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

Chapter 233 Visit
"I need to go check on those children in Lei's area tomorrow."

Eric lay in the bathtub, enjoying the momentary relaxation brought by the warm water, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, lost in thought.

"Besides this, I also have to attend the award ceremony to receive the medal and bonus."

Thinking about this, Eric felt it was very troublesome.

Daves said that once he returns to duty, his rank will be restored to Constable Level 3.

This wasn't just the culmination of what happened at Anli Cafe; it was the result of all the past events, and the police department could no longer suppress his promotion.

However, the LAPD's third-class officer rank is still very prestigious and is considered the cornerstone of the LAPD.

Compared to first and second-level police officers, third-level police officers are largely freed from the constraints of a large number of basic paperwork and administrative tasks.

At the crime scene, unless a senior officer of the rank of superintendent is present, a third-level officer is usually the core of the on-site command and even has considerable say over the detectives of the Detective Agency.

Because for many of the top professional positions in the LAPD, the basic rank for entry and competence is Sergeant Level 3.

The core members of the special police team are basically all level three police officers.

Detectives are all promoted from the rank of third-level police officer.

The field training officers (FTOs) are almost all Level 3 police officers.

Moreover, a senior third-level police officer, with his extensive experience and potential special skills allowances, could very well earn a total income comparable to or even exceeding that of a newly promoted superintendent.

Therefore, many veteran police officers choose to give up management paths and not pursue the rank of superintendent, but stay at the operational level to do the street work they are best at and love the most, while also receiving top-notch compensation.

It also avoids the paperwork, meetings, and political pressures of management positions, allowing them to enjoy the purity and freedom of frontline work.

For example, Ray, as well as Will, Weston, and Darren are in this situation.

They didn't refuse promotion; they simply chose not to.

Those who choose this path are typically between 35 and 50 years old.

He, a level-three police officer who was only 25 years old, was indeed quite conspicuous among them.

On the contrary, a second-level police officer is the most suitable.

"Oh well, what's done is done. Level three it is," Eric muttered to himself, remaining submerged in the water for a long time before finally surfacing.

After washing up again, I grabbed a bath towel, wrapped it around myself, and walked out of the bathroom.

Eric dried his hair while glancing at his phone on the table.

A piece of information that surprised him a bit arrived.

"End".

There was only the word "end," but Eric knew who had sent the text message.

McCall.

Eric thought of McCall, who was plain-looking and could be easily lost in a crowd.

"Does that mean Pushkin was killed?" Eric raised an eyebrow.

"So fast?"

Even from the information about Pushkin alone, one can tell that he was a great man.

He still lives on the Russian side.

Now, less than ten days later, McCall has taken him down single-handedly.

"Impressive." Eric felt genuine admiration.

Another small stone fell to the ground, and Eric suddenly realized that almost all the problems that had not been solved before had been solved.

Looking at the message, Eric tried to send it again, only to find that the number was not in service.

This means that McCall was using a virtual one-time card, the kind that you throw away after you've used it.

“Fine.” Eric didn’t mind; after all, everyone has their own life. “But why do I have this feeling that we’ll run into each other again?” Eric paused for a moment, then put down his phone.

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Silent all night.

The next morning, Eric called Ray and then drove his Ford Raptor pickup truck from his home to Ray's house.

He would certainly not forget the four children from Myanmar, just as he had gone to the very end of the journey.

In fact, he was deeply impressed by these Burmese children, especially Zhi Zhi Min.

As planned, Ray rented a relatively secluded house to house the four children when he left.

It is located in an ordinary residential area in the San Fernando Valley, built in the 1960s and 70s.

The streets here are neat and orderly, with tall eucalyptus trees on both sides, their roots slightly arching the sidewalk pavers.

The houses are mostly traditional ranch-style bungalows or Spanish-style low-rise buildings, each with a small front yard.

This is a typical, quiet community primarily inhabited by middle-class families.

Eric drove the pickup truck to a stop in front of a house with a light beige stucco exterior.

This is the house that Lei rented.

A very standard and well-maintained two-story house with an attic, light beige exterior walls, brown roof tiles, and a connected garage that can park two cars.

The front yard is a drought-resistant green space, planted with low-growing succulents and pebbles, requiring little maintenance.

There was an old pickup truck parked inside.

In the few days he was away, Los Angeles seemed unchanged, but when he saw the four Burmese children washing their car in Ray's yard, he knew that something was indeed different.

The youngest boy, Maranian, was clumsily trying to rinse the foam off the tires with a hose, splashing water all over himself.

Two other boys, named Godanwei and Miaolun, were diligently wiping the door of Ray's old pickup truck with towels, their movements clumsy but unusually earnest.

He was impressed by Zhizhimin, who stood aside giving instructions like a serious little foreman.

Eric's car stopped.

Four pairs of eyes instantly swept over warily, and their bodies instinctively tensed up, assuming a brief defensive stance.

It was an instinct ingrained in their bones, but the next second, seeing Eric sitting in the driver's seat, the tense atmosphere visibly relaxed.

Zhizhimin, who had been acting like a serious foreman, suddenly brightened up, then tried to straighten her face again and nudged her excited younger brother next to her with her elbow.

"He's back!" Maranian shouted first in Burmese, his voice filled with barely perceptible joy, almost dropping the water pipe in his hand.

This situation made Lei, who had been sitting under the eaves, shake his head inwardly.

In fact, he spent the most time with these children, but they never showed him that natural closeness, especially the girl named Zhizhimin, whose eyes always held scrutiny and wariness.

"Comparison is the thief of joy!" Ray muttered as he watched Eric get out of the car, before heading over to greet him.

"You're finally back, Eric. I heard you did something big when you came back?"

He looked Eric up and down. "Looks like all the parts are still there, nothing is missing."

“Don’t even mention it, Ray, it’s all a hassle. We’ve signed a whole stack of documents.” Eric sighed, getting out of the car and raising an eyebrow at the group of Burmese children washing the car.

Compared to before, the dangerous aura emanating from these four children has diminished considerably.

It seems like they've adapted.

Lei smiled and remained silent. As someone who had been through similar experiences, he naturally understood what Eric meant.

He himself has gone through similar review processes many times.

(End of this chapter)