The hitman was clearly stunned by Rorschach's logic.
But as a cartel gunman, he still had that basic streak of ruthlessness.
Seeing that Rorschach had no intention of surrendering, his finger tightened on the trigger, ready to put a bullet in Ginny first and deal with the rest later.
Catching the shift in his mood, Rorschach quickly raised his hands in a calming gesture. "All right, all right, I get it—you've got the balls to pull the trigger."
At this point, only a few steps separated him from the gunman.
Rorschach casually dropped the shotgun at his feet and spread his hands. "See? I did what you said. Gun's down. Your turn to let her go."
"Rorschach…" Ginny fought down the dizziness and looked at him, eyes full of worry. At the same time, the only hand she could still move was inching quietly toward her waist.
Seeing Rorschach actually drop the gun, the hitman let out a triumphant snort. "Fine. I'll let her go first… then send you both to hell."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he yanked his gun up, the dark muzzle swinging straight to Rorschach.
Maybe in the next second he would pull the trigger—or maybe, like every movie villain ever, he would spit out a threat first before firing.
Rorschach's attention, however, was not on his words. It was on the way he was holding his gun.
"Buddy, I'll give you this—you look cool holding it like that. But I've gotta point something out."
He nodded at the sideways‑held pistol and said evenly, "You hold it like that and your point of aim's gonna be off by at least five degrees. Plus the brass is gonna bounce off the slide and smack you in the face, mess up your vision—"
Bang!
Before he could finish, the hitman jerked the trigger.
Already braced, Rorschach slipped to the side, dodging the shot.
The gunman tried to fire again, but the casing spat out of the ejection port smashed into his own cheek.
Rorschach surged in, wrapping him around the waist and driving him to the pavement.
Crack!
Before the man could react, the arm holding the gun had been wrenched backward and snapped.
Rorschach ripped the pistol from his hand and drove a knee into the back of his neck, pinning him down. "See? I wasn't lying to you."
"You—"
Smack.
Rorschach had no interest in hearing it. He cuffed him across the face, then grabbed a fistful of his hair and growled, "You get one shot at this. Why did the Salamanca family send people to kill me?"
He jammed the muzzle into the man's groin. The hot steel made the gunman shudder all over.
Staring into Rorschach's cold eyes, he swallowed hard and did not dare hold anything back. "It—it was Tuku. He told us to execute you. Said… said because of you he lost a shitload of money."
"Tuku?"
Rorschach frowned. He had assumed this crew came from Jose. He had not expected the order to come from Tuku, the Salamanca lieutenant in charge of distribution.
As far as he knew, his only contact with their clan was this morning's fight. Looked like not just Jose—Tuku had also dumped a lot of cash on that match.
"Sounds like your boss is really strapped for cash…"
A plan was already taking shape in Rorschach's mind. He quickly scanned their surroundings.
The street was empty now; the gunfight had sent any bystanders running. Ginny, having relaxed once she saw him drop the attackers, had passed out cold.
Then, under the gunman's confused stare, Rorschach pulled a phone from his pocket and tossed it to him.
"Call your boss."
"Huh? Oh. Yeah…"
Hands shaking, the killer punched in Tuku's number.
Once the call connected, Rorschach took the phone but did not answer the frantic voice barking in his ear right away.
Instead, he looked down at the man on the ground, who was trying to smile his way into mercy, and said, "Remember what I just taught you? No matter what, never hold the gun sideways."
"Got it, got it," the man babbled, nodding frantically.
"Good. Then here's wishing you come back as a competent hitman in your next life."
In his office, Tuku stared at the phone, baffled. Before he could demand an explanation, a gunshot cracked loud in his ear.
Then a cold voice came through the speaker.
"Tuku, right? I'm that little cop you're trying to kill. Your boy here tells me you're a little short on cash…"
"…"
Ten seconds later, after giving him a time and place, Rorschach hung up and deleted the call from the log.
He was not worried that Tuku might blow him off. A cartel boss with a reputation for brutality, whose men he had just wiped out—phone call or not, the man would have come hard for him anyway.
Rorschach turned the pistol in his hand and walked from body to body, putting a bullet through each skull.
As he did, thin red streaks of light rose from the corpses in his vision.
As full‑blown cartel gunmen with blood all over their hands, there was no doubt: when he opened the Eye of Judgment, every one of them had been crowned with the pitch‑black mist of absolute evil.
Sin values all over ninety, every last one. No need for a verdict. Immediate execution. And rich rewards for doing it.
"Shit. Guess the trick really is to kill more dealers."
He breathed out in satisfaction, feeling the red light pour into him.
This time, in addition to the four streams that became Justice Value to boost his skills, one of the red streaks carried a specialization from its former owner.
Raising an eyebrow, Rorschach first dumped all four units of Justice into Firearms Mastery. The number in his head ticked up.
From Firearms Mastery (85/100) to Firearms Mastery (89/100).
A faint tremor ran through his trigger finger as he gripped the gun, as if a new, subtle understanding had formed between his hand and the weapon.
Only then did he look at the skill wrapped in the remaining red light—
Drug Manufacturing Mastery (1/100).
"…F*ck."
Rorschach swore under his breath. He had known better than to expect any respectable talents off this crew.
He shoved the thought aside, grabbed the radio, and called it in.
"Dispatch, this is 7‑C‑15."
"Copy, go ahead."
"We were ambushed by armed suspects. Five in total. All are down. Send units to process the scene ASAP. Our location is…"
He finished giving the address and heard the operator on the other end falter, voice shifting.
"So… you neutralized five armed assailants lying in wait for you?"
"Is that really so surprising?"
"…Any officers injured? Should we dispatch an ambulance?" After a brief pause, the operator slipped back into a formal tone.
"I'm fine. As for my partner…" Rorschach walked around to the passenger side and checked Ginny, who had been knocked out cold by the crash.
She did not look hurt at first glance. But as he cradled her head to undo the seat belt locked tight across her chest, something wet touched his fingers.
"What the f*ck?!"
He slammed the transmit button. "Get me a damn ambulance here now. My partner's hit!"