As soon as the words were spoken, Rick's pupils contracted slightly.
Although he maintained his outward composure and made no large movements, a hint of killing intent surfaced in his deep blue eyes.
This subtle change did not escape the observation of the curly-haired man. He keenly captured Rick's momentary stiffness and said with certainty:
"Buddy, you guys have a farm."
"Ha, I knew it." Just then, the fat man who hadn't spoken the entire time suddenly stood up.
Ignoring everyone present, he walked directly to a pillar in the corner of the bar, unzipped his pants, and began to urinate.
"I said it was a farm," the fat man shouted loudly without looking back while relieving himself. "Only a farm would have that many supplies."
"Whoa, a farm..." the curly-haired man took over, his tone filled with greed and yearning. "That means plenty of food, clean water, and fences..."
The fat man shook himself, fastened his belt, and turned around. His lecherous eyes fell on Maggie once again. "And women. Sounds damn good."
Listening to these blatant threats, Rick didn't get angry; instead, he smiled.
"It is nice." Rick's fingers lightly tapped the bar counter. "So, what do you want?"
"How about a little Southern hospitality?" The fat man grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.
"Yes, that's exactly what we mean."
The curly-haired man spread his hands. "Look, we have quite a few brothers back at our camp, and life is pretty tough. We're all survivors; why can't you make some room for us?"
"We can share resources and weapons, and protect each other. Wouldn't that be great?"
Hershel immediately frowned. Just as he was about to sternly refuse, Rick suddenly interrupted him.
"Sounds like a good idea."
Rick looked at the curly-haired man, seemingly considering the proposal seriously. "Since we're going to cooperate, we need to understand the situation first."
"Who calls the shots on your side?"
Maggie was stunned at first, but she immediately reacted and played along. "Yeah, we can't turn our backs on a group of people who don't even know the rules."
A flash of smugness crossed the curly-haired man's eyes, and he was just about to speak—
"Officer Rick!"
A crisp child's voice suddenly came from the direction of the bar's kitchen. "I found some things back here; they might be useful!"
Several people in the bar turned their heads simultaneously.
They saw Louis running out from the back with a few dusty cans in his arms, his face full of "surprise."
When he saw two extra strangers in front of the bar, his footsteps abruptly stopped, and a look of shock appeared on his face.
"Yo, there's a little guy too."
The curly-haired man quickly adjusted his expression, putting on what he thought was a kind smile. "Hello there, child. I'm chatting with your old man; we were just talking about your farm."
He emphasized the word "farm," trying to trick the child.
However, Louis's reaction was completely beyond his expectations.
Louis blinked and looked at the curly-haired man with a face full of confusion, asking doubtfully:
"Farm? What farm?"
The curly-haired man froze.
The child's reaction was too natural; the confusion in his eyes didn't seem fake.
After noticing this, he immediately turned his gaze toward the adults by the bar.
The moment Rick saw Louis run out, his brow furrowed tightly, and a flash of ill-concealed tension crossed his face.
The curly-haired man happened to catch this scene and interpreted it differently.
You thick-browed, big-eyed policeman! You look like an honest man, but I didn't expect your acting to be so good! That secretive posture just now almost fooled me.
He cursed inwardly, but a smug curve formed at the corner of his mouth.
Children really are easy to fool.
If it wasn't a farm, then what was with their overall condition?
The greed in the curly-haired man's heart did not fade; instead, it grew even stronger because the other party might just be a "soft persimmon."
He looked back at Louis, his gaze sweeping over the boy's clean collar. "Is that so... then where do you live? Looking at your clothes, the place you live shouldn't be short on water, right?"
Louis looked at his sleeve and muttered softly:
"A motel... the pipes there still have water, but the windows are all broken. It's very windy at night, and we have to take turns blocking the door..."
He looked up, his deep blue eyes full of sincerity. "It's not good there at all; there are holes leaking wind everywhere. Dad says monsters could crawl in at any time."
If it was a motel, then it made sense.
This explained why they had water to wash their clothes and looked somewhat decent, but it also perfectly explained why they were in a hurry to come out and scout; because that broken place was impossible to defend.
A motel with water and supplies, yet leaking on all sides and having zero defenses... The curly-haired man and the fat man exchanged a glance, greed spreading in their eyes.
Although it wasn't as tempting as a farm's stockpile, the guns on these people, that well-maintained car, and that woman... were all good things.
This was simply a fat sheep delivered to their doorstep.
Hearing this, the curly-haired man turned to Rick with a hint of displeasure at being toyed with. "Friend, this is a bit unfair of you."
"A motel and a farm, there's a pretty big difference there."
Rick still leaned against the bar, giving Louis a deep look before shrugging nonchalantly. "I never said we lived on a farm. That was your own guess; I just didn't refute it."
"After all, in this kind of world, everyone has to be cautious."
"Being cautious is fine, but you can't be like that with friends."
The curly-haired man was in a great mood; he felt he had already seized the initiative.
"Child, since that place isn't safe, why don't we join up? We have guns and can protect you."
Louis didn't answer immediately. Instead, he subconsciously hugged the cans in his arms tighter and gave the fleshy-faced fat man a wary look.
"...But, we don't have much food left."
Louis seemed to hesitate. "If we share it with you, we won't have anything to eat."
"Hahahaha!"
The fat man next to him was amused. Toying with the gun in his hand, he chimed in, "Don't worry, kid. We won't steal your cans."
"We have quite a few pals outside, all with pieces. They can find their own food. Right now, we just need a place to settle down."
"Ah? Then how many people do you have?" Louis still looked worried. "If there are too many people, there won't be enough rooms in the motel..."
At this question, the curly-haired man's brow furrowed slightly, keenly sensing a hint of something wrong.
He didn't answer immediately but quietly scanned the others in the bar with his peripheral vision.
Seeing this group of people looking at the child helplessly, a reaction of "daring to be angry but not daring to speak," the doubt in the curly-haired man's heart slowly receded.
It seemed he was overthinking; this was just a shy kid, and this group of people had already been intimidated.
"Don't worry, there will definitely be enough rooms."
Before the curly-haired man could speak, in order to show off their strength and intimidate these "fat sheep," the fat man next to him had already carelessly revealed everything:
"Besides the two of us, there are only four brothers waiting nearby outside."
In the fat man's view, besides that policeman named Rick who seemed to have some combat capability, the rest were an old man with one foot in the grave, a weak woman, and a brat who hadn't even been weaned.
So what if they knew the real situation?
Six against one, the advantage was theirs.
Crushing these people would be as simple as crushing a few ants.
"Only four?" Louis seemed to heave a sigh of relief and followed up with another question. "Then are they far away? In case we run into danger..."
"Right in the pickup truck at the door," the fat man replied impatiently. "Alright, enough talk. Lead the way already."
Louis nodded, the fear and confusion on his face receding like a tide.
"I see. Then I'm done asking."