John Wick - Chapter 142: The Rome Police (Patreon)

Nate watched a convoy of police cars race toward the motel and found himself at a loss for words. The fighting outside must have been so fierce that somebody inside had called the police.

He'd forgotten something rather important. Rome had police. Last night, he'd practically shot his way across the entire city without encountering a single officer. He knew The Continental had arranged that, but the experience had made him forget that the police were a force to be reckoned with at all.

Even when he heard the sirens, he hadn't thought much of them. It wasn't until 47 got into his car that Nate remembered the problem. 47 wasn't affiliated with The Continental. Of course he had to avoid the police!

And that was how Nate had ended up in this ridiculous situation.

“Uh... no.”

He stood there, thoroughly deflated, until the police arrived. Their cars stopped a little over twenty meters away.

The officers climbed out, took one look at the mutilated, blood-soaked bodies scattered around the motel, and started shouting. “Sir, don't resist! Raise your hands where we can see them. Show us you aren't armed!” Several hands were already drifting toward holsters.

Nate lowered his head slightly and shot those officers a hard look.

They were the reason he'd failed to catch his target, and seeing them was irritating enough. Now they wanted to give him trouble too? His expression darkened. He activated [Intimidation] at full strength, sending a wave of almost tangible killing intent crashing toward them.

The officers reaching for their guns suddenly found themselves unable to breathe, as though invisible hands were squeezing their throats. Their faces drained of color. One young female officer couldn't take it at all. Her legs buckled, and she fell to her knees.

“Mr. Yama!” a voice shouted from farther away.

A lean, hard-faced police captain in his fifties came running from one of the rear cars.

“Stand down! Attention! Now! You lot...!” Most of the officers snapped to attention, bewildered by the sudden order. The few caught in Nate's killing intent remained frozen.

“You! Hands off your guns!”

The captain barked the command again. When they still didn't respond, he hurried forward to knock their hands away from their holsters. That brought him into Nate's line of sight, and he felt it too.

An icy pressure seemed to seep into his bones, like wind on a cold, rainy day. He handled it better than the rookies. Swallowing hard, he forced himself several steps forward and managed to rasp, “Mr. Yama, we... we mean no harm.”

Nate stared at him for another two seconds, then looked away and deactivated [Intimidation]. The officers gasped as if they'd been released from a chokehold. The young woman on her knees stared at Nate as though he were a monster.

“You lot, come here and apologize to Mr. Yama,” the captain ordered, beckoning them over. Once they'd caught their breath, the officers exchanged frightened looks and hesitated.

“Move!” he snapped.

They shuffled into a line, heads lowered and eyes fixed on the ground.

“Mr. Yama...”

“Please call me Magic Hands,” Nate interrupted, visibly displeased.

The officers glanced at one another, bowed, and said in a ragged chorus, “We're sorry, Mr. Magic Hands.”

Now that sounded better. Nate's mood improved at once, and he nodded with a small smile.

“Not bad. You learn fast. Good work, everyone.” Still smiling, he pressed several gold coins into each officer's hand and placed a whole stack, at least a dozen, into the captain's palm.

He was in a generous mood. Everyone could have a reward.

Nate gave the captain a meaningful look and lowered his voice. “Thanks for cleaning this up, Officer. I won't be making a 'dinner reservation' after all.”

“Understood.” The captain nodded firmly and pocketed his coins. Then, glancing at the rookies still examining theirs, he explained, “These kids are new. They've only been on the force a few days. None of them has ever killed anyone. Your presence overwhelmed them, and they panicked. I hope you'll forgive them.”

“It's fine. Forget about it.” Nate waved the matter away.

He was feeling great. Hearing strangers call him Magic Hands for the first time had been every bit as refreshing as drinking ice-cold Sprite on a blazing summer day.

“By the way, you held up pretty well. Does that come with experience?” Nate teased.

The captain gave an embarrassed smile. He knew exactly what Nate meant. “I've been doing this a long time. I've taken a few lives myself. After everything I've seen, I can endure a little more than they can.”

That made sense. Nate's killing intent, amplified by [Intimidation], was devastating against ordinary people. Against someone who had killed before, though, the effect wasn't quite as strong.

What would you call that? Killing intent canceling out killing intent?

“Impressive. I'll leave the rest to you.” Nate patted the captain's shoulder and turned to go.

“Mr. Magic Hands.” A woman's voice stopped him.

It was the young officer who'd fallen to her knees. She hurried back to a police car, retrieved a pen, and jogged over to him.

“Could I have your autograph?” she asked eagerly.

She came to within half a meter of him, her cheeks flushed like a fan meeting her idol. Nate could practically see her eyes sparkling.

The captain covered his face. He'd tried to stop her, but with Nate standing there, he hadn't quite dared.

Nate looked her over. She was nearly half a head shorter than him and pretty enough, though she couldn't compare to Elena. She did, however, have a remarkably generous figure.

He'd certainly noticed the way everything moved when she'd come running over.

“Uh... what's your name?” he asked, accepting the pen.

“Hannah.” Even her voice was full of energy.

“Where do you want me to sign?”

“Right here~”

With a dazzling smile, she took off her police jacket, revealing a tight white T-shirt that did nothing to hide her curves. Nate could practically feel the jealousy radiating from the male officers behind her.

Then she straightened up, producing another spectacular sway, and pointed cheerfully at the pronounced curve across the front of her shirt.

Wow. Unbeatable, Nate thought. Somehow, he kept a straight face as he signed his name and nickname on the fabric.

As his pen moved across her shirt, he could feel just how soft the surface beneath it was.

He handed the pen back. Hannah smiled, looked down at the writing, and read it aloud.

“Nate... Lin.”

Then she looked up, bold interest shining in her eyes.

“How about exchanging contact information, Mr. Magic Hands?”