Chapter 683 - 438: Expulsion
Looking at his nephew’s confused face, his eyes filled with pain and bewilderment, Sheriff Sean couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.
He had carefully planned everything, hoping to shield him from these darker truths for as long as possible.
The plan was to wait a few more years until Little Tom was more mature. Then, as Sean neared retirement, he could naturally pass everything on to his nephew—his connections, his resources, his methods—holding nothing back.
So he could continue to protect everything Sean had worked so hard to build.
However, things rarely go according to plan.
A simple kidnapping case had suddenly brought everything to a head, throwing all his arrangements into disarray.
"Whatever you want to know, ask away. I’ll tell you," Sheriff Sean said, looking at Little Tom. His gaze was a complex mix of an elder’s affection and stark, real-world gravity. "But this is your only chance, just for today. Outside of this police car, I won’t admit to a thing."
Little Tom bit his lip, his mind in turmoil.
After a long moment of hesitation, he finally mustered the courage to ask, his voice trembling slightly, "Are you the boss behind the criminals?"
"NO!" Sheriff Sean shook his head without hesitation, a complex look flashing in his eyes. "I’ve never been the boss of some gang. I am the Sheriff of West Yellowstone City. That is my identity, and it is my only public identity."
His uncle’s tone was firm, but to Little Tom, the words dripped with contradiction and irony.
"No, you’re lying!" Little Tom suddenly grew agitated, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and pain. "If you’re not a gang boss, then why does Quinn do everything you say? And what about those Biker Gang members? Why do they all call you ’Boss’?"
Staring at his uncle, who remained unmoved by the accusation, tears welled in Little Tom’s eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. "Uncle, why did you lie to me? You’ve always been my hero! I remember that robbery... you fearlessly exchanged fire with the robbers. You were even willing to use your own body to shield a hostage from a bullet. So why? Why have you become like this?"
After Little Tom’s hoarse shouts faded, the police car fell into a dead silence.
The assistant sheriff at the wheel quietly slowed the car, as if to give the tense atmosphere some room to breathe.
Sheriff Sean’s expression was grim. After a moment of silence, he reached out and tapped the seat in front of him. "Got a smoke?" he asked in a low voice.
The assistant sheriff quickly pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket and passed them over.
Sheriff Sean took the cigarette, lit it, and took a silent drag. White smoke billowed slowly from his mouth, obscuring his face.
He stared blankly out the window, at his reflection in the glass.
It was as if he were looking at a face he barely recognized as his own.
"Say something! Why aren’t you talking? You’re always so good at talking in front of the citizens of West Yellowstone City, aren’t you? Cat got your tongue now? Go on, keep lying to me!"
Little Tom’s face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot. He screamed until his voice was raw, tears streaming uncontrollably down his cheeks.
The anger and pain of betrayal, the noble image of his uncle he had built up over the years...
...all of it came crashing down in that instant.
WHOOSH!
Sheriff Sean pressed the half-smoked cigarette against the window to extinguish it.
A wisp of blue smoke curled upwards with a soft sizzle as the ember met the glass.
His expression turned serious. He looked directly at his nephew, his gaze both scrutinizing and contemplative.
"Let me ask you something," Sheriff Sean’s voice was low and steady, each word reaching Little Tom’s ears with perfect clarity. "Since you joined the Sheriff’s Office as a patrolman, have you ever looked into whether the crime rate in West Yellowstone City is going up or down?"
Little Tom froze, completely baffled.
’Why would his uncle ask about that now?’
Ever since he’d started working as a patrolman at the Sheriff’s Office, his days had seemed busy, handling all sorts of cases reported by citizens.
But those so-called "cases" were all just trivial matters.
It was either helping residents find lost cats and dogs or weaving through streets and alleys to post parking tickets. Or maybe helping an old lady cross the street at an intersection, or telling tourists about nearby hotels and where to find a restroom.
Even with criminal groups like the Biker Gang around, any shootouts they had were always on the outskirts of town; they never committed crimes inside the community. The worst they ever did was get drunk and tear through the neighborhood streets on their bikes in the middle of the night.
But by the next day, they would show up at the Sheriff’s Office on their own accord to pay for any damages and cover the fines.
As for actual, serious criminal cases, he hadn’t encountered a single one.
The pistol on his hip hadn’t even been unholstered since the day he started working.
The only thing that could be considered a major case was probably today’s kidnapping.
A bitter feeling welled up inside Little Tom as he thought about this.
West Yellowstone City was, indeed, remarkably safe.
"It seems you already know the answer." Sheriff Sean watched the subtle shift in his nephew’s expression and spoke slowly. "No matter how much money a cancer patient spends on treatment, the cancer cells don’t just disappear. In fact, after each treatment, they often spread and multiply more aggressively, until they drag the patient into the abyss of death."
He paused, his gaze growing deep and solemn. "Gangs are like those cancer cells. As long as society exists, they will exist—a malignant tumor lurking in the darkness, waiting for a chance to grow."
After saying this, Sheriff Sean turned to look out the window again, a distant look in his eyes.