Chapter 50 You are not a butcher, but a devil!

In a warehouse in Hell's Kitchen, a white man is hanging in the air by a rope.

The other person had a turned-up nose, curly red hair, and was wearing an outdated black leather jacket. He looked exhausted.

"Please, put me down."

The man pleaded weakly.

"You're not from here, are you?"

Matt asked him as he stood in front of him.

"From your accent, I can tell that you are not from here. When I say 'native', I mean North America. Maybe you are German or Polish, or from some Eastern European country."

Matt made an inference based on the voice and asked the other party, "Am I right, Mr. Jason Teague?"

Jason, who was hanging, opened his swollen eyes and nodded.

He wanted to say something to beg for mercy, but was quickly interrupted by Matt.

"Mr. Jason, you shouldn't have devoured my employer's cargo."

Matt pointed out the mistakes the other party had made.

"My employer is a man who doesn't like trouble. He likes people who follow the rules, and you just happened to make a mistake that he doesn't like."

"Have you found the goods he swallowed?"

Matt asked the men next to him.

"Most of it has been found, but there is still a part that cannot be found."

His subordinate reported to him: "According to him, some of the goods were sold by him."

Matt nodded to show that he understood.

He gestured to the person next to him, and his men immediately came over and covered Jason's mouth.

Jason struggled desperately, trying to speak, but he couldn't.

He had his own smelly socks in his mouth with a piece of tape on the outside.

After Jason calmed down, Matt looked at the lamb to be slaughtered.

Although he couldn't see, he nodded repeatedly as if appreciating a work of art.

Then Matt's fingers crawled up Jason's chin like spider legs.

He ran his fingers over the dried blood to his ear, which was swollen like a cauliflower, and then over the string of numbers on his forehead.

The numbers on the forehead were not written with a pen, but were scratched with a razor blade.

Matt lifted Jason's head and his fingers touched the messy flesh on the back of his neck.

"You look like you've been through a lot."

Matt sighed softly at the tied guy.

Then he tapped the scab with his fingertips, once, twice.

"And it's a new method of torture."

Matt turned to his men and asked, "You did this?"

"New tools, sir."

His men explained to him, "We picked up a few random things from his kitchen. It was the cheese grater that caused it. I even broke three of his fingers with a garlic press."

“It’s a perfect combination of torture and cooking, it’s really unique.”

It was unclear whether it was sarcasm or praise, Matt said to his subordinates with an expressionless face.

"Actually, I know a little bit about gourmet food, so I fried some donuts before I got here."

Matt moved away from Jason and said casually: "Although I have confidence in your cooking, I don't have much confidence in your torture."

As he spoke, he pushed up the frame of his sunglasses.

"He has confessed." The subordinate said, "Sir, do you mean that he didn't tell the truth?"

"I'd rather hear him say it in person."

Matt's expression became a little serious. "This matter has dragged on for long enough. My employer is already very dissatisfied."

He said as he pulled out a small bag from his pocket and placed it on the ground.

Then he opened the bag, pinched the bottom of the bag, and poured out the contents onto the floor.

The bag was filled with tiny pieces of bones, most of which were no bigger than marbles. Some looked like long teeth, and many more looked like hand bones or something like that.

The carpal bones are like the gravel in the driveway, the metacarpal bones are like Lincoln blocks, and the phalanges are like dog treats or the heads of umbrellas.

All the bones were cleaned thoroughly and spread out on the ground in a white area.

Matt didn't touch the bones, he just ran his fingers over them, like he was reading a children's book, mashing out words.

Jason, who was tied up, looked at him in horror, not knowing what this guy in sunglasses wanted to do.

Matt couldn't see with his eyes, but he could easily touch the bones he wanted.

"Good, this is it, start with this finger."

After selecting, he said with satisfaction.

Then he picked up the bones on the ground and put them back into the small bag.

Then he stood up and looked into Jason's bloodshot, terrified eyes.

"Actually, you shouldn't make mistakes."

Matt shook his head and said, "Do you know where these bones come from? I took them from those who were punished."

"I also have a hobby, which is cooking. I cook with hands taken from people."

He continued in a nonchalant tone:

"Cook until the meat separates from the bone, like you would stew an ox knuckle. When there's no meat on the bone, take it out and clean it with bleach, smoke it, and I'll see if there's anything suitable and put it in my collection bag."

Before he could finish, Jason said in a horrified and unclear voice: "I'm telling the truth, please let me go and don't cut off my hand!"

Hearing the other party say this, Matt nodded with satisfaction.

After everything was settled, he left the dock warehouse.

After the subordinate walked out of the warehouse, he asked him nervously, "Sir, did you really do that? Collecting cooking hand bones."

Matt pushed up his sunglasses and smiled, "How is that possible? I'm a lawyer, not a butcher."

"What I showed him just now were just some cow bones and bear claw bones. I'm not bored enough to play this kind of butcher game, but my employer has done this before."

The subordinate swallowed his saliva, looked at Matt's handsome profile, and muttered in his heart: "You are not a butcher, you are a devil."

Midtown High School.

Peter put his bag in his locker and looked at the empty locker next to him.

That was Gwen's locker.

After a moment's hesitation, he pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Gwen.

"You're taking the day off today? Gwen."

Gwen quickly replied to him: "Yes, I need to take some time to control myself. If I throw King Kong to the ground every time, it will be a disaster for me."

Peter frowned and replied to her: "Control? How to control?"

"That's a long story. Controlling your own body is a difficult thing anyway. I have to change myself. Don't worry, I will start the class tomorrow, and maybe I can surprise you then."

"Well, I'm looking forward to it."

Peter put away his phone and walked towards the classroom.

But after entering the classroom, he found that the atmosphere in the classroom seemed a little different from usual.

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(End of this chapter)