Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

There was an old truth Evenson had come to appreciate about the world:

People rushed about for profit, and they scrambled even harder when money was involved.

Strip away all the grand speeches, noble causes, and complicated explanations, and an astonishing amount of human chaos came down to one thing.

Money.

That was Evenson’s philosophy of life.

The gangs were no different. They were simply conducting business through somewhat less respectable channels.

The problem was that business required inventory.

And the gangs didn’t manufacture anything themselves.

They were middlemen. They bought from suppliers and sold to customers. So when the people at the top suddenly stopped supplying them, what exactly were they supposed to sell?

How were they supposed to keep making money?

Worse, running a criminal organization wasn’t cheap.

They had territory to rent, underlings to feed, protection payments to make, and, most importantly, taxes to pay to the IRS.

All of that required cash.

And gangsters weren’t exactly famous for frugal lifestyles.

They spent money like there was always more waiting around the corner. With no new income coming in, how long could they survive by burning through their reserves?

At first, it wasn’t a problem.

They still had some stockpiles.

But certain products had enormous demand, and those reserves didn’t last forever.

Eventually, supplies ran low.

So the gangs started cutting corners.

They began adulterating their product, mixing their "powder" with detergent and selling it at full price.

The washing machines were the ones that suffered.

No matter how much detergent they put in, nothing seemed to work anymore. Their machines became clogged, filthy wrecks, barely hanging together.

Eventually, the gangs realized they simply couldn’t keep going.

The middlemen lacked the restraint of the major suppliers, who could sell their product abroad without touching their own inventory.

A lot of these gangsters used the product themselves.

Keep going like this, and forget about all those washing machines outside. Their own machines were going to break down first.

So they made the obvious choice.

If you couldn’t buy it, steal it.

They were gangsters, after all. Violence was one resource they never seemed to run out of.

If the suppliers wouldn’t provide the goods, they’d take them from their competitors.

And so the great New York gang war began.

Evenson rubbed his temples.

What a mess.

Frankly, he couldn’t care less what happened to the middlemen. If a few more scumbags disappeared, the world wasn’t exactly going to mourn.

As for the poor washing machines on the verge of being scrapped?

Well, maybe they should have made better choices.

Who knew? Perhaps this gang war would finally force them to upgrade, abandon their old ways, and become productive members of society.

Truly, a blessing in disguise.

"Ah. I see."

Evenson put on an expression of sudden enlightenment, as though Holmes had just explained something extraordinarily complicated.

Then he frowned.

"But why did you assume I’d know about any of this?"

Earlier, Holmes had asked him, You don’t know?

The implication had been obvious.

Holmes believed Evenson should already know what was happening.

That was what puzzled him.

Evenson did know that the Eredar Twins had acquired a large shipment.

He just hadn’t realized they’d acquired quite that much.

Oh, his money.

His poor, precious money.

And his poor heart.

Even the Eredar Twins probably hadn’t anticipated the chaos their purchase would cause.

He’d heard that their nightclub had been wrecked recently.

Just thinking about it hurt.

Someone had to pay for those repairs.

And Evenson had a very strong suspicion about who that someone was.

Still, knowing something was happening was one thing.

Why had Holmes concluded that Evenson understood the whole situation?

"Back when we shared that ride, I told you your income and expenses didn’t match," Holmes said, tugging at his suit jacket. "So I concluded you must have other sources of income."

"Hm..."

Evenson hesitated.

"I’m willing to overlook the fact that you’ve apparently been investigating my finances."

He raised a finger.

"But there’s one thing I’d like to clarify."

He looked Holmes directly in the eye.

"When exactly did we ever share a ride?"

Watson covered her forehead.

She genuinely couldn’t listen to this anymore.

Of all the things happening, why was this man still hung up on a few dollars’ worth of cab fare?

"Holmes suspects you have several illicit sources of income," she explained. "For example, facilitating transactions for criminal organizations or helping gang members escape in exchange for substantial payments."

"Hm."

Evenson nodded thoughtfully.

"That certainly is a profitable line of work."

Watson wasn’t wrong.

Every gangster who came to him had indeed escaped under his assistance.

They had simply escaped rather more permanently than Holmes intended.

"So you think Hakon came here looking for protection," Evenson said. "And that I helped him disappear."

He gave a cold laugh.

"That’s complete nonsense. I can say this with absolute confidence: I’ve never met Hakon, and I’ve never even seen him."

"Then perhaps you can tell us where you were last night."

Grayson stepped forward.

"We have a witness who clearly identified Hakon entering this shop. Yet you claim you’ve never seen him. So where were you?"

"Me?"

Evenson put on an expression of exaggerated amusement.

"Last night, I was in Russia negotiating a deal with a major arms dealer from Eastern Europe."

He paused.

"I bought two nuclear weapons from him."

Another pause.

"And I didn’t even pay."

Detective Bell finally lost patience.

He rolled his eyes.

"Do you take us for idiots?"

There was no way that story could possibly be true.

If it was, Bell might as well go eat his own shoes.

"You don’t like that explanation?" Evenson asked. "Give me a minute. I’ll come up with another one."

Grayson rolled his eyes.

He shook his head.

"Fine. If you insist that’s where you were, then you won’t object to us searching your room and your basement, will you? That would be the simplest way to prove you’re telling the truth."

"Of course..."

Evenson paused.

"That’s impossible."

He nearly laughed.

Let them search his basement?

The two nanmu cases were still down there.

If the police found those, he could probably look forward to appearing in the headlines for the next six months.

The atmosphere immediately froze.

Grayson didn’t have a search warrant.

Without one, he couldn’t simply force his way inside and search the premises.

But standing around arguing forever wasn’t going to accomplish anything either.

Grayson was just beginning to consider whether there might be another way to proceed when Evenson’s expression suddenly became serious.

He stood.

Enough.

The farce had gone on long enough.

"I told you I never saw Hakon, so I never saw Hakon."

Evenson’s hand slowly slipped inside his coat.

"Even if I had seen him, it would have been for..."

Every police officer in the room tensed.

Hands moved toward holsters.

This was America, after all.

There was no telling whether the man was about to pull out an ID or a handgun.

"For what?"

Evenson looked toward the door.

"For national security and world peace."

A group of people suddenly entered the shop.

At their head was a bald Indian man wearing wire-rimmed glasses.

Under the bewildered stares of everyone present, he produced an identification badge.

"I’m Agent Sitwell of S.H.I.E.L.D."

He gestured toward Evenson.

"This man is one of ours."

...

Read up to 75 Chapters ahead and access exclusive novels by joining my Patreon!

/Sinmerry

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!