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

Chapter 297 The Phone Call (Transitional, optional)
Eric stepped inside and locked the old door, which had not yet been replaced but had been temporarily reinforced.

Eric walked toward the stairwell, and the scene that came into view was exactly the same as the unfinished fence in the yard.

Half of it still retains its original appearance, while the other half has been completely altered by him, revealing the appearance he desired.

The thick polycarbonate laminated glass has been installed in the window frame, and the solid steel roller shutter track has been adjusted.

On the other side of the wall, there was a bulletproof keel that had just been welded and was still emitting the smell of burnt metal, with piles of building materials below it that had not yet been put up.

Eric didn't linger. He went upstairs, put the custom gun in the master bedroom, and headed straight for the bathroom with only his phone and tablet in his hand.

Nothing was different from before. The bathtub was full of water. I put my phone and tablet on the side of the tub, took off my clothes, and lay down.

Let the water flow over every inch of your skin until it covers your head.

In an instant, the world was shut out, leaving only the muffled sound of the rushing water and the slow beating of one's own heart.

A few seconds later, Eric suddenly popped his head out of the water, splashing water everywhere, took a deep breath, and exhaled all the pent-up emotions he had been suppressing.

"Sure enough, no matter how I think about it, I feel like I did the right thing." Eric leaned back, habitually reviewing his actions.

The punishment of Farin was carried out cleanly, and given that the kid didn't even see his face and was terrified, the likelihood of him calling the police after hearing about Hector and the others' situation is extremely low.

As for Hector, the fire should have destroyed most of the biological evidence, and the weapon he used was a Glock he found on the spot. He left no clues about his firearm, making it difficult for the police to investigate.

The only possible exception is with Bed, but Bed's connection only goes to Farin, and Bed is even less likely to get involved in these matters.

The memory card and note left for Diego had even less chance of being discovered.

"Yes, it's safe."

Eric picked up the tablet next to him and sent Bauer the CAD drawings of the house layout, buildings, and land plot.

After receiving his reply that he had received the message, Eric was about to search for today's events online when Bauer suddenly forwarded him a relevant link.

Addendum: "An explosion."

Eric paused slightly, then clicked on the link.

The page redirects to the local news channel's website, where a striking report with live video and photos comes into view.

[Breaking News] A violent explosion occurred at a residence on South Burlington Avenue, suspected to be caused by a gas leak, and the entire house was destroyed.

The report calmly states: This afternoon, a violent explosion occurred at a residential building on South Burlington Avenue in the West End, causing complete destruction of the house.

Preliminary investigations suggest the explosion may have been caused by a serious gas leak.

Firefighters have recovered several bodies from the rubble. Their identities and the death toll are still being verified. Police stated that there are no signs of homicide so far, but the investigation is ongoing.

“Not bad, it’s going according to my script.” Eric’s gaze swept quickly across the entire text, without replying to Bauer’s message.

This guy was just gossiping to his friend as a complete stranger.

Eric opened the music app, put the tablet aside, stopped thinking about what would happen next, and slowly closed his eyes.

As soothing music played, Eric gently swayed his head, feeling quite comfortable.

-

In the afternoon in Boston, the sunlight loses its midday sharpness and becomes mellow and languid.

It slants through the tops of the sycamore trees in the back bay area, casting warm dappled sunlight through the restaurant's large floor-to-ceiling windows.

Bill sat in a booth further inside, his water glass empty.

Bill habitually scanned the restaurant entrance, the kitchen aisle, and the fire exit in the distance, unconsciously completing a safety assessment.

He arrived a little early; today was the day he would meet his daughter, known as Father's Day.

At that moment, the restaurant door was pushed open, and the wind chimes tinkled softly.

Bill's gaze immediately shifted, and a young girl radiating youthful energy came into view. His previously calm expression suddenly blossomed into a smile.

"baby."

"Dad!" Jinmi smiled and ran over.

Bill stood up, ready to receive a hug from his beloved daughter, but then paused slightly when he saw the figure approaching from behind.

"I missed you so much!"

Upon hearing Kimmy's words, Bill looked away from his wife and gave her a hug.

"Me too."

After the hug ended, Bill glanced at his wife.

"Hello," Leno said.

Bill nodded: "Hello." His eyes were full of questions about why he was here.

"Don't get so worked up," Lenore said, putting down his handbag.

“I’m just surprised. I thought it would just be me and Kimmy,” Bill said, gesturing for the two of them to sit down.

Kimmy glanced at her mother, then at Bill, and explained, "I called Mom here!"

Bill raised an eyebrow, already knowing that Kimmy might have something to tell him, and that it required Leno's support.

"Okay, a raspberry banana milkshake with cherries, your favorite."

Bill pushed the food he had ordered earlier in front of Kimmy.

Jinmi felt a warmth in her heart, and the smile on her face became simple and honest.

Bill's lips curled into a slight smile, then he glanced at Lenore, who had nothing on him: "What would you like to order?"

Leno shook his head and said, "No, thank you."

“Okay, so is there something you want to tell me?” Bill asked bluntly.

Lenore looked at Kimmy, who immediately sat up straight, her mind racing: "Dad! You know my friend Amanda, right?"

Bill nodded: "Hmm, so?"

Kim said, "Her cousin invited us to go on vacation to Paris together."

Bill paused for a moment.

Jinmi, sensing the change in his expression, said, "Isn't this great?"

Bill glanced at the silent Lenore and finally understood. So this was a request for his permission, he said to Kim.

"Why do you want to go to Paris?"

“Dad! I’ve wanted to go to Paris for a long time,” Kimmy said excitedly.

"The Louvre, the Impressionist Museum, the Picasso Museum! These are all places I want to visit."

His daughter, like someone else, was overacting. As a father, he knew all too well what his daughter liked. Bill was speechless inside, but his face remained unchanged.

"I didn't know you were so interested in art?"

“Dad, please, I’ve been to the Museum of Modern Art over a hundred times!” Kimmy said.

"And Amanda went to Paris last summer, and when she came back she could speak French."

Bill was silent for a moment; he could sense his daughter's longing.

"Because you are not yet eighteen, you need my permission to go abroad, so you called your mother to support you?"

Kimmy glanced at her mother and said, "Dad, I really, really want to go! Amanda said their apartments are amazing, overlooking the Seine!"

"Just you and Amanda? And her cousin?" Bill asked.

The calm tone made Lenore, who was standing next to him, seem to have thought of something. He impatiently took out a document and a pen from his handbag and placed them on the table.

"Don't make a mountain out of a molehill, Bill, just sign it!"

Upon seeing this, Jinmi felt a surge of anticipation.

However, Bill's words dashed her expectations, turning her into anger at the disappointment.

“To be honest, I’m a little worried.” “Dad!” Kimmy exclaimed.

“I understand this world, baby,” Bill interrupted Kimmy, speaking earnestly.

"This world is more dangerous than you think."

"Dad! Please!" Jinmi pleaded immediately.

Bill remained unmoved: "A seventeen-year-old girl shouldn't be traveling alone."

Jinmi exclaimed excitedly, "I'm not alone!"

Bill said, "Two seventeen-year-olds! What's the difference?"

“Amanda is nineteen!” Kimmy retorted strongly.

Bill sighed inwardly, picked up his coffee and took a sip, then looked into Kimmy's pleading eyes and said, "How about this, I'll go with you? You won't see me, baby, I'm very good at being invisible."

Jinmi was helpless; her pleading gaze turned into disappointment.

"Can't you just worry less?" Lenore said, unable to bear it any longer.

"Sign it, Bill!"

Bill looked at Kimmy, whose eyes were already filled with tears, but he still said, "I need to think about it."

Leno was convinced: "We all know what you mean by that."

Jinmi suddenly stood up, her eyes red, and hurriedly ran out of the restaurant.

Bill pursed his lips, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the cool glass.

“I really don’t understand you,” Leno said.

Bill asked, "What are you trying to say?"

“For the country, you sacrificed our marriage; for the country, you made a mess of your own life,” Leno said.

"Can't you sacrifice a little for your daughter this time?"

Bill said, "I'd give anything for her!"

"Then what exactly is the problem?" Leno asked.

“I know Kimmy. She’s not someone who likes art, and I don’t feel comfortable letting her take such a risk,” Bill said seriously.

Renault chuckled: “Going to Paris is an adventure? You’re pathetic, Bill!” With that, she grabbed her handbag, stood up, and left, leaving behind her last words.

"You can just keep living in your dangerous world."

Bill watched him leave until Lenore went out. He silently picked up his coffee and took a sip, and for some reason suddenly thought of a certain young man.

Yes, he didn't think about his old comrades who had fought alongside him, but suddenly thought of Eric.

Aside from Eric, a young man, his social circle is mostly made up of older guys his age.

And the family lives of these old guys were just as bad as his.

They can easily navigate through a hail of bullets without flinching, and are proficient in various skills. However, once they return home and face a completely different battlefield, such as household chores, they are often overwhelmed and helpless.

The very rules they relied on for survival had completely failed, and in this respect, none of them could help each other.

Bill gave a wry smile, as if he could already see Damian and his gang of old guys patting him on the shoulder and saying, "Buddy, it's always good to be cautious, you're right."

Bill took out his phone, hesitated for a moment, and didn't dial any of his old friends' numbers.

My finger swiped through the contacts, eventually stopping at Eric Stevens' name.

-

Eric was standing on a ladder, using an impact drill to tighten the last bolt on a Kevlar bulletproof plate in a load-bearing wall that had already been fitted with steel framing.

The piercing noise echoed in the empty room, intertwining with the construction sounds of the fence outside the window to create a strange duet.

"Buzz!"

The last bolt was driven firmly into the keel, Eric released the trigger, and the roar of the impact drill came to an abrupt halt.

"Finish."

Eric put down the impact drill, jumped off the ladder, took a few steps back, and examined the wall that was about to be covered with drywall.

"That's settled then." Eric nodded, clapped his hands, and prepared to move on to the next task.

Through this series of hands-on exercises, his architectural analysis skills, as well as other skills, improved very quickly.

Perhaps this is because it has accumulated too much.

Just as Eric picked up his tools again, his phone, which he had carelessly placed next to the pile of tools, suddenly vibrated.

"What's this?" Eric instinctively looked over and saw it was Bill's call, raising an eyebrow slightly.

I picked up my phone, swiped to answer, and held it between my shoulder and ear while continuing to organize my tools.

"Bill?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone before Bill's slightly low voice came through.

"Eric, are you busy?"

"Yeah, let's do some home renovations," Eric said succinctly.

"Is something wrong?"

Bilton paused, seemingly considering how to begin: "I just had a fight with Kimmy and Lenore."

After saying that, Bill seemed to have found a place to vent, and he poured out everything in one go.

The gist of the story is that his daughter wants to go to Paris, he thinks it's dangerous, his ex-wife thinks he's being unreasonable, and his daughter runs away in a huff.

Eric was taken aback. He hadn't expected Bill to call just to talk about family matters; he had thought it was about some mission or something more violent.

However, Eric also realized that Bill simply wanted to talk to someone about his feelings.

“I said I need to think about it, and Lenore said we both understand what that means.”

"Yes, I understand that I will most likely refuse in the end, but I can't bear to see Kimmy with tears in her eyes." Bill's tone was full of helplessness.

"You're such a doting father, of course you can't stand it," Eric thought to himself, listening quietly without interrupting.

“My old buddies,” Bill continued, his voice low.

"Or rather, we old folks have long forgotten how normal families should get along."

"So?" Eric asked, having put down his work and sitting on the pile of building materials.

"You want to hear my thoughts?"

Bill said, "Yes."

“It sounds like you’re caught in the middle,” Eric said, offering no judgment on right or wrong, only describing his feelings.

"On one hand, your daughter feels that you are restricting her, and on the other hand, your ex-wife thinks that you are living in the past."

What about you? Besides feeling worried, what other feelings do you have?

This question surprised Bill for a moment, but he eventually retorted.

"It's so freaking helpless. I can solve so many complicated problems, but I can't manage my family life."

“Because those complex problems have clear rules and enemies,” Eric added softly.
"But there are no family matters. The enemies here might be misunderstandings, a generation gap, or even your own protective instincts. It's normal to feel powerless."

“Eric, you’re right.” Bill’s tone changed slightly.

"It's like hitting cotton; I know there might be danger, but I can't point to a specific target and tell Kimmy, 'Look! That's the threat.'"

“So you don’t want Kimmy to take any risks and want to create an absolutely safe environment to put her in,” Eric said.

“It’s our instinct, Bill, you’re not wrong.”

(End of this chapter)