The old man's voice was so loud that Gin wanted to pull out his gun and shoot him.
Unfortunately, his legs were so sore that before he could even raise his gun, the old man, riding his bicycle, sped away at a speed that absolutely crushed them, disappearing from sight after turning a corner.
Gin and Vodka could only curse under their breath and let it go.
This scene was witnessed by a swaying drunk man holding a bottle of sake by the roadside.
This drunk man was none other than Mouri Kogoro, who had just come out of an izakaya.
Mouri Kogoro let out a loud burp and rubbed his blurry, drunken eyes.
In front of him, a porsche 356a and a black Mercedes seemed to be racing, but their speed was as slow as a tortoise, and the people inside were moving up and down, as if riding some strange contraption.
Behind them, an old man on a bicycle was cursing and overtaking them... "Hic... These young people... hic... really know how to have fun..."
Mouri Kogoro chuckled foolishly, finding it more amusing than a comedy show on TV.
He vaguely pulled out his phone and dialed the emergency number.
"Moshi moshi... Police? I want to report... hic..."
Mouri Kogoro slurred, speaking indistinctly with a thick tongue,
"Here in Beika Town, 3 chome... there's a Porsche and a Mercedes racing! You ask how fast? I don't know, but they're faster than me walking... Oh... there's also a bicycle hot on their heels! The old man on the bicycle is ringing his bell! He's going to overtake them!
Hic... He's overtaken them! Overtaken them! So fast! Much faster than the cars! I'm telling you... hic... that bicycle..."
The operator on the other end of the line listened to this incoherent, alcohol-laced report, her brow furrowing tighter and tighter.
A Porsche and a Mercedes racing, and an old man on a bicycle could overtake them? What in the world was this all about?!
"Sir, are you drunk? Please don't tie up the emergency line with such a silly joke!" The operator's voice carried clear impatience.
"I'm not drunk! Hic... Really! I saw it with my own eyes! That bicycle..." Mouri Kogoro still wanted to argue.
"Beep... beep... beep..."
The busy signal was already coming from the other end of the line, which had been ruthlessly hung up.
Mouri Kogoro stood blankly, holding his phone, watching the Porsche and Mercedes chase each other until they disappeared at the end of the street, then let out another loud burp.
"Tch... Believe it or not... hic... These police nowadays... they're so ignorant..."
---
This chase finally came to an end after Chianti and Korn arrived.
Chianti shot out the Mercedes' tire, and Korn timely threw a smoke bomb for cover.
Gin and Vodka successfully escaped, shaking off Akai Shuichi and the FBI's pursuit.
The two pedaled for a while longer, and after confirming there were no pursuers behind them for the time being, they finally relaxed a little.
Vodka was panting, feeling like his lungs were about to burst.
"A-Aniki... we should have shaken them off, right?" he asked breathlessly, his leg movements slowing down.
Gin's face was grim. After confirming that no one was indeed chasing them, he nodded. "Temporarily safe. To safety house number three."
Vodka glanced at the navigation and deliberately chose a very long downhill section, thinking he could save some effort.
But what he didn't expect was that this downhill section was a bit too steep.
The slope was at least 60 degrees.
And even more critically, at the end of the ramp was a sturdy factory wall, constructed from huge stones.
In their current vehicle's condition, an extreme turn was simply impossible.
"Damn it!" Gin's pupils dilated, and he roared, "Vodka! Brake! Brake quickly! No, squeeze the brakes! Squeeze the brakes quickly!"
Vodka also saw the deadly stone wall, and was scared out of his wits, almost instinctively clenching the metal brake levers on the handlebars with both hands.
"Snap—!"
A heartbreaking snapping sound rang out.
The brake cable of the porsche 356a broke.
Vodka felt his hands go slack, and the metal brake levers instantly lost all resistance, drooping limply.
And the porsche 356a, under the force of gravity, like a runaway wild horse, began to accelerate madly down the steep slope!
The "creak, creak" of the chains sounded like a death knell.
"Aniki! The brake cable broke! We can't stop!"
Vodka shrieked in terror, completely panicked.
Just at this critical moment, Vodka's gaze suddenly noticed the small lever inside the car, whose function he had never understood.
Next to the small lever, a line of small text was clearly marked: Auxiliary foot brake, emergency stop.
"Aniki! There's a way!" Vodka suddenly realized, "Look at this! This car can use a foot brake! Just like riding a bicycle! We can stop by dragging our feet on the ground!"
Gin: Huh?!
Sometimes he really couldn't understand what Vodka was saying.
"Click! Click!"
After Vodka pulled down the small lever, the doors on both the driver's and passenger's sides of the porsche 356a, as if a mechanism had been triggered, instantly sprang open, creating a gap wide enough to stick out a leg.
"What?!"
Gin looked at the suddenly opened door gaps, and before he could react, he saw Vodka already fumbling to stick one foot out of the car.
The sole of Vodka's outstretched foot rubbed harshly against the rough asphalt road, emitting a piercing screech.
A smell of burning rubber quickly wafted over.
As the car's speed increased with the downhill inertia, Vodka's shoe visibly wore down and smoked.
And Vodka himself was pressed firmly against the seat by the inertia, his outstretched leg forced straight, constantly howling:
"Ah—! Aniki! Hurry! Stick out your foot! Otherwise, it'll be too late!"
"Idiot!" Gin was so angry he laughed.
His rationality, in the end, was not led astray by Vodka.
Stick his foot out and drag it at this speed?
He was afraid that in not too long, he would be ground down to just his hips.
Spotting a sand dune by the side of the road, Gin's eyes narrowed, he fully pushed open the car door, and kicked hard at Vodka's unsuspecting waist.
"Ow—!"
Vodka let out a scream, and like a giant bowling ball, he tumbled directly into the sand dune by the roadside, getting a mouthful of sand.
Almost at the same moment he kicked Vodka flying, Gin didn't hesitate for a second.
He aimed for the last few tenths of a second before the car would hit the stone wall, and dove out of the passenger side door.
The moment he landed, relying on his astonishing core strength and combat instincts, he performed a forward roll on the concrete, dissipating most of the impact.
Although his movements were a bit disheveled, and his trench coat was covered in dust, he at least avoided serious injury from a hard landing.
Just as Gin rolled and got up—
"Boom!!!"
A deafening roar!
The out-of-control porsche 356a, with immense inertia, slammed head-on into the thick stone wall.
The front of the car instantly twisted and deformed, the windshield shattered into a spiderweb pattern, and the entire car, like a crushed soda can, was grotesquely embedded in the indentation of the stone wall, completely totaled.
Conversely, the bicycle handlebar was perfectly intact, and it was flung out by the huge impact, landing right in front of Gin, glinting silver.
Gin panted heavily, his eyes fixed on his beloved car, now a pile of scrap metal, the veins on his forehead throbbing violently.
"Cough... cough cough..."
Not far away, Vodka struggled to get up from the ground, spitting out the sand in his mouth.
Aside from the calluses on his feet being gone and a few scrapes on his face, he was otherwise fine.
He looked at the smoking car wreckage with lingering fear, then at his terrifyingly aura-emitting Big brother not far away, too scared to even breathe.
Gin slowly turned around, glanced at Vodka, then coldly uttered a single word:
"Let's Go."