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16.45% Exorcist in America / Chapter 64: Chapter 64: Professionalism

Chương 64: Chapter 64: Professionalism

"Boris?"

York was somewhat surprised, giving Jeffrey a closer look. Boris was essentially the secret liaison between the official organization and the church.

In special or supernatural events, Boris had the authority to provide backup support or facilitate assistance, and in turn, York had the responsibility to help resolve supernatural incidents whenever Boris sought his help.

Now, Jeffrey had taken over this role of connection.

But York soon thought it made sense, given his personal connection with Jeffrey, who he had personally saved.

"Yes."

Jeffrey smiled, expressing his respect to the priest before him.

"Father York, if you need any help in the future, just let me know, and I will handle it with utmost seriousness."

York raised his eyebrows slightly, sensing Jeffrey's sincerity and understanding his intention. He made the sign of the cross and responded earnestly.

"I will, Officer Jeffrey."

"Hmm." Jeffrey took a deep breath, glancing back at the blood and bodies at the door.

"Do you need our help with this?"

Reminded of Mr. Woodrow and his group, York replied with a slight smile.

"No need, I've already called a cleaning company. They should be here soon."

"Ah..." Jeffrey nodded, understanding more than the average person due to his experience in homicide cases.

"I see."

"Right."

York's smile remained as he began to see the officers out.

"Thank you for coming, Officer Jeffrey."

With three police cars around, those unsavory 'cleaners' might not dare to show up.

Jeffrey quickly understood, nodding slightly.

"Good night, Father York. We're heading back now."

York made the sign of the cross.

"Good night, Officer Jeffrey. May you have pleasant dreams, and may the Lord be with you."

"Thank you."

After a final glance at the door, Jeffrey signaled his officers and strode back to the patrol cars. Under York's gaze, they quickly left the scene.

As they left, York looked to his right, just as two vehicles resembling cleaning vans quietly arrived and stopped in front of him.

The first to step out was a skinny old man wearing a fisherman's hat. He approached York, took off his hat to reveal his sparse white hair, and respectfully said.

"Father York, it's a pleasure to see you again."

York looked past the old man to the burly men carrying cleaning tools, looking somewhat out of place but very eye-catching.

"Yes, me too, Charlie."

As he spoke, York stepped aside, gesturing toward the messy doorway.

"Can you clean it up thoroughly?"

Charlie, the old man, gave a reserved chuckle. "No problem, Father York."

He waved his right hand slightly, and the ten brawny men behind him sprang into action, moving towards the church.

Two began dealing with the blood, organs, and bodies at the entrance, while the rest entered the church.

Watching the efficient yet bold cleaning, York turned to Charlie.

"How much, Charlie?"

Charlie hesitated. These cleaners, who serviced assassins, usually charged in the assassins' currency - one unit per task, be it a body or a favor, even a drink.

"This..."

He glanced at the priest, knowing York likely didn't have their currency. Guessing a price based on the exchange rate between money and their currency, Charlie tentatively offered.

"One million?"

"Excuse me?"

York was taken aback. His fortune was barely over two million, and cleaning a few bodies and some ketchup was costing him half of it?

Noticing Charlie's reaction, York's eyes narrowed slightly, and a formidable aura naturally arose.

"Are you sure it's one million?"

"Yes, Father York..."

Before Charlie could explain their pricing, he suddenly felt a shift in the priest's demeanor. In an instant, the towering figure seemed to grow, pressing down on him.

For a moment, Charlie felt breathless, his heart racing, and his head about to explode under the heavy pressure.

"Charlie?"

Noticing the old man's obvious change, York quickly retracted his unintentional psychic projection, a hint of regret in his eyes.

He had always been somewhat fixated on money issues due to his past life.

"Ah..."

With the pressure gone, Charlie gasped for air, collapsing to the ground. He looked up at the now alien priest, feeling only terror and awe at this frightening being.

"Sorry, Charlie, my mistake."

Feeling slightly guilty, York forcibly grabbed Charlie's evasive hand and helped him up.

"I don't have much money right now. Could you give me a discount? How about half a million?"

After such an ordeal, Charlie wasn't in a position to refuse, not even mentioning their rules and regulations.

"Okay, okay, Father."

Seeing Charlie's increasing humility and distance, York understood his feelings.

A regular person's psychic strength averages at ten points, while York's was eight times the norm. Simply put, he had an overwhelming presence.

Fortunately, he could control his psychic power and its output, or else he couldn't go anywhere.

With that in mind, York looked at the startled Charlie and said,

"Charlie, could you give me an account number? I'll transfer the money tomorrow."

Charlie carefully wrote down an account number, handing it over with even more respect.

"Father York, you can transfer the money whenever you're ready."

"Alright."

York took the paper, not bothering to explain the incident to Charlie. The world of ordinary people, even those in special industries, was far removed from his.

"Thank you, Charlie."

Charlie nodded obediently, holding his hat to his chest in respect.

York paid no mind as Charlie cautiously stepped back, turning to the door.

Sometime during the conversation, the cleaners at the entrance had disappeared without a trace.

York's eyes narrowed. The entrance now looked as good as new, with no sign of blood or debris. It was indistinguishable from its usual state.

Before York could figure out how they had cleaned it so thoroughly, the previously missing cleaners emerged, each carrying a shrouded body.

Watching them calmly load each body into the vans, York remembered the assassin's introduction.

"Professionalism..."


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Chương 65: Chapter 65: The Arrival of John

"It's already 10 PM. What was that live streaming account called? It should be streaming around this time..."

While the cleaners were still at work, York took the opportunity to deal with some unfinished business. He needed to confirm the status of the exorcism live stream he was interested in. His original plan was to deal with this upon returning to the church, but the subsequent gunfight disrupted his schedule.

Familiar with the process, York quickly found the live streaming site and searched for the exorcism channel. The recent gunfight was just a minor, insignificant event in his life, merely a seasoning of sorts. Supernatural events were what truly mattered to him.

The exorcism live stream seemed like it would lead to major problems in the future, especially since he knew "Satan" was looking for him. He often thought of the live stream, driven by a sudden inspiration. For someone like York, these impulses were never just whimsical feelings or mere physiological reactions; they were eerily accurate.

Remembering the sequence of numbers, York swiftly located the exorcism live stream. To his satisfaction, the channel was already banned.

"Well done."

York rarely praised the Church's secret affairs department, but they seemed to have sensed the risk and acted accordingly.

At that moment, the cleaning was nearing completion. The burly men had finished and were packing up their equipment.

"Father York, the cleaning is complete," Charlie, the old man who had kept his distance, approached York, holding his black fisherman's hat to his chest.

"Would you like to inspect it?"

York put away his phone and nodded, watching the cleaners get into their vans.

"Certainly."

Inspection was necessary, considering the half a million spent. However, as soon as he stepped inside, York fully appreciated the true value of their "professionalism."

The cleaners had restored the entrance to its original state, but more impressively, they had cleaned the main hall of all traces of the bodies, blood, unnameable fragments, shell casings, firearms, and even bits of wooden benches. They even reorganized the disheveled benches neatly back to their places. Except for a few damaged benches, one wouldn't guess a gunfight had taken place here.

After a thorough inspection, York felt that the fifty thousand was well spent, even a hundred thousand would have been worth it.

Thinking of the ten calm yet efficiently working men, York mentally awarded them a five-star rating.

"Your cleaners did a good job, Charlie."

Charlie smiled for a rare moment. "I'm glad you're satisfied, Father."

Speaking cautiously, Charlie peeked at the priest who had changed his earlier impression of him. "Then, shall we head back now, Father?"

Hearing this, York withdrew his inspecting gaze.

"Yes, I'll see you out."

The scene shifted back outside. Charlie sat in the passenger seat, still holding his fisherman's hat to his chest in a respectful posture.

"Good night, Father York."

"Good night, Charlie."

York nodded and watched the cleaning vans depart before turning to re-enter the church, planning to pray before going home.

Morning prayers marked the beginning of the day, and evening prayers brought it to a close. Only then could he close up and rest peacefully.

After returning the SHAK-12 to its place, turning off the bright overhead lights, and lighting a nearly burnt-out white candle for ambiance, York sat at the front row of benches and prayed, recounting the day's events and confessing the incidents that had led to bloodshed in the hall. Despite not hearing the usual reward notification, York felt a slight regret; sometimes, daily prayers could trigger random rewards, but not tonight, it seemed.

As he prepared to rise and leave, another set of heavy footsteps echoed in his ears, halting his movement.

"John?"

Each person has a unique way of walking, and correspondingly, their footsteps sound different. The heavy yet oddly light footsteps could only belong to the assassin John, with his distinctive physique.

Sure enough, a somewhat cumbersome man appeared at the entrance.

Dressed in a black suit, with flowing black hair, scruffy beard, rugged yet distinct facial features, and a demeanor both firm and calm, those deep and focused eyes belonged to none other than the assassin John Wick, who York had saved before.

"Greetings, Father York," said John with a calm gaze and a nod.

Seeing a familiar figure from his past life, York genuinely smiled, noticing John's abdominal injury from his footsteps and the strong smell of gunpowder. He could tell John might have been hurt.

"John! How have you been?"

"Fine."

John Wick nodded and continued his heavy steps to sit beside York, first making the sign of the cross towards the Jesus statue.

"Father, I apologize for the events that occurred here. I've already paid for the cleaning."

York's smile remained; he wasn't concerned with why John knew about the incident so quickly. The assassin world thrives on mutual information flow. Not only was the Bear Gang after John, but he was likely investigating them as well.

It wasn't hard to guess that Charlie had informed John about the cleanup.

"How much did you pay?"

"Fifty thousand."

"That's the agreed-upon price."

"I'll compensate for all the damages in the church," John continued, his tone unyielding.

"And I'll take care of the Bear Gang."

This resolute statement matched York's image of John Wick in this parallel world – a man of tit-for-tat justice, much like his character in the movies York recalled from his past life. Not one for sentimental refusal, York accepted John's offer. After all, to him, the Bear Gang was just a minor nuisance.

"John, do you need my help?"

John shook his head, still calmly speaking to the Jesus statue. "Father, if possible, I'd prefer you not to get involved."

Hearing this, York combined his knowledge from his past life and surmised that the seemingly cumbersome assassin might indeed be gearing up for a direct confrontation tonight.

"John," York gestured towards John's abdomen, asking again.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes."

John Wick nodded, then stood up, facing the priest earnestly.

"Goodbye, Father York."


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