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

Chapter 289 Fence Renovation (Two Chapters Combined)

After Grey and the others left the office, the Chief Superintendent's office returned to calm.

Eiswin paused for a moment, picked up the report, and took one last look at Eric's ID photo in his patrol uniform. He was young, handsome, and had a calm gaze, looking no different from thousands of other ordinary patrol officers.

Yet this handsome young man secretly accomplished one earth-shattering feat after another.

“He’s capable, but he’s caused too much trouble. He’s like a bomb that could explode at any moment, and we can’t handle him.” Aisven shook his head, put down the report, and glanced at the phone on the table.

For such a major event, the mayor of Los Angeles has to get involved, and the old men on the police commission will also subtly inquire about it.

But these things didn't put any pressure on him.

Aiswin pondered for a moment, tapped the table, and stared at the phone.

He was waiting for a call from the mayor's office.

Jingle Bell.

Just as Eswin had predicted, the phone rang suddenly.

Aisven answered the call expressionlessly:

"Hey?"

-

Eric was completely unaware of all this; he was simply wrapped in a blanket and fast asleep, oblivious to the ripples that had been stirred up by his actions within the Los Angeles Police Department.

Simply put, he was woken up by the construction crew.

According to the sounds around him, a heavy pickup truck's engine roared as it shut down outside the door, followed by the muffled sound of the door opening and closing, the gruff conversation of several men, and the metallic clanging of a toolbox being placed on the ground.

As the body becomes more sensitive to changes, this kind of thing becomes unavoidable.

This transition period is particularly difficult; you can only gradually get used to it, or find a switch for yourself, like Superman, who appears when needed.

Eric opened his eyes and glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

nine in the morning.

I only slept for about an hour, which is far from enough for someone who fought last night.

Although I didn't feel anything.

Eric sighed, threw off the blanket, casually put on an old T-shirt and sweatpants, rubbed his slightly messy hair, and went outside.

Outside the door, three burly workers in overalls were unloading materials and tools from his pickup truck.

A middle-aged Latino man who looked like a foreman, wearing a cowboy hat and sporting a thick beard, was comparing blueprints to his yard.

"Good morning, gentlemen." Eric's voice was still a little hoarse from just waking up.

The foreman turned around at the sound of his voice, revealing a set of white teeth and a hearty smile: "Aha! Mr. Stevens? I am Diego, Diego Ortiz, from Anchor Point Construction Company."

We scheduled to come this morning to do the foundation work and preliminary measurements for your fence.

“I remember.” Eric nodded and stepped forward.

After all, he had been purchasing materials as required during this period.

If the purchase had only been for the fence, it would have been finished long ago. But he also added materials for the house, and the purchase process is only now complete.

Eric habitually glanced at Diego's rough hands, sturdy shoulders, and the core strength displayed by the two young men behind him as they carried heavy objects.

They were clearly skilled manual laborers; although the pickup truck was covered in mud, the tools were neatly arranged.

"Have you looked at the blueprints?" Eric asked, handing over a bottle of ice water he had brought out from inside the house.

“Of course.” Diego took the water, nodded his thanks, patted his palm with the blueprint, and said half-jokingly.

"Seriously, sir, the foundation requirements for your fence are quite unusual. They're even higher than the foundation requirements for many small villas I've handled. Are you planning to protect it from tanks?"

Eric smiled and said in a relaxed tone, "I just wanted to make sure it was sturdy enough. After all, it can be quite windy here sometimes, and I like quiet and don't want to be disturbed easily."

Diego was a smart man; working in Los Angeles, he'd seen his fair share of eccentric clients. Rich people always had some special needs. He shrugged, didn't ask any more questions, patted his chest, and assured them:

"You're the boss, you're in charge! Don't worry, the materials and processes will be exactly as you require, not a single bit off."

"I, Diego, have worked in this area for twenty years, and it's all based on my reputation and word of mouth."

"That's good." Eric nodded. "Is there anything I can help with?"

"Not for now. We'll lay out the lines and locate the positions first. It might be a bit noisy, so I apologize in advance," Diego said, calling out to his men.

"Hey! Camillo, watch out for my level! That's my wife!"

"Got it!" a young man replied.

“Then you guys get on with your work,” Eric said, letting the others start fiddling around before returning to his room to continue sleeping.

However, after waking up, I couldn't fall back asleep at all when I closed my eyes and listened to these people talking about today's hot news.

"Really? An RPG? Where did you hear that?"

“My cousin’s girlfriend’s brother is a clerk at the LAPD! He was on duty last night and saw that the police station was running around like crazy because of this. They said it was like a war zone in Topanga, with explosions and gunfire everywhere. Apparently, some gangs used heavy firepower!”

"God. This is getting crazier and crazier. What happened next?"

"I don't know either. There are a lot of rumors. The most reliable one is that some powerful person led the team to resolve the issue. Anyway, the news didn't dare to report the details, just said that there was a firefight."

"."

His actions last night were, in the eyes of outsiders, actually like this, but no one expected the news to spread so quickly.

It seems that the entire city of Los Angeles is focused on what happened last night.

However, from this perspective, aside from the West Canyon Police Department and the Counterterrorism and Special Operations Bureau, the Los Angeles Police Department may have a version closer to the truth, but the information was likely filtered and packaged for external and subordinate units.

This approach was exactly what he expected. Fame is not a good thing for someone like him; living under the public eye is actually a shackle.

Eric opened his eyes, abandoning his plan to go back to sleep. He hadn't entered deep sleep; at most, he was just resting with his eyes closed.

It seems the aftereffects of adding points won't end today.

And it's highly likely I won't be going to work tonight.

Eric simply got up and strolled to a corner of the room, where a small white porcelain Guanyin statue sat quietly.

He bought this in Chinatown.

The owner, Kane, originally called to say he would bring a sorcerer to his home in person, but he refused. In the end, the consecration was performed remotely.

Giving the girl who needed to earn tuition money left her with a sum of money as a way of setting up a connection, but it was best to avoid any entanglement with the boss who looked exactly like Donnie Yen from his previous life.

He now had a new understanding: anyone connected to things from his past life was likely to have a lot going on. Eric took out an incense stick, lit it over the stove fire, and wisps of smoke rose, carrying a faint sandalwood scent.

He inserted incense sticks into the small incense burner in front of the statue, clasped his hands together, and silently prayed, "Guanyin Bodhisattva, please protect me."

He discovered that his bad luck had not really gone away.

It just exists in another form, like what happened last night. It was supposed to be just arresting a wanted criminal, but it turned into arresting a small, heavily armed team.

This experience is so dramatic it could easily be made into an action movie.

Eric, seeking psychological comfort through daily incense burning, made himself a cup of coffee and stepped outside. He leaned against a porch pillar and watched them begin to stretch out the measuring tape, hammer in wooden stakes, and mark the ground with spray paint.

Then he began operating a small excavator to dig foundation trenches. The mechanical arm dug back and forth, emitting a dull roar, completely cutting off any possibility of him resting.

Out of habit, Eric's mental skill panel began to activate automatically.

Skills like [Architectural Analysis LV1] and [Intelligence Gathering LV3] still subconsciously drive him to analyze and learn.

Eric could feel the experience points for the new skills that had appeared due to the design. Although there were no numerical experience points, he could feel them.

It must be said that he is an extremely hardworking person.

Eric took a sip of coffee, thought for a moment, and walked over to Diego, the foreman who was leveling the foundation. During a break, he spoke, his tone carrying just the right amount of curiosity, perfectly embodying a homeowner concerned about the progress of the project:

"Diego, excuse me, but I'm seeing you driving these wooden stakes in for positioning. How do you ensure they're absolutely in a straight line? By visual estimation?"

Diego turned his head, appearing very patient with his benefactor's questions. He picked up an antique-looking but well-preserved brass instrument next to him:

"Thanks to this, old buddy, it's an optical level, much more accurate than the naked eye."

He skillfully set up the instrument and squinted one eye at the eyepiece.

"See that crosshair? Align it with the scale and level it little by little. This thing is more reliable than the new electronic level in the company, it's just a bit slower."

But when it comes to the basics, slow is fast, and accurate is economical.

Eric carefully observed his actions and tried it out, following his instructions.

"I see, I've learned a lesson."

Eric nodded, then asked casually, "The foundation depth and concrete grade requirements on the drawings are quite high. Approximately how long will it take for this type of concrete to reach its maximum strength?"

Diego raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by the professionalism of Eric's question:
"Oh? Mr. Stevens knows about architecture? Generally speaking, it can be built to strength in three days, and people can walk on it."

However, to achieve the designed strength, especially the one you requested, it will take at least seven days. During this time, the soil must be kept moist and protected from direct sunlight to prevent cracking. Therefore, we will cover it with a maintenance blanket after watering; this cannot be rushed.

"Seven days is enough time for me to use the noise and cover from the fence construction to begin the initial modifications to the internal structure." Eric instantly had a plan in mind.

"I've just been doing some research lately," Eric said with a smile, glossing over the matter.

"After all, it's my own home, so I want to know more about it. Your level looks quite old."

“It was passed down from my father.” Diego patted the instrument.

"Good things last a long time, just like with work, sometimes the old methods are the most reliable."

Eric kept smiling and nodded. Seeing that the other person was busy, he didn't disturb him. Instead, he went back to tinker with the materials and tools inside the house, and occasionally came out to observe and learn from the outside.

But it really does have some use.

The afternoon sun became quite scorching, and the backs of the construction team's shirts were soaked with dark sweat stains, but their pace did not slow down at all.

The foundation trenches have been excavated, and their depth and slope meet Eric's high standards.

The steel reinforcement cage is being tied and formed at the bottom of the trench, and will soon be poured into concrete.

Because it was a bit hot today, Eric brought over a case of chilled sports drinks and distributed them to Diego and the others.

“Hey guys, it’s hot, make sure you get some water and electrolytes.” Eric’s tone was natural, without a hint of condescension.

This small gesture immediately won their favor; they accepted the drink with slight surprise and thanked him repeatedly.

"Thanks, boss!"

"Wow, this is perfect! I'm just so thirsty!"

“You are so considerate, Mr. Stevens.”

Diego unscrewed the cap, took a big gulp, exhaled a satisfying breath, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and remarked:

"To be honest, Mr. Stevens, it's rare to find a customer like you. Some bosses basically ignore us, whether we live or die, and stay far away from us as if we're some kind of jewel."

They would even occasionally peek out the window and complain about how slow we were at work or how we were dirtying their lawn.

Eric was speechless, subconsciously recalling his homeland from his previous life.

It was common for the owners to offer cigarettes and water to the workers there, and they would even personally provide meals.

Because everyone understands a simple truth: put yourself in someone else's shoes.

When you treat them well, they feel comfortable and will work more diligently and conscientiously. They might even proactively help you save materials and handle details better.

This is a virtuous cycle built on mutual respect.

Eric smiled and simply replied, "You're the ones working hard under the sun. I just did something insignificant."

These words pleased Diego even more, and he threw himself back into his work with even greater enthusiasm, paying even more attention to the details.

Eric then went back inside, not wanting to disturb them further, and leaned against the shady porch, watching them do their work.

His future father-in-law, Jay, was indeed a good match; he was a fairly reliable small construction contractor.

Even he couldn't find a single fault with it.

At this moment, the loud roar of the concrete mixer trucks grew louder as they approached, indicating that the project was about to enter the next crucial stage: pouring concrete.

Eric raised an eyebrow, then immediately turned and went inside.

Outside, concrete mixer trucks were still roaring.

Eric stood in the center of the living room, his gaze sweeping over the special materials piled in the corner.

Rolls of Kevlar bulletproof fabric, heavy steel plates, high-grade bulletproof glass samples, high-strength alloy brackets, and a complete set of professional tools, including high-powered electric hammers, industrial-grade angle grinders, metal cutters, welding machines, and more.

All the supplies he had carefully procured were already in place, like soldiers waiting for inspection, just waiting for his command.

"Materials are ready, the noise is just right, the timing is perfect," Eric muttered, glancing at a side window on the first floor, the future weak point of the defenses.
Bang! Bang! Sizzle!
There was a roaring sound outside.

Inside, Eric picked up a hammer drill and began to remove the plaster layer around the window frame, exposing the wood underneath.

The impact sound and vibration blended perfectly into the background noise.

(End of this chapter)