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

Chapter 296 A Real Man Never Looks Back (Part 3)

Eric remained silent for a few seconds, applying enough pressure, before reaching out and pulling the towel out of his mouth.

“Anna Rodriguez,” Eric said the name.

Farin trembled and pleaded reflexively, "It's not my fault! Those people forced me to do it!"

"Who?" Eric's voice was completely flat.

“Marco! Ronnie! And...and Horst!” Farin rattled off a string of names incoherently.

"They knew I was close to Anna, so they threatened to kill me if I didn't bring Anna to the party!"

As Farin spoke, his tears became increasingly uncontrollable, flowing like a burst dam.

“I didn’t want this to happen either! I swear I just brought her there. I thought we were just going to the party and would be back. I thought they just wanted to get to know Anna. I never imagined they would… would treat Anna like that.”

Upon hearing this, Eric frowned. Although he had expected it, a strong sense of disgust still surged within him.

Regardless, these scumbags will always use the same methods.

It's not hard to imagine that the people Farin mentioned must have some powerful background, a presence that even the locals fear.

Either the background is black, or the person is rich; otherwise, Diego wouldn't be in such despair.

“I was scared, I wanted to stop it, but Marco punched me and knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, I found Anna.” Farin burst into tears as he said this.

It sounded like this kid was the one who took Anna to the hospital. Eric barely managed to resist the urge to punch the kid to death.

“Taking her there is like pushing her into a fire pit with your own hands,” Eric said coldly, pulling the boy up with one hand.

"Now it's your turn to make amends."

"."

"They usually gather at my cousin Horst's house."

"His cousin is called Hector. He's a small leader in the Viper Gang. I heard he's in charge of some illegal businesses and has a few men under him. He's very ruthless and has been in jail for murder before."

"A bungalow with stucco exterior walls."

"Ahhhh!"

With a scream, Eric, having obtained the exact address, immediately broke Farin's arms and legs. After confirming that there would be lasting effects, he glanced at Farin, who was lying unconscious on the floor, and got up to walk towards the living room.

Judging from his motives and the fact that he took Anna to the hospital in time, this guy doesn't deserve to die.

Eric pulled a piece of paper from the box, covered his fingerprints, and picked up the phone on the coffee table. He used the kid's phone to call an ambulance, then put the paper back and left the room.

Back in his car, Eric continued driving towards his next destination without stopping.

Once it was confirmed that this was a minor matter for him, the rest was straightforward.

Because this kind of thing is nothing more than going to their door.

Along the way, Eric bought a hat at a roadside shop, put it on, and continued on his journey.

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

Near 1100 South Burlington Avenue in the West Side of Los Angeles.

In a somewhat old working-class neighborhood, the afternoon sun shone weakly on the streets.

The streets were lined with similar detached houses, and there were few people on the street, with only the occasional barking of dogs breaking the silence.

Eric quickly found his target.

The house called Hector's was among them, a bungalow with a stucco exterior.

In front of a small patch of withered lawn, a rusty mailbox was stuck crookedly.

A blacked-out Chevrolet sedan and two expensive-looking motorcycles were parked in the driveway, clashing with the dilapidated state of the house.

With a blank expression, Eric withdrew his gaze, parked the car on the corner across the street, and got out, walking towards the bungalow like an ordinary passerby.

After habitually confirming that there were no surveillance cameras and no one was around, Eric pulled his hat down low, covered his face with a mask, and walked onto the cement path leading to the porch of the bungalow.

Woof woof woof! !

In the corner of the yard, a pit bull chained to its corner doghouse suddenly leaped out, barking wildly.

His muscles bulged, his teeth bared, and the chains rattled as he struggled.

An ordinary person would have been terrified, but Eric didn't stop walking at all, and didn't even turn his head to look at the dog. He just glanced at it and instantly assessed the threat.

The chain was of limited length, preventing the dog from reaching the path.

His attention was mostly focused on the bungalow in front of him.

Eric approached the bungalow step by step, ignoring the pit bull's barking, and the sounds inside the house began to fill his ears like radio signals.

A heavy bass line emanated from the slight resonance of the house's wooden structure and windows. The music was mostly blocked by the walls and curtains, but Eric could tell it was some kind of intense electronic music with a strong rhythm.

"Besides these, there was the clicking of a lighter, the sound of deep breaths, and the smell... someone was smoking marijuana."

Then, several excited, youthful voices pierced through the poorly soundproofed walls.

"Look! Look here! Horst, you idiot, the camera's shaking like crazy! Yeah, that's the angle, damn it, that's when this girl was crying."

"Hahaha! You have the nerve to say that? Your hands were shaking even more than mine back then, stop! Stop for a second! Look at my expression back then, didn't I look like a starving wild dog?"

"Bullshit! I filmed it perfectly! Look at how she struggles, tsk, that's really something! Play it again, starting from when Marco holds her down there."

"."

Two voices speaking in hushed tones.

"This girl is really hot."

"Pity."

The next second:
"Shut up, all of you! You're all causing me trouble. Keep your mouths shut about this video. Watch it yourselves and don't spread it around, or that old man will go crazy and come looking for trouble."

"Why are the tanks yelling so loudly? Ak, go to the door and see what's going on."

Eric stopped in front of the door, his eyes revealing a cold killing intent.

He finally understood why Diego had abandoned the conventional approach.

The combination of background noise and video recording creates double the pressure on ordinary people, which would make anyone hesitant.

At that moment, a muffled reply came from inside the door: "Understood, Hector." A slightly dragging footstep approached the doorway.

“Five people, mainly in the living room.” Eric took a slight breath, looking at the door hinges and confirming the opening direction.

With a soft click, the door lock was opened, followed by the sound of the door chain sliding open.

The door was pulled open a crack, and an impatient face was not yet fully revealed.

"Fuck! Stop yelling! Fight!" The words abruptly stopped!

With a muffled thud, the door slammed into his face at an astonishing speed. Ak didn't even have time to groan before the enormous force sent him staggering backward.

In that instant, his eyes widened, his only reaction being terror. But in a flash, a large, iron-like hand covered his mouth and nose, forcing his instinctive cry back down his throat.

"Woo!"

Ak's eyes widened in terror as he finally saw the stranger wearing a hat and mask in front of him, and he instinctively struggled desperately.

But Eric's movements were fluid and seamless. As he rushed in, covered the man's mouth, and slammed him against the wall, his knee slammed into the man's abdomen and ribs!
"Ugh!" Ak's body suddenly arched, the excruciating pain instantly draining his strength.

Without pausing, Eric suddenly pulled the hand covering his mouth and nose to the side and back!
"Crack!"

With a soft crack, Ak's neck twisted to one side at an unnatural angle, and his struggle came to an abrupt end.

After quickly dispatching the scumbag, Eric glanced out of the corner of his eye towards the inside of the foyer.

There is a short foyer at the entrance, and you have to turn a corner to reach the living room.

As Eric released Ak's limp body, his hand brushed against Ak's lower back and touched a hard object.

With a swift movement, a Glock 19 pistol fell from Ake's waistband into his hand.

Eric didn't even look, skillfully pressed down the magazine catch with his thumb, ejected the magazine, and glanced at it.

Fully stocked.

With lightning speed, he reset the magazine, then pulled the slide back all the way with his left hand and released it. Click! A crisp, clear metallic clang announced that the bullet was chambered.

At the same time, the most common risk of feeding failure was eliminated, and the index finger slid into the trigger guard.

As Eric dealt with Ak, the commotion at the door alerted those in the living room just a few steps away, around the corner.

"Damn! What's that sound?"

"Ak?"

Eric heard hurried footsteps and rushed towards the corner of the hallway, kicking Ak's still-fallen body violently towards the corner.

The limp corpse rolled around the corner like a sandbag.

"It's Ak! It's him!"

Just as the attention of everyone in the living room was drawn to the rolling corpse of his companion, Eric slid sideways along the wall around the corner, his body parallel to the wall the instant he entered the living room.

With the first target locked in sight, the Glock in his hand was already spitting fire.

boom!
A precise burst of fire! The first bullet pierced the forehead of the man who had just shouted, his astonishment freezing instantly as he fell backward.

Gunshots echoed in the living room.

The three young people sitting on the sofa in the field of vision were all dumbfounded, not knowing what was going on.

Only the man behind the sofa reacted the fastest, trying to grab a sawed-off shotgun from behind the sofa.

With superhuman reflexes, Eric instantly absorbed all the information, made a slight adjustment to his wrist, and without aiming, pulled the trigger again relying on muscle memory.

boom!
The second bullet struck the man's shoulder, blood splattered, and the man screamed as the sawed-off shotgun slipped from his hand.

boom!
The third bullet then pierced his forehead with pinpoint accuracy. The man's movements froze instantly, the fierce light in his eyes vanished, and his body fell heavily backward, slamming into the floor with a dull thud.

Only then did the three young people on the sofa seem to wake up from a nightmare, completely terrified.

"Ah!" A scream that sounded inhuman was heard.

The second person was stunned with fright.

The third person collapsed onto the sofa, his crotch instantly soaked.

"Don't move! Whoever moves will die first! Raise your hands where I can see them, and lie face down on the ground!"

Eric's voice wasn't loud, but Marco, Ronnie, and Horst had no time to think. Their survival instincts made them do it immediately. They frantically raised their hands, then rolled off the sofa onto the floor, their faces pressed against the carpet, their bodies trembling violently with fear.

Despite the gunshots and the blaring electronic music still filling the room, Eric could still hear the painful groans coming from the television. He slowly exhaled, not looking at the screen, but focusing his gaze on the camera on the coffee table.

Eric walked slowly over, his footsteps more menacing than the previous gunshots. The three men on the ground trembled even more noticeably; they even instinctively held their breath, fearing that the slightest sound would bring destruction. Ignoring them, Eric picked up the video recorder, unplugged it from the television, opened the camera menu, ignored the obscene thumbnails, and found all the video files labeled with Anna's name or related code names.

Select "Permanently Delete" and confirm.

Only then did he turn his cold gaze back to the three trembling figures on the ground.

"Is there a backup of the video? You should understand what I mean," Eric said calmly.

The three people lying on the ground shook their heads violently.

Eric raised the camera with his left hand to start recording, while the muzzle of his gun in his right hand was already pointed downwards.

Bang bang bang!
The three gunshots were short and deadly. The heads of the three men on the ground jolted violently before going limp. Blood quickly spread across the carpet.

Eric held the camera steadily in his left hand, recording the execution, maintaining this position for two seconds to ensure a clear shot.

Finally, I opened the camera's memory card slot, took out the small memory card and put it in my pocket. Then I removed the battery and casually tossed the now useless camera back onto the coffee table.

"They've stirred up trouble again. This time it seems they've gone a bit too far." Eric looked at the scene, a little puzzled, but then felt relieved.

"Never mind, at least I feel better."

Eric quickly banished his irrelevant thoughts, wiped the fingerprints off the pistol with his clothes, tossed it aside, and began to systematically search the entire bungalow.

There were no other people.

Eric returned to the living room, his gaze sweeping across the room as his mind raced, contemplating how to destroy everything on the scene.

He really knows this stuff inside and out; he's done it a lot before.

All the details of the search flashed through Eric's mind. He looked toward the open kitchen and walked over.

Takeout boxes and empty beer cans were scattered on the kitchen counter.

Eric had a clear objective: he opened the cupboard and quickly found an unopened bottle of cheap vegetable oil. He then took a few cans of beer from a case of canned beer next to the refrigerator, along with some old newspapers and cardboard for cushioning.

Then they went to the living room, tore up the newspapers and cardboard, and piled them on the sofa, under the curtains, and on the corpses.

Then, evenly drizzle the vegetable oil onto the newspaper, wooden coffee table, and sofa.

The viscous oil penetrates slowly, which increases the duration and intensity of combustion.

"This is far from enough."

Eric went back into the kitchen, opened several drawers, and quickly found everything he wanted.

A heavy bundle of garbage bags, a spoon, a box of matches, and several sheets of highly absorbent paper towels.
"let's start."

Eric looked at the materials, began to twist a thick paper towel into a sturdy paper rope, then soaked it in vegetable oil and set it aside.

After completing this step, Eric pulled a whole piece of cardboard from the beer crate, folded it in half to form a sturdy A-shaped stand, and placed it on the floor directly in front of the gas stove.

Use a piece of thin string to tear off a curtain to securely tie a match to the end of the spoon handle. Then, place the middle of the spoon firmly on top of a cardboard stand to create an extremely sensitive balancing lever.

Then scrape a large amount of gunpowder from the match heads from the matchbox and pile it directly below.

Tear off a small clump of thick paper towel, crumple it with your fingers into a very loose, airy, dry ball, and gently bury it in the gunpowder pile.

Eric picked up a garbage bag, pierced a very fine hole in the bottom with a knife, then pried it open and let a small amount of water in.

As he watched the water droplets begin to fall from the hole, Eric quickly tied the bag shut, then hung it on the hook of the open cabinet door, adjusting its position so that the flowing water would drip precisely onto the other end of the spoon's lever.

"Finish!"

Eric took a deep breath, made a final check on the delay device of the drip friction ignition, and turned on both switches of the gas stove.

The pungent smell of natural gas hissed and spread.

"There is about two to four minutes of evacuation time, which is just enough time for the natural gas to become more concentrated and reach the explosion limit."

Eric didn't linger; he quickly wiped all the surfaces he might have touched with a damp cloth, including the faucets and drawer handles.

Carefully bury one end of the oil-soaked paper rope into the dry paper towel gunpowder ball, and stretch the other end out, laying it on the kitchen floor and extending all the way to the living room area, which was already soaked in vegetable oil.

This oil rope is a channel for transmitting the flame, quickly directing the flame from the kitchen ignition point to the main fuel area in the living room.

The loud music continued to roar inside the house, and Eric had quietly left the living room, gently closing the door of the bungalow behind him.

Wang Wang Wang!
Eric glanced at the pit bull that was still barking wildly.

"You damn dog! Still barking!"

Water droplets fall steadily and continuously onto the metal tip of the spoon.

The loud music and barking of dogs inside masked the countdown to death; sunlight streamed in through the windows, and dust swirled in the beams of light.

Eric walked calmly to the other side of the street and continued walking towards the corner at the end of the street.

Click.

Inside the bungalow, the delicate balance was broken.

laugh!
boom! ! ! !

A sudden and violent explosion shook the once quiet community.

Eric didn't even turn his head. Behind him, the roof of the bungalow was ripped off by a tremendous force, and the shockwave, carrying flames and thick smoke, instantly destroyed the windows and parts of the walls.

Broken glass and wood chips flew everywhere like shrapnel! The raging fire still looked ferocious and blinding in the daytime, and billowing black smoke rose straight into the blue sky.

People in the nearby houses ran out into the street in terror.

Eric calmly walked across to the driver's side door of the Ford Raptor parked there, opened the door, and got into the driver's seat.

Vroom! The engine started with a low rumble.

Eric glanced calmly at the towering flames and thick smoke in the rearview mirror, then gently pressed the accelerator.

The vehicle started smoothly, accelerated away from its original position, and quickly merged into the road ahead.

Like a drop of water merging into the ocean, disappearing without a trace.

-

at dusk.

Diego dragged his heavy steps out of the pickup truck and walked towards his door like a zombie.

Although it seemed like something had happened nearby, and he saw fire trucks and police cars on his way back, and the surroundings had become a bit noisy, Diego didn't notice any of this.

Although Anna was temporarily out of danger, she remained unconscious, and the doctor's words struck his heart like a heavy hammer:

"Post-traumatic stress disorder can be very severe, requiring long-term, professional psychological counseling, as well as unconditional support from family members."

"Fake!"

Endless exhaustion and excruciating grief transformed into a burning rage. Diego seemed to have made a decision, walked to his front door, and was about to take out his keys.

The moment he opened the door, Diego noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He instinctively looked down and saw an ordinary white envelope.

His heart tightened suddenly. He looked around warily, but found nothing. He could only pick up the envelope, open the door, go inside, and lock the door from the inside.

Diego leaned against the door, took a deep breath, and tore open the envelope.

There was no letter inside, only a small memory card and a folded note.

He unfolded the slip of paper, which contained printed, unremarkable English text:

"Your daughter's greatest support right now is a clear-headed and strong father; you are all she has left."

"Not Anna's recording?" Diego paused, his body stiffening. Looking at the memory card in the envelope, he seemed to realize something, quickly went into the house, frantically found his old digital camcorder that he hadn't used in years, and shakily inserted the small memory card into the slot.

The moment Diego pressed play, his breath caught in his throat.

Three young men lying on the ground appeared on the screen.

Bang! Bang! Bang! The footage clearly captures the moment the bullets struck the head.

The camera even remained still for a few seconds.

A few seconds later, it stopped abruptly, and the black screen showed Diego's stunned, tear-streaked face.

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

The sound of brakes was heard.

Eric sat in the driver's seat, looking at the site where work was already winding down.

The setting sun painted the sky a hazy yellow. The workers had already finished their work, leaving only Camillo anxiously tidying up the scattered tools.

This kid must have been waiting for him to come back so he could find out some information.

"Dude, don't be so observant next time." Recalling everything that happened today, Eric couldn't help but rub his face in anger.

But then, thinking of something, Eric shook his head helplessly.

Because if his observation skills weren't so sharp, and he hadn't noticed Diego's unusual behavior, then Diego's family would probably have already fallen into the abyss, with no chance of a new beginning.

He didn't think that Diego, a foreman, could do a better job than him.

"Well, consider it a good deed, a way of repaying God for the blessing of being reborn. Oh, and it also comes with a bonus of Deep Blue points."

Amidst Eric's jumbled thoughts, a voice interrupted his chaotic reverie.

"Mr. Stevens!"

Eric looked up toward the source of the sound, where the young worker Camillo was walking briskly.

“Mr. Stevens!” Camillo jogged to the car, his face still showing lingering worry.

"You're back. How is Diego? Is he alright? Did something happen at home?"

Eric picked up everything he needed, opened the car door, got out, and closed the door. His movements were unhurried, and his expression was calm, revealing little emotion.

He glanced at Camillo; the young man's concern was genuine.

"Yes, I have some personal matters to attend to," Eric replied vaguely, his gaze shifting to the fence, which was already mostly completed.

"He probably won't be coming as often as usual lately."

"Huh? Is it serious?" Camillo asked, his brow furrowed.

Eric didn't intend to reply, figuring Diego would explain later anyway, and glanced at the sky.

"It's getting late, let's go back and rest."

These words effectively ended the conversation, leaving Camillo with no choice but to swallow his remaining questions.

Eric patted Camillo on the shoulder, yawned, and turned to walk towards his front door.

As usual, I took a shower and relaxed.

(End of this chapter)