The real life of an American police officer: Winning over others with virtue

Chapter 125 Very Busy (Part 2)

Leaving everything to Annie, Eric habitually went into an administrative office in the patrol department.

As soon as he pushed open the door, the administrative staff member Bates saw him and, as always, precisely pulled out a document from the mountain of files, placed it on the table, and wore a formulaic smile.

"Welcome back, Eric."

Eric's eye twitched, and he picked up the file as he walked over: "I'm not the main person this time."

Bates maintained his forced smile: "I know, I'm just sincerely welcoming you back."

The guy's words were ambiguous, as if welcoming him back to the police station after his leave, yet also seeming to be sarcastic. Eric immediately conceded defeat and went to sit down at the long table by the window inside.

"Thank you."

Bates said, "You're welcome." Then he lowered his head and started typing on the keyboard, getting busy with his own work.

Eric casually pulled up a stool and sat down, placing the documents in his hand on the long table by the window. He then crossed his legs and took out Annie's evaluation form.

He started off with a relaxed and carefree attitude.

He felt perfectly justified in leaving all the tasks, such as cleaning the car and registering the handover, to Annie.

After all, this rookie might be leaving soon to become an assistant prosecutor, so he naturally has to cherish every day as a hands-off manager.

“A month has passed now.” Eric looked at the evaluation form, his gaze moving down the small options that had already been scored, finally stopping at the section that had not yet been scored.

"The initial 2 to 4 weeks are for assessing basic skills, and the middle 5 to 8 weeks are for assessing independent operation and decision-making abilities."

As Eric muttered to himself, he recalled all of Annie's responses that day. In fact, this rookie was indeed a real patrol officer.

Handling complex events: 5 points.

Communication and conflict resolution skills: 5 points.

Tactical assessment:
Eric paused, recalling Annie's PIT performance earlier that day, and after some thought, still gave her a score of 4.

In his view, Annie was not lacking in decisiveness and judgment, but was a bit hesitant due to her lack of experience.

After scoring, Eric heard a knock on the door, looked up, and saw Annie standing at the door.

Upon closer inspection, Annie was indeed quite beautiful. Although Tifa was the most conventionally beautiful woman he had ever seen, possessing a reserved and gentle demeanor, Annie, with her Western-influenced features, still had a unique style, exuding a confident and flamboyant beauty.

The police uniform on her became an accessory, further highlighting her figure and temperament.

Eric suddenly thought of a female celebrity, Megan Fox, and upon reflection, realized that their vibes were indeed quite similar.

“I got a perfect score today?” Annie glanced at the evaluation sheet in Eric’s hand.

"Is it over?" Eric didn't answer, and casually put away the evaluation form.

Not hearing a reply, Annie didn't mind, turned her gaze away, nodded, nodded to Bates, and walked over.

He pulled up a chair and sat down next to Eric: "So what should I do?"

Eric pushed the documents in front of her: "Date, time, location, weather, police car involved, your personal information, accident description, etc. Just write them down truthfully in order."

As Annie listened, she picked up the document, glanced at it, and immediately understood how to write it: "OK!"

She pulled the stool closer and began to write, picking up a pen from the pen holder in front of her.

Eric said, "You only damaged municipal property. The police department will settle the repair costs directly with the city government."

Annie nodded and said, "I understand."

Upon hearing this, Eric didn't disturb her any further, but simply waited quietly for Annie to finish writing. As her instructor, it was his responsibility to guide her through the entire process until the end of the workday.

As time passed, the sky outside the window gradually darkened.

Annie stopped writing, glanced at Eric who was staring out the window in a daze, and whispered a reminder.

"I'm done."

Eric snapped back to reality: "Let me see."

Annie handed it over casually. Eric took it and glanced at it, raising an eyebrow slightly. This girl's handwriting was quite neat, very precise, and there was nothing wrong with it.

"Let's go, it's time for us to go home."

Eric picked up the documents and stood up. Annie took a breath and followed suit.

"Bates, let's go." Eric placed the documents on Bates's desk and walked towards the door with Annie.

Goodbye, Eric.

Goodbye, Bates.

-

"Don't forget you're reporting for the night shift tomorrow."

Outside the corridor, Eric reminded him without turning his head: "Last year, a newbie came in during the day and sat there for half a day in the empty briefing room."

Following behind, Annie smirked and said, "I'm not that stupid."

Eric smiled and said, "That's true. After all, to be a prosecutor, you have to be at least meticulous."

Annie pursed her lips, looking at the broad back in front of her, and said, "Sir, are you going home or going down to practice shooting later?"

Eric subconsciously raised an eyebrow.

"I heard that you usually go to the underground shooting range to practice shooting after get off work?"

Hearing this, Eric felt a little strange. Target practice was a private matter, and he had always gone on his own, only occasionally running into some colleagues.

This girl seems to have specifically looked up my information? Eric stopped abruptly, turned around and glanced at her: "What's the problem?"

Annie stopped and held her breath: "I've been practicing a lot this past month, and I want you to reassess my level."

Eric shook his head and continued walking: "No time, go home early! What you should be doing now is getting some rest and preparing yourself mentally for tomorrow night's shift."

The world at night and the world during the day are not the same world. My advice is not to approach things with a daytime mindset.

Annie stood there, watching the departing figure stride away, and gritted her teeth slightly.

----------------------

Van Ness Airport

A medium-sized private plane that flew in from Russia slowly came to a stop on the tarmac at Vannes Airport.

When the private jet came to a stop, a black sedan was already parked on the tarmac, with three men standing beside it, all dressed in black suits.

Their gaze lingered on the parked private jet.

A tall man in a suit stepped off the private jet, exuding a capable air. He walked down the gangway step by step, and when he reached the ground, he strode quickly toward the black sedan.

As he arrived, a Russian voice rang out.

"Hello, Mr. Nick, this is..."

“I know who you are, and I don’t have time to hear your introduction.” Nick raised his hand to interrupt him, glancing at his watch. “Let’s go straight to the Repinsing Restaurant and talk on the way.”

The man who had spoken up looked at the imposing Nick and obediently shut his mouth.

“Get in the car, take me to the Repinsin Restaurant,” Nick said calmly, opening the door and getting into the back seat.

The three men standing to the side looked at each other, and eventually got on the bus one after another.

The black sedan slowly drove away from its original location, heading straight for the Repin's Restaurant in downtown Los Angeles.

inside the car.

The man who spoke, sitting in the back seat with Nick, took out a folder and handed it to him.

“Mr. Nick, this is information we bought for a fee. It turns out that something happened before the Los Angeles Police Department and the FBI jointly took action against the Rusty Harbor gang.” Nick took the folder, tapped his fingertips lightly on the cover twice, but kept his eyes fixed on the street scene flashing past the window. After a few seconds, he began to flip through the folder.

His face was expressionless, exuding only a cold, ruthless aura.

He came because he suspected something was amiss; he would never have personally intervened if he hadn't noticed anything suspicious.

Quickly skip over the less useful information at the beginning and flip directly to the last series of photos of the death scene and autopsy.

A man was lying in a VIP room on the first floor; his neck had been broken.

The five guards, with the conspicuous gun holes in their heads, led Nick to believe that they had been shot in the head five times.

Upon seeing this, he slightly tightened his grip on the folder in his hand.

Looking at the photos of the scene, he imagined himself in the situation, stepping into the terrain and walking from the VIP room, taking out five people with a single headshot.

He can't.

He could kill those five people, but he couldn't get headshots every time and waste a single bullet.

Nick narrowed his eyes, a cold, razor-sharp glint flashing in them.

There are people in the world who can do this, but they are very few. Their neural reaction speed, including hand speed, perception, and dynamic vision, are all beyond that of ordinary people, at least several steps faster than normal people.

Even on a global scale, such a person would be an absolute top-tier assassin! Nick's breathing became a little heavier.

He initially thought there was something fishy going on, but he never expected that this fishy thing involved such a master.

This makes things a bit tricky. As someone trained in special forces and with his understanding of the world, he knows all too well how troublesome such a master can be.

Dangerous and deadly.

Thinking of this, Nick's expressionless face tensed up even more as he continued scrolling down.

Next is the stairwell on the second floor.

It was still a truly astonishing scene: a head-on collision, the toes forcing out the body and a headshot, followed by three headshots, one shot penetrating the radius bone at a 12° upward angle to ensure the inability to hold a gun was completely disabled, and the final shot was a headshot.

Total time: 1.8 seconds.

Five kills in 1.8 seconds, with an average interval of only 0.36 seconds between each shot.

Nick knew that it takes at least 0.25 seconds for a human to go from visual recognition to pulling the trigger, which meant the other party had almost no neural delay...

Considering the vastly different terrain, the computer-like situational awareness, the precise mechanical fire control, and the absolutely ruthless psychological fortitude required...
Nick suddenly felt a long-lost pressure, and he couldn't help but let out a soft breath.

He hadn't felt this way in years. He wasn't afraid of death; death was just his destination. But now he felt this pressure.

So much so that he clenched his fists even tighter.

But this matter still needed to be resolved, so Nick composed himself and opened the book again.

More information followed.

The photos of the death scene in the monitoring room and the photos in the office made Nick frown.

The injuries on Aiguer, a member of the Rusty Harbor gang, gave him a glimpse into what could be an interrogation.

Now I finally have a general idea of ​​what's going on.

Nick put away the folder and fell into deep thought.

He came from a special forces background, so he was naturally skilled in interrogation and could see the remaining information in the text.

This type of interrogation is too professional, exceeding the standard, and is not something that ordinary people can learn.

The wounds on Aigur's body exhibit typical interrogation characteristics: precise pain control and cuts that avoid vital areas—a common tactic used by professional intelligence personnel.

“It’s similar to a structured interrogation process used by military intelligence agencies,” Nick thought to himself, placing the folder on his lap and unconsciously tapping the cover with his knuckles. “An opponent like this would probably require a small team or an ambush.”

"I need more people."

He turned to the surprised Russian and calmly said, "Transfer them from elsewhere!"

The Russian looked at Nick and nodded: "Okay!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The Repinshin Restaurant was completely empty.

A group of people arrived.

Nick stood in front of the restaurant, looking at the Repinsin Restaurant that resembled a sunset, and then walked in with someone leading him.

Upon arriving at the guard post on the first floor and looking at the terrain in conjunction with the photos he had seen before, Nick gained a deeper understanding.

No matter how you look at it, he couldn't possibly do that. If he were to come into contact with that expert, he would probably die in the first encounter.

Even though there is only a gap between the two sides, a small gap can be fatal.

Looking at the door leading to the second floor, Nick continued walking up, stopping at the top of the stairs. His fingertips traced the bullet holes in the wall, his steps slow yet precise, as if reconstructing the trajectory of a massacre.

Finally, he stopped in the center of the office, holding the folder and comparing it to the scene. Frame after frame of images appeared in his mind, all of which were centered on himself.

Then he looked at the Russian standing next to him, handed the documents back to him, and walked to the window to look outside.

"What do you think?"

“I believe there were at least two or three people working together to commit the crime in a short period of time,” said the Russian who had been standing nearby.

"It's unlikely to be any other hostile force, because there's no information about it at the moment."

Nick looked at the security camera on the corner of the street outside: "Is there any surveillance video?"

"no!"

The Russian replied, "The security room has been compromised; there are no surveillance cameras. We tried to restore it using various methods, but all failed."

Nick calmly said, "Can you find a way to get me surveillance footage from the surrounding six blocks, centered around this restaurant? Whether it's invalid or valid, I need all the surveillance footage from that day."

The Russian and his companion exchanged a glance and nodded, saying, "Yes!"

---

The bustling city center.

A Ford Raptor was parked on the side of the street. Eric picked up his small backpack, got out of the car, walked towards the ATM inside, withdrew a large sum of cash, then got out, got back into the car, and drove off in a certain direction.

It was nearly six o'clock.

The setting sun bathed the city in an amber hue, and the traffic on the avenues began to thicken, with red brake lights forming a winding river of light in the twilight.

Eric looked at the red traffic light ahead, slowly braked, and stopped about a meter behind the car in front, glancing subconsciously through the window.

An office building standing on the street next door, its glass curtain wall reflecting the last rays of sunlight, looks like a row of golden torches about to go out.

Although I have lived in this city for many years, I can still feel its charm.

"Hmm, a sense of freedom and unrestrained spirit!"

Eric looked away, glanced at the traffic light ahead which was turning from red to green, switched his right foot to the accelerator, and drove forward following the car in front.

It eventually stopped at a parking lot at 135 Sherman Road in North Hollywood.

Eric, sitting in the driver's seat, glanced out the window at the large buildings in the distance, turned off the engine, and then got out of the car with his small backpack.

This large building houses a large chain of tool stores, specializing in hardware tools, small lathes, benchtop milling and drilling machines, and heavy-duty metal lathes, among other metal processing equipment.

The equipment here is more than enough to meet all the needs of gun modification. Eric glanced around at his surroundings, his nose twitching as if he could already smell the rustling of steel being refined.

He didn't lie to Annie; he was very busy.

(End of this chapter)