazine is underneath, the grip shows signs of wear, and the paint on the edge of the slide is chipped off.

Great, that saves money.

Zhou Yi stopped what he was doing and instead unscrewed the silencer he was carrying.

The metal rubbed together, producing a barely audible creaking sound.

He took two steps to the right, picked up the pistol, and screwed the silencer back into the thread.

Then, apply slight pressure to confirm that it is secure.

Only then did the man on the sofa finally notice the shadow that had suddenly appeared.

He looked up blankly, his pupils dilated, his expression dazed.

After carefully observing for two seconds, it slowly opened its mouth.

"Hey—baby, is this the surprise you were talking about?"

His voice was hoarse, filled with barely suppressed excitement.

The woman in his arms heard it too.

She groggily looked up, about to answer, when she heard—

With a "click," the bullet was chambered.

Then, Zhou Yi calmly said, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the real surprise."

Before he finished speaking, the trigger was pulled, and with a slight push of his left hand, the impact fire burst forth.

The silencer suppressed the flames, forcibly pushing the air away.

The next second, his forehead exploded with a dark red hue, and fragments sprayed out from the back of his head. His body immediately slumped down.

Blood sprayed onto the sheets, instantly wetting the powder and turning it into a dark liquid.

The limbs were entangled, and the convulsions suddenly stopped, as if someone had pressed the pause button.

The music flowed as usual.

The melody repeats, the brass instruments play in unison, and finally the movement reaches its climax.

Zhou Yi stood motionless in place, carefully observing for a moment to confirm that there were no more living people.

He unscrewed the silencer and casually tossed the gun back. Thump.

The cold metal struck the mangled body and bounced back onto the carpet.

Three hundred thousand in hand.

Zhou Yi turned off the recording, turned around, and walked out.

Pushing open the iron gate of the emergency exit, a humid night breeze rushed towards me.

The police will arrive in at least seven minutes.

He walked briskly across the street corner and onto the bridge.

The railway tracks below remain abandoned, with weeds growing rampant among the rotten sleepers.

In the darkness, the black man who had fallen there yesterday could be vaguely seen, his head bent backwards.

The time since death exceeded twenty-four hours.

It is estimated that the case has not yet been filed.

Zhou Yi didn't linger and headed straight for the Chevrolet.

After a brief adjustment, the engine was started.

On both sides are rows of terraced houses, with peeling paint and mottled wooden doors.

Overflowing garbage bags were piled up on the sidewalk.

The plastic bucket was overturned on the ground, emitting a sour smell.

Occasionally, a few teenagers would squat at the intersection, their clothes loose, looking around warily.

Zhou Yi gripped the steering wheel, ignoring their presence.

A flash of light, a cigarette lit, and the buildings gradually came together in neat rows.

The potholes on the road have disappeared and been replaced with newly laid asphalt.

After another ten minutes of driving, the hotel's exterior finally came into view.

Ripples spread across the fountain pool, and the spray shimmered under the streetlights.

Zhou Yi parked the car in the pick-up area on the side of the road.

From a distance, you can see Isabel standing on the steps.

She didn't bring a suitcase, but carried a backpack with her hands in her pockets.

Zhou Yi unbuckled his seatbelt, got out of the car, and walked over.

"Have you been waiting a long time?" he asked casually.

Isabel didn't answer, but simply raised her chin: "I'll open it with the key."

Zhou Yi tossed the keys over.

“You’d better not be smoking in the car,” she said, taking the phone and adding.

Upon hearing this, Zhou Yi fell silent again.

Isabel sighed and extended her right hand.

"If you want to smoke, please at least sponsor me a lighter first."

"You? When?" Zhou Yi asked, somewhat surprised.

“Occasionally.” Isabel lowered her head to light the fire and let out a long sigh.

"Especially when communicating with others, it is more effective than holding a two-hour policy meeting."

"Does James know about this?"

"Him? Does he know? Doesn't he know? Honestly, I don't care."

The car is just ahead.

Isabel climbed into the driver's seat and flicked the ash out the window.

Zhou Yi adjusted the seat back a little.

"It's been over a year since we last met, and you sound even more resentful."

Isabel smiled enigmatically.

"Perhaps the longer it goes on, the more I start to doubt whether these projects are actually helping people or making them more dependent on support."

As she said this, she shrugged again, her tone suddenly becoming lighter.

"It might be because I've been single for too long and have become a bit irritable."

“You are very honest,” Zhou Yi said.

"Honesty? No, it's a self-deprecating remark from a lonely person."

Isabel stubbed out her cigarette on the sole of her shoe and started the car.

"Enough with the small talk, tell me, where exactly is your mansion?"

"River Road, near Cardenwood Golf Club."

"Since when did you become rich?"

About a month ago.

"What's the reason?"

Zhou Yi shut his mouth.

"I understand, I don't have the authority. My God, you're just like them."

Isabel smiled, stepped on the gas, and turned onto the highway.

(End of this chapter)