High Table at Continental Hotel

A lost pet cat...

A runaway underage girl...

A suspected unfaithful husband...

Stolen jewelry and ornaments...

....

Even though there were many commission letters placed at the doorstep of the detective agency, most of them were routine detective tasks that failed to capture Russell's interest.

After quickly skimming through the commission letters in his hands, Russell tossed them into the trash bin.

Perhaps it's better to deal with the issue of the anonymous phone call first!

Russell opened the cabinet behind him, entered the password, and opened the safe inside.

Several stacks of cash, about twenty or thirty gold coins, two pistols, and four magazines.

These two pistols were an HK P30L and a Glock 26. Despite having physical abilities far beyond a normal person's, when working as an assassin, Russell preferred using pistols rather than engaging in melee combat like a berserker charging in.

To excel as an assassin, he had studied several different shooting techniques. These included the Mozambique Drill, Contact Shooting, Point Shooting, and C.A.R. Shooting, among others.

Times have changed!

It's no longer an era where having a gun is enough to be an assassin.

Professionalism determines how long an assassin can survive.

After checking the HK P30L and Glock 26 from the safe to ensure they were in good condition, Russell put the pistols in holsters and attached them to his belt.

Equipped with his weapons, he retrieved two spare magazines and ten gold coins from the safe, putting them in his pockets.

Having finished these preparations, he locked the safe, closed the agency's front door, and took a taxi to the Continental Hotel.

Although he had driven to this place, he didn't intend to drive to the hotel himself.

The Continental Hotel.

From the outside, it appeared to be an ordinary hotel located at an intersection.

However, in reality, this was the epicenter of assassins in New York.

Regardless of whether someone was a direct employee of the Continental Hotel or not, as long as they possessed the gold coins issued by the ruling body behind the scenes, known as the "High Table," they could enter the hotel and avail all of its services.

The Continental Hotel served as the headquarters for assassins in New York.

This was known not only to the assassins but also to the police of New York.

However, knowing and acting were two different things, and so far, Russell hadn't heard of anyone unlucky enough to be arrested by the police inside the hotel.

To some extent, the Continental Hotel represented safety.

Staying here meant you didn't have to worry about the sudden arrival of the police or the threat of assassination from fellow professionals.

But today, Russell wasn't here to stay; he was here to gather information.

Upon getting out of the taxi, he walked directly into the hotel.

He didn't approach the front desk to find the bald African American receptionist, Charon; instead, he walked confidently to the secret bar located underground in the hotel.

The door of the bar had a coin slot.

Taking out a gold coin from his pocket, Russell inserted it into the slot. The attendant inside glanced through the observation window on the door after the coin dropped in.

Once confirming that Russell was the only person at the door, the attendant opened the door.

Entrance fee: one gold coin!

Although these gold coins were promoted by the High Table, their actual purchasing power remained a mystery.

Entering the bar: one gold coin.

Finding a doctor: one gold coin.

Staying at the hotel: one gold coin.

Disposing of a body: also one gold coin.

Even if it was just getting someone to bring a pet dog to the hotel, it cost one gold coin.

In broader terms, one gold coin could hire an assassin.

In smaller terms, it could only get someone to look after a pet dog for a few hours.

While the purchasing power of these gold coins remained a mystery, under the promotion of the High Table, they had become the universal currency in the world of assassins.

Speaking of which, the enigmatic organization known as the High Table deserved a mention.

The High Table was an alliance of major criminal organizations worldwide, comprising twelve seats with headquarters located in the desert near Casablanca.

These twelve seats made up the leadership of the High Table, each belonging to powerful forces like the Camorra, the Italian Mafia, the Triads, the Russian Mafia, and others.

The Continental Hotel was one of the subsidiary institutions under the High Table.

Outwardly, the High Table appeared to be united, working together against external threats.

However, in reality, it was a sea of hidden currents and power struggles.

But all of this had nothing to do with Russell.

Though he was a direct employee of the Continental Hotel, he didn't belong to any faction.

He took on missions that interested him. If there were none, he played the role of a law-abiding private detective who paid his taxes on time.

It wasn't yet evening.

However, there were already numerous customers in the bar.

Among them were a few old acquaintances of Russell.

After nodding in acknowledgment to these individuals, he headed straight to the bar counter, pulling out a coin and handing it to the bartender.

"I need a reliable hacker; any recommendations?"

"The Rising Tide hacker group has been making quite a stir recently with several high-profile cases. Need me to contact them for you?"

The bartender wiped a glass while speaking.

The Rising Tide group?

That name sounded somewhat familiar!

"Sure, have them call this number."

Russell took out a business card with only a phone number on it from his pocket and placed it next to the gold coin.

"Understood, Mr. Bradley."

"Would you like something to drink?"

The bartender put away the business card and the gold coin, smiling.

"The usual!"

"Very well, sir!"

The bartender took out a glass from the bar and poured Russell a glass of 18-year-old GlenDronach whisky.

It's a bit funny when you think about it.

Russell had been an assassin for over two years, having taken down many targets. However, it wasn't until this year that he finally reached the legal drinking age.

You can get married and obtain a driver's license at sixteen, and you can even join the military and go to war at eighteen. But it's only at twenty-one that you can legally drink alcohol.

What's even funnier is that the regulation on alcohol consumption for those under twenty-one is interpreted differently in various states.

Some states prohibit both drinking and possessing alcohol for those under twenty-one. In other states, there is no law stating that drinking alcohol under twenty-one is illegal; only selling alcohol to customers under twenty-one is illegal.

Even drinking alcohol privately has varying regulations in different states.

In some states, private consumption is allowed, while in others, it isn't...

In some states, you can drink alcohol in the presence of your guardian, while in others, it's allowed for religious reasons...

All from a single legal clause about the drinking age, and yet different states have interpreted it in various ways.

So sometimes you have to say, the United States, the world's number one superpower, can really leave you speechless.

As Russell was pondering the institutional problems of the United States, a tall and well-proportioned black-haired female assassin came and sat beside him. She directly placed her right hand on his shoulder.

"Perkins, I have a girlfriend now!"

Russell removed Perkins' right hand from his shoulder and said slowly.

Perkins could be considered an old acquaintance; they had worked together on several missions before.

Although most assassins are lone wolves, an individual's strength is still limited.

When encountering special missions, it's inevitable to need some partners.

"I know, but your girlfriend isn't here right now."

"I've met her, and she doesn't seem like someone who's so possessive."

Perkins lifted her right hand again, using her fingers to lift Russell's chin, and said with a seductive smile on her face.