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

Chapter 151 Result
McCall watched the surveillance footage on his laptop screen, seeing the group spread out, checking every corner of the house, searching for useful information. But unfortunately, they would probably find nothing.

Unfortunately, I'm afraid there isn't one.

"This place is too clean, boss, something's not right!"

"."

His men reported their findings one after another, while Nick stood in the living room, his gaze fixed on a cell phone in a box, and said calmly.

"He's watching us!"

Upon hearing this, his men, who were searching behind him, couldn't help but exchange glances.

"What do you want to do, boss?" someone asked.

Nick stared at his phone, picked it up almost instinctively, and said, "That depends on how he wants to play!"

The moment he finished speaking, his phone rang. Everyone tensed up and turned to look at the ringing phone in Nick's hand.

Nick stared at the phone screen, which only displayed a number, with a grim expression, and answered the call.

“McCall?” he said tentatively, but the phone did not respond.

He continued, "You've certainly caught my attention. How would you like to play? I can play with you."

On the other side, McCall stared intently at Nick through his laptop screen and calmly spoke into his phone.

"I do want to play a game with you guys."

Nick: "Huh?"

“Take down your hideouts one by one, keep killing them,” McCall said.

Nick said in a deep voice, "You're all alone."

McCall shook his head slightly on the other end of the phone, even though the other person couldn't see him: "I am indeed alone, but that doesn't affect the game."

“I don’t care who you are at all. To me, you’re just a loose thread or a useless bottle cap,” Nick said coldly.

"The game won't even begin until you're eliminated."

McCall's emotionless voice rang out: "I've done a lot of bad things in my life, Nick."

These words made Nick's expression even more somber. He only knew the other person's publicly known name, while the other person already knew his real name.

This means that McCall is likely backed by a powerful organization.

"It's a shameful thing, but I promised someone I love deeply that I would never go back to being the person I used to be. But for you, I can make an exception this time."

McCall's emotionless words had barely left his lips when the call was abruptly ended, leaving only a busy tone on the receiver.

Nick tilted his head back, took a deep breath, and tried his best to suppress his impending outburst of anger, giving the order in a cold voice.

"Find him at all costs."

The Russians behind him nodded in response, indicating their readiness to pay a price and involve other powers.

But just then, another ringtone sounded. Everyone instinctively looked at Nick's phone again, only to find that the ringtone wasn't coming from there, but from another phone on Nick's person.

It was Nick's cell phone.

The sudden ringing of the bell, intertwined with McCall's earlier declaration of systematically dismantling the hideouts, caused the air in the room to freeze instantly. Everyone simultaneously recalled McCall's words.

Nick's heart sank, a sense of foreboding washing over him. He took out his personal cell phone, and the screen showed the caller ID: Pushkin.

This is Pushkin's phone call.

At this point, Nick knew that something he didn't know about had happened, and it was something extremely bad.

He answered the phone, held it to his ear, and immediately heard a furious, almost roaring voice coming from the receiver.

"Damn it! What are you doing right now?"

Immediately afterwards, Pushkin revealed the devastating news that Nick was unaware of.

According to reliable sources, Pushkin has just learned that the FBI recently received a very important document containing evidence of his key hideouts and remittance records for bribery.

This time, unlike the previous Rusty Harbor gang, the Rusty Harbor gang only bribed some local Los Angeles officials.

Unlike the previous operation against the Rusty Harbor gang, which only implicated some local Los Angeles officials.

This bribery bill had far-reaching implications beyond Los Angeles, extending to the entire federal level, including prominent figures such as members of the House of Representatives, senators, and federal judges. Its impact was so significant that Pushkin was able to receive word of it so quickly.

But receiving the news meant that it was too late to salvage the situation; the destruction of the hideout was a fact, and the significant damage to the operation was also a fact.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Nick said calmly.

“Ёбтвоюмать! (Fuck him!) He made such a fuss, and you still tell me not to worry? You said you could handle it, and now look what happened? Did you manage to solve it in the shit?” Pushkin roared on the other end of the phone.

“I’ll catch him sooner or later,” Nick said.

"You don't have time! Neither do I! All my business lines are basically paralyzed right now, and I can't even get through on the phone. Just this one piece of bad news I received today has cost me tens of millions of dollars!"

I also need to figure out a way to appease the anger of those damn 'big shots' and cut my losses!
Everything I do now is a complete waste of time! His worthless life is no match for my loss! You either get back here and lick my shoes, or you die.

Before Pushkin could finish speaking, Nick hung up the phone.

A hidden killing intent flashed in his eyes. Without a word, he turned around, walked through the passage his men had cleared for him, and headed straight for the exit.

Now, this is no longer Pushkin's business. Pushkin blacklisted him? Whatever. Now, this is between him and McCall.

------

Eric emerged from a supermarket, carrying a can of gasoline he had just bought, and walked toward the dilapidated, secondhand Toyota Corolla parked by the roadside.

With his other hand still holding the phone: "All done?"

“Yes!” came Tifa’s voice, carrying a strange emotion.

"Could you discuss this with me first next time?"

Eric caught the emotion in Tifa's tone and raised an eyebrow: "Sorry, it just happened so suddenly."

Quantico, Virginia.

Inside the FBI headquarters building.

Tifa stood by the corridor window, looking at the documents in her hand, shook her head, and took a deep breath.

She finally found a reason to get the FBI involved, but Eric had already taken care of everything first.

“Well,” Tifa sighed.
"I just wish you would tell me before you do something so dangerous, darling."

Eric smiled and said, "I will."

At this point, Eric quickly changed the subject: "You'll be waiting for me in Quantico."

"Huh? You want to come over?" A hint of surprise flashed in Tifa's eyes.

"Yes, because I missed you."

Upon hearing this, Tifa couldn't help but smile: "Okay."

"."

After hanging up the phone, Eric breathed a sigh of relief, finally having appeased Tifa. He put the oil can in the trunk, got in the car, started the engine, and drove away.

He drove towards the location he had previously chosen. It was a small bridge.

Eric looked at the bridge that appeared ahead, drove the car onto a side road next to the bridge, and followed a small path towards the bottom of the bridge.

The bridge was small, and the space underneath was limited, but Eric's goal was simple: to find a place to park.

Eric randomly parked the car in a somewhat deserted, garbage-strewn open space, quickly scanned his surroundings to make sure no one was around, then picked up only the necessary items, slung his small bag over his shoulder, and without even taking out the keys, pushed open the door and got out of the car, slowly walking towards the back of the vehicle.

He never intended to keep the car, after all, it was a beat-up car he casually bought in the used car market with cash, costing only a few thousand US dollars.

He opened the trunk, took out the can of gasoline, unscrewed the cap, and poured the gasoline onto the car.

Then, he took out a lighter from his pocket, lit it with a 'snap', and flicked it at the car that was covered in gasoline.

The moment the lighter touched the gasoline, with a loud bang, the Toyota Corolla burst into flames, which danced and leaped wildly across the car like a wild dancer, engulfing the entire vehicle in an instant.

Eric watched silently for a few seconds, then threw the lighter into the flames, turned and walked away down the sidewalk towards the nearby neighborhood.

Not long after, he hailed a taxi on the street and left.

(End of this chapter)