North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws

Airport.

Dean held a temporary sign, leaning against his car and smoking. His eyes occasionally met those of single women drawn to his good looks. Less than half an hour later, he had already collected nearly twenty slips of paper and business cards in his pocket.

Due to the weather, the flights were somewhat delayed. But judging by the time, they should have already arrived. Dean gathered his Spirit, watching the emerging crowd. These two bastards had been roaming abroad and hadn't returned for nearly three or four years. Consequently, Dean's memory of them had grown somewhat vague.

His second uncle was a pure Italian. He had been handsome by nature but had since put on weight, becoming an endearing, chubby fellow. Cheerful in disposition, he was quite generous with the younger generation like Dean. His older brother, Beck, on the other hand, had brown hair and blue eyes, with an appearance leaning more towards Irish—what some might call an Englishman. In Dean's memory, Beck was even larger than him, a perfect inheritor of their grandmother's genes. It was foreseeable that by the time Beck reached his thirties or forties, he would sport a distinctive Mediterranean hairstyle, transitioning from a handsome young man to a balding hunk.

Just as he was lost in these thoughts, a commotion erupted at the airport exit. Several tall security guards surrounded two familiar figures laden with bags. Among them, a bald, middle-aged white man sat on the ground, covering his right cheek, his mouth bleeding profusely. It seemed a fight had broken out.

My brother certainly has a temper, Dean thought with a grin. He dropped his cigarette butt, clipped his detective badge to his chest, pushed through the onlookers, and walked over.

Of the two men surrounded by security, one was tall and robust. His wild brown hair flowed like a lion's mane, and at nearly two meters in stature, his very presence exerted significant psychological pressure on the guards. This was Dean's older brother, Beck. Next to Beck stood a chubby white man with a helpless expression: Bart, Dean's second uncle.

Dean approached from behind the security guards, just about to speak, when he saw two of them move forward, attempting to pull Beck aside into a small, dark room. The next moment, Beck tossed his hair, grabbed the two guards by their clothes, and with a forceful shove, sent them flying. The sudden action caused some of the onlookers to scream in shock. As the two muscular guards were thrown aside, the other two cursed and backed away, drawing their small-caliber handguns.

"FUCK!"

The surrounding gawkers screamed at the sight of guns and scattered, fearing they'd be caught in the crossfire.

"Hands on your head, get down!"

"Warning! Get down with your hands on your head, now!"

The two guards tensely aimed their weapons at Beck and Bart. The guard who had been thrown over a meter away also angrily pulled out his sidearm, his face contorted in fury. This damn bastard made them lose face big time today!

Beating someone up was a minor issue, Dean thought, but with the guards drawing their guns, things had gotten much more complicated. Beck, equally speechless at the security's overreaction, raised his hands in resignation, ready to comply. Just then, a figure inserted himself into the middle of the confrontation. All eyes immediately fell on the man who had appeared so abruptly.

Dean spread his hands in the air to show he was unarmed. "Guys, cool it! I'm Detective Dean from the police department. This is just a minor issue. If you don't want the crowd to grow and blow this out of proportion, how about we settle this in the small room to the side?"

The four guards glanced at the badge on Dean's chest and then at the onlookers watching from a distance. They nodded. Two of the guards accompanied Dean, Beck, and Bart. The other two brought the man Beck had struck, who was still on the ground. All of them went to the small room.

Dean handed each of the guards a cigarette before chuckling. "These two are my family, guys. Could you spare me a few minutes? I'm on the cusp of a promotion to lieutenant, and I'd rather not deal with any annoying issues right now. So, I won't make things difficult for you."

Airport security, strictly speaking, is part of Los Angeles law enforcement. However, their jurisdiction is limited to the airport interior and isn't extensive. Hearing about Dean's upcoming promotion to lieutenant, the lead security guard smiled as he accepted the cigarette. "Detective Dean, no problem. We'll go get a statement from that bald guy first. Just bring your family over when you're ready." A lieutenant could already lead a team independently. Regardless of whether Dean was telling the truth, offering a small convenience was no big deal.

As soon as the guards left the cubicle, Uncle Bart gave Dean an enthusiastic hug. "Wow! The little calf from back in the day has become so strong! A detective, even! You're the most impressive one in our family now!" The warmth dispelled the awkwardness from their years apart.

Dean easily lifted him. "Yes, I can lift you now, Bart, even though you look like you've gained some weight."

"Can't help it, I just can't control my appetite," Bart chuckled.

The two parted. Beck, on the other hand, had a far more wild way of greeting. He landed a hefty punch on Dean's chest. Seeing Dean stand firm, Beck nodded in satisfaction. "Dean, you've grown a lot taller, and you haven't skipped your workouts. I trust you took good care of Mom and the others while I was away."

Dean felt a pang of shame. His predecessor had been nothing but an overgrown idiot. But he was different now.

Dean nodded. "We'll catch up later, Beck. Tell me what just happened."

Uncle Bart also looked helplessly at Beck. "I'd also like to know why you suddenly slapped that bald Englishman. He wouldn't stop jabbering on the plane, sure, but..."

"He touched me there!" Beck said, his face darkening.

Bart's words died in his throat.

After a moment of silence, Bart patted his own stomach and suppressed a smile. "Beck, I've warned you. Moderate workouts attract women; excessive ones only attract gay men."

Dean burst into laughter. "Beck, that just proves your charm! Though, if it were me, I would've broken his hand."

Now that the matter was clear, it would be easy to resolve! The airport was full of security cameras.

When Dean walked into the other side of the small room, the bald Englishman, his face already swollen, was protesting to the security guards, declaring he would definitely sue Beck.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Dean rapped on the wall. "Suing is fine, compensation as well. But I must remind you, this whole thing started because you touched that gentleman's private area. And that gentleman has already reported to me that you molested him. Tsk, tsk, buddy, if you don't want to hit the international headlines and become a celebrity in the Commonwealth for a while, I suggest you think this through very carefully."

The bald Englishman glared at Dean. "And who the hell are you?"

Dean pointed to the badge on his chest. "Detective Dean, Los Angeles Police Department. My application for promotion to lieutenant is already being processed. Oh, and the person you touched? That's my big brother. My actual older brother!"

The bald Englishman was speechless. He licked his lips and looked pleadingly at the security guards. "You heard him! He's threatening me! He's intimidating me! He's slandering me!!!"

The security guards, already annoyed by him, made a show of being distracted, looking everywhere else and pointedly ignoring him. Dean, too, opened his suit jacket, revealing the handcuffs and holster at his waist, his gaze turning menacing.

In the end, the matter was settled privately. The Englishman paid Beck two thousand US Dollars as a spiritual consolation payment. The four security officers, clutching their share of the US Dollars, enthusiastically saw Dean and his family off. If the guards themselves had tried to extort the man, it would have been risky. But with Beck, the actual victim, making the demand, it wasn't much of a problem. A win-win.

「Driving away from the airport.」

Bart looked at Dean with relief. "Dean, you've truly matured. I was worried you'd be all muscles and no brains like Beck. In you, I see a glimpse of our legendary family ancestor – Hamo Luches."

Beck, who was joyfully counting his US Dollars, looked up and smirked. "Oh, come on, Bart. There you go again with those old stories. The Mafia is in decline, and you've all become insignificant farmers."

Bart kicked Beck's butt. "That's only because Sheila refused to let you inherit the 'Lucchese' surname! Otherwise, with our connections on the East Coast, we wouldn't always be getting pushed around out there!"

Dean, however, was already numb to it all. Lucchese... One of the five major Italian Mafia families. Even though times had changed and a surname alone didn't mean everything, it still served as a bond for those sharing the same bloodline. If their interests aligned, they would quickly reunite.

Dean muttered inwardly, I'm just glad my name isn't Dean Lucches. Otherwise... I wouldn't even be able to pass the Z-review. Then, to gain Experience Points, I'd probably become some ridiculous figure: a law-breaking Mafioso by night, and a crime-solving private detective by day... The very thought is absurd.

Suddenly, Beck's exclamation interrupted Dean's wild thoughts.

"FUCK! Dean, is this your car?" Beck caressed Dean's coupe with fascination. "Is this a Ford Mustang Shelby GT500? Why is there so much space inside? I like SUVs, but I love the roar of this car's engine even more!"

"It's a customized model. Cost 430,000 US dollars, paid in full. If you want it, I'll give it to you. I was actually thinking of getting a more convenient SUV anyway."

"430,000 US dollars!"

Beck and Bart were both dumbstruck.

Seeing their expressions, Dean knew these two old-timers hadn't been doing well for themselves out there. That was probably why they hadn't been home in years. When you're not doing well, you lay low. Once successful, you return home in glory. That's the same in any country.

"Dean, I think I need to get to know you all over again. Are detectives this wealthy now?" Beck reluctantly removed his hand from the car.

"It was a gift from a friend. Anyway, Mom has already prepared a sumptuous dinner for you at home. We have to get going!"

Dean's car had a long front and was originally a two-seater. But this customized version connected the seating area with the trunk space, allowing it to be converted into a bed—convenient for some 'private' activities. So taking two more passengers, adding more men to the mix, was no issue at all.

On the way from the airport, the traffic snaked along like a dragon, incredibly congested. Yet, there were hardly any incidents of road rage. Christmas was approaching. The hearts of wandering children and returning travelers were no longer on the road; they had already flown to their long-missed homes...