Chương 120: Special Edition: Hiring a Killer

At five o'clock in the morning, in the newly set up printing plant.

Arthur stood at the printing press's output and picked up the first newspaper that had just been printed.

This is a special edition with only one side; there is no other content.

The entire page features only one huge photo, taking up two-thirds of the space.

The photo shows three men bound by ropes and kneeling on a carpet. The one in the middle, bald Danny Costello, has injuries on his face and looks at the camera with a terrified expression.

On the floor in front of them, neatly arranged were the opened envelope, a stack of consecutive US dollars, two train tickets to Chicago, and the stamp enlarged in close-up.

The words "Mayor's Office of the City Hall" stood out starkly.

Above the photo was the title Arthur had chosen, printed in the largest, boldest font, like a roar: Mayor used public funds to hire a killer The subtitle follows immediately: Is this administrative funding, or a license to kill?

Arthur began reading the main text.

At 1 a. m. last night, three armed assailants attempted to attack the editor-in-chief of this newspaper on 42nd Street. They were carrying guns fitted with silencers and intended to escalate the violence against the newspaper into murder.

This is one of the attackers, Danny Costello, a union representative under the Tammany Association and the de facto controller of the Metropolitan Construction Company—the very company that used the municipal detonators that burned down our printing plant.

This is the envelope found on him. The stamp indicates it came from the "Mayor's Office, City Hall".

These are two train tickets in the envelope, destined for Chicago, departing at 6: 00 AM this morning.

This is the envelope containing two thousand dollars in cash, consecutively numbered new bills.

The facts speak for themselves.

Our mayor, this gentleman who hosts charity balls at the Plaza Hotel, is using taxpayers' money to hire gangsters to silence any criticism of him.

He turned the city hall into a gang and administrative funds into bounties for murders.

This is not a political struggle. This is premeditated murder.

Patrick walked over and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"How many have been printed?" Arthur asked.

"Five thousand copies."

"That's enough. Send them all out. Don't just put them on newsstands. Get someone to put them up—on the city hall, on the police station, on the stock exchange wall."

Jimmy Walker woke up at eight o'clock in the morning in his suite at the Ritz Hotel.

He didn't sleep well last night. He was waiting for Danny's call, but the phone didn't ring.

This silence made him feel a deep unease.

He made three calls, but no one answered. The last time, the line went dead, as if it had been disconnected.

He sat up in bed, rubbed his temples, and planned to go to the office to find out what was going on.

But the bottle of whiskey he drank last night was still churning in his stomach, making his head feel as heavy as lead.

Just then, a series of urgent and frantic bangings came from outside the door.

Walker put on his bathrobe and opened the door.

McGuire burst in, his face as pale as a sheet. He clutched a newspaper in his hand, his hands trembling violently.

"Mayor—something's happened." McGuire's voice was hoarse.

Walkton sensed something was wrong and snatched the newspaper.

When Walker saw the headline, the photo, and the enlarged stamp, his mind went blank, as if he had been hit hard with a sledgehammer.

He took two steps back and bumped into the cabinet in the entryway.

"This is a forgery—this is slander—" Walker muttered to himself.

But he knew it wasn't.

He took the envelope himself. He arranged for someone to buy the two train tickets.

Everything was laid bare in the sunlight.

"Where's Danny?"

Walker jerked his head up and grabbed McGuire by the collar.

"Where's that good-for-nothing? I don't believe they were really arrested!"

McGuire said, trembling, "They're gone. They didn't get on the train. I checked at the station, but no one checked tickets."

Walker released his grip, and McGuire slumped against the wall.

Walker had to admit that the photos were real: Danny and his group had fallen into the wrong hands.

Walker rushed to the telephone, grabbed the receiver, and dialed the police chief's private number.

The phone rang for a long time before it was answered.

"Muloni! Did you read the newspapers? That's slander! That's kidnapping! I want you to take men and find that bastard Danny right now! Then clarify the facts and show that this has absolutely nothing to do with the city hall!"

On the other end of the phone, Mulloni's voice sounded unusually tired and distant.

"Mayor, I just received a call from the Westbury Inquiry Committee."

Walker's heart clenched, and then he heard Mulroney's voice continue from the other end of the phone: "The Sibyl Commission has officially taken over the custody of three suspects, including Danny Costello. They are currently being held in a state trooper safe house on Long Island, guarded by officers directly assigned by the governor. My jurisdiction—is not there."

Walker slowly put the receiver back on the landline.

He stood in the luxurious suite, looking out at the gloomy sky.

The person has been arrested. The evidence has been published in the newspaper.

The police station can't be touched because the person isn't in their hands.

The Tammany Association can't save him; this is a hired murder. Collier and his gang of old foxes are probably already thinking about how to cut ties with him.

He was trapped.

McGuire asked cautiously, "Mayor—what do we do? There are reporters everywhere outside."

The man was wearing a bathrobe, his hair was messy, his face was ashen, and his eyes held an emptiness he had never seen before.

Is this person the mayor of New York City?

Is this still the same Jimmy Walker who used to have women on his left and right in nightclubs and wield immense influence in city hall?

Walker straightened the collar of his bathrobe, a hint of madness in his eyes.

"In that case, they can't blame me for using the mayor's sacred power."

"What?" McGuire guessed what Walker meant, but was incredulous for a moment.

He couldn't understand why Walker was still so persistent at this point, and why he could still come up with such a stupid trick.

Walker pointed to the New York Herald on the ground.

"Go investigate this newspaper."

"This newspaper published forged government documents, which are suspected of inciting riots and defaming government officials. As mayor, I have the right to maintain order in the city."

"You mean—"

"Call Mulroney again. Tell him that if he doesn't want to die with me, he should immediately send someone to shut down the New York Herald. The reason given is illegal publication and endangering public safety."

"This time, no need to arrest anyone, just smash that newspaper office! Find evidence of their crimes inside!"

McGuire looked at him, without saying a word or making any move.

Walker slammed his fist on the table and roared, "Go ahead! You want to see me make a fool of myself?!"

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