117. The Chef, Red Dragon Club

You destroyed a specter. Proficiency +1. Combat Level 2 (137/200).

Dean watched as Tegan Fran’s soul shattered into fragments and dissipated into the air. He retracted his spirit board and turned his gaze toward the pale, dawning sky outside the window.

The soul interrogation had confirmed that the man had not lied.

Unfortunately, yesterday, the three of them had spent the entire night searching the streets and parking lots around the Lake Las Vegas area, following the location of the mysterious guest that Tegan had revealed, but they hadn't even found a shadow of that DR-4539 SUV.

The lake district was quite large; searching aimlessly with only their limited manpower made it difficult to find a lead in such a short time.

Dean sighed, left his home, and got into the car parked by the roadside.

Paqui was leaning in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, resting. Rust was staring quietly out the window, his eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night, his face flushed with a faint redness, looking both exhausted and exhilarated.

After shooting that piece of scum, his initially naive temperament had faded, and he suddenly seemed much more mature and composed.

"Done with your shower?" Rust urged. "How about we go kidnap the boss of the Royal Casino, Scarface’s superior? He must know more inside information about the mysterious guest!"

"Cough, cough... Is it really that simple?" Paqui turned his head, looking at Rust in surprise. Just a short while ago, he was a high school student who had just committed his first murder, and now he was running headlong into a second kidnapping—had the stimulation been too much for him?

"The casino boss isn't a small fry like Tegan. He’s bound to have several bodyguards around him. Kidnapping him would increase the risk at least tenfold. One slip-up, and we’ll be burying ourselves."

"The casino boss doesn't know about the mysterious guest either," Dean said, having already obtained the answer from Tegan’s soul. "Let’s head back to the LVPD first. We’ve been hounding them for clues the past few days; if we suddenly don't show up today, it might arouse suspicion. We still have to keep up appearances."

"I’ll have Holden help look up the license plate number again."

...

LVPD Equipment Room.

Dean and Rust bought a large bag of hearty breakfast as usual and asked, pretending to be casual, "Have you found any trace of Scarface?"

Carl shook his head regretfully. "I have a feeling Scarface probably isn't a local of Las Vegas."

Dean carefully scrutinized his expression to confirm he wasn't lying, but he was certain in his heart that someone within the LVPD was covering for Tegan.

"Back to business," Carl said. "Two pieces of news, one good and one bad. Which one do you want to hear first?"

"The bad news."

"This is the surveillance footage sent by the patrol team..." Holden, who had been staring fixedly at the television screen, turned and beckoned to them. Dark circles hung under his eyes, making him look several years older.

On the screen, a parking lot appeared, along with the familiar F-150.

"The patrol team found Grace’s car at a gas station in California... It had been parked there for over forty-eight hours, but there was no one inside. Grace’s whereabouts are unknown."

Dean nodded; this matched what they had learned from Tegan’s soul the previous night—Grace had been picked up by the mysterious guest in another vehicle.

"So, this footage confirms that Grace has entered California. This has become an interstate case. The LVPD can only go through that process, which is more complicated than quantum mechanics, to file an assistance request with the FBI?"

"Regrettably, that is the only way."

"The good news is... Grace made a brief stop at the gas station before she went missing." Holden switched the surveillance footage; the scene shifted from the gas station’s exterior parking lot to the interior of the store, filled with various goods.

Grace was standing in front of a shelf, picking out items.

"Pay attention to the store entrance..."

A person wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and a mask, covering their entire face and hair, entered the store.

They walked straight to the shelf behind Grace.

Dean leaned toward the screen involuntarily.

This furtive figure had exceptionally muscular arms; even the hoodie couldn't hide the solid outline, which seemed somewhat inconsistent with the person's otherwise average build.

"The second person who entered is the one of interest."

"You noticed. They stood right behind Grace for a full minute."

Holden pressed pause and pointed his finger at Grace’s face on the screen.

The footage resumed, and the three pairs of eyes could faintly see Grace’s lips moving.

"Grace is talking to this hooded man back-to-back."

Dean had originally only come to the LVPD to go through the motions, but he hadn't expected an unexpected surprise. This suspicious hooded man was, in all likelihood, the mysterious guest who had lured Grace out of town.

Holden pressed the fast-forward button. The footage jumped a few times, and the hooded man and Grace walked out of the camera's range one after the other on the west side of the parking lot, until they vanished without a trace.

...

"Gentlemen, don't be so discouraged." Carl brushed the burger crumbs off his hands and consoled them, "At least we know the suspect’s height and build. We can ask our police brothers in California for help first."

Dean smiled weakly; this clue wouldn't help them quickly find that DR-4539 SUV.

"The clues go much further than that." Holden chewed on a hot dog and suddenly smiled cryptically. "Observe this hooded man carefully. He holds a wealth of information."

"Height about five-foot-eleven, medium build, abnormally thick arms?" The two stared intently at the image on the screen.

"The details! The first joint of his left middle finger."

"It looks like a bandage or a plaster? What does that prove? That his finger was injured?" Rust looked at Holden, confused. Dean touched his own knuckles, lost in thought.

Holden didn't answer. He let the footage continue and then paused it again.

On the screen, the man’s right hand picked up a small item to examine it. The three could clearly see the palm and fingertips of his right hand.

"Notice the first joint of his right index finger."

"Deep, thick calluses," Dean guessed. "Are the calluses on the right index finger and the wound on the left middle finger joint related to the suspect’s profession?"

"Exactly."

Holden smiled approvingly. "A normal person wouldn't easily injure the back of their left middle finger, but a chef might cut that area while slicing ingredients."

Dean and Rust looked at each other, suddenly enlightened.

"And the callus on the first joint of the right index finger is the hallmark of a professional chef. Holding a chef’s knife, washing vegetables, chopping, stirring—repeating these actions day after day, blisters form, and when those blisters wear away, calluses slowly develop. Furthermore, this guy’s arms are exceptionally thick, beyond what his frame should be. He uses his hands heavily in his work."

Holden paused, his dark-circled eyes glowing with confidence.

"Adding all these details together, I am ninety percent sure... he is a highly skilled chef, and not just in Western cuisine."

Dean and Rust exchanged a glance, a spark of excitement appearing in their expressions.

This mysterious guest was actually a chef?

This meant he was very likely working at a restaurant, a crucial piece of information that narrowed down their search area in the Lake Las Vegas district.

The next step was to search every restaurant in that area!

The investigation progress jumped to sixty-five percent!

Dean gave Holden a thumbs up. "I can't believe you managed to analyze so much hidden information from an ordinary piece of surveillance footage."

"When you’re older and have more experience, you’ll be able to see it too."

"Cough, cough..." Carl stroked his smooth, balding head and comforted them with a slightly awkward tone, "Gentlemen, the clues are practically laid out before you."

"As you can see, due to department regulations and staffing pressures, we can't just run off to California. But Holden and I will continue to gather clues locally."

"Thanks, you’ve been a huge help."

"Don't be so mushy, kid."

"Rust, stay strong. Your life hasn't even started yet."

"I understand, but Grace must still be alive!"

...

A while later, while in the restroom, Dean took the opportunity to quietly pass the license plate number to Holden, asking him to look it up privately.

Afterward, he left the LVPD and returned to the car to share the findings with Paqui.

"These cops aren't all useless, after all." A trace of surprise flashed in Paqui’s eyes. "Let's go. To the lake district to find the restaurant."

...

Lake Las Vegas was built around an artificial lake by the edge of Lake Mead. It wasn't as bustling or noisy as the Strip, but it featured beautiful scenery and a quiet environment—a vibrant resort destination with a country-club atmosphere.

It consisted mostly of villas and residential areas.

Once the three drove to the lake district, they bought a Yellow Pages and began to check off the addresses of various restaurants listed inside one by one.

The three drove along the gourmet street, passing building after building, searching for the black SUV, DR-4539.

Occasionally, Dean would enter a building, using his "God’s-eye view" to scout whether there were any staff members whose physical characteristics matched the hooded, masked man from the morning’s surveillance footage.

...

But from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon, they had checked over sixty places and ruled out every suspect.

"How many are left?" Rust looked at the dimming sky, feeling desperate. As the cold wind blew outside the window, he pulled his shoulders in.

"Thirty-five," Dean closed the Yellow Pages and looked at Paqui. "Are all the restaurants in this Yellow Pages?"

"Not necessarily. Some aren't registered. Anyway, hurry up. Let’s try to find the target before dark."

...

The light in the sky grew increasingly dim.

The car drove along the lakeside street and the paths between buildings, visiting thirty-two shops.

Just as they were continuing their journey, the Bronco suddenly slowed down.

"What's wrong, buddy?"

"Next to that building!" Dean pointed to a black SUV parked under a palm tree behind a guardrail by the street.

"DR-4539! F*ck, that’s the one that took Grace!" Rust screamed in excitement, then immediately covered his mouth.

Next to the vehicle stood a multi-story, detached building located in a remote, deserted area; no other buildings could be seen within hundreds of meters. The building’s pure black glass doors and windows were tightly shut, making it impossible to see the interior.

Two bodyguards in black suits and sunglasses stood guard at the entrance. They were tall, lean, and had cold expressions—evidently, they had undergone professional military training.

"This is a restaurant?"

"Yeah, 'Dragon Rouge Club,' that's what it says here." Paqui studied the Yellow Pages. "But it doesn't seem to be open to the public."

Dean frowned deeply. Using his God’s-eye view, he scanned the area: beneath the bodyguards' black suits, they were both equipped with guns, and security cameras were installed overhead.

What impressed him even more was this:

Between the two cameras hung a sign. Red lines depicted a lifelike giant dragon, its entire body covered in rouge-colored scales, its pupils shining like rubies. It stood upright, flapping its wings, head tilted back as if roaring, appearing as though it were about to fly out from the background, breathing flames to burn the world to ashes.

And on its curved, coiled horns, its name was engraved—Dragon Rouge.

Pure black doors, a red giant dragon, blood-red scales.

Dean felt a brief moment of disorientation, experiencing a strong sense of déjà vu.

The letters "Dragon Rouge," DR, Red Dragon.

Where had he seen this before?

His brain raced.

Dean held his breath. A golden invitation flashed in the air before his eyes—that obscure golden invitation he had found in the safe of the hunter Layton Stone’s family!

The pattern and letters on the invitation were identical to those on the entrance of this building!

So, the location corresponded to this place!

The progress jumped to seventy percent!

What was the connection between this Dragon Rouge Club and Layton Stone?

Dean thought of a nightmarish possibility, his face turning pale, but then he shook his head.

When he had interrogated the souls of the Layton Stone family, they had all confirmed that there were no other hunters in Las Vegas.

So that couldn't be it.

"Buddy, are you not feeling well? You look terrible."

Rust looked back at him, then turned his gaze toward the black building with a fighting spirit. Paqui was currently speaking with the guards.

"I'm thinking about how to get in." Dean sighed.

...

"We can't get in." Paqui returned to the car. "I checked. It’s a private club, not open to the public; only members and invitees are allowed inside."

"Members?" Rust asked curiously.

"You need some kind of identity token—an invitation, a letter of invitation, or a membership card to participate in the activities," Paqui said. "It looks like there’s an event tonight. We need to plan carefully and sneak in."

Hearing this, Dean looked at the event description again. The requirement stated that he had to take Rust along to find the answer. He felt a deep sense of malice, but he had no choice but to speak.

"What if I have an invitation?"