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

Chapter 307 Attack
As Eric thought, he could use the carriage to block the line of sight of the two people on the other side, but he couldn't escape the driver's field of vision.

Because he was walking towards the driver's seat of the car.

As he approached from the side and rear, entering the driver's peripheral vision, the burly man in the driver's seat noticed him.

The burly man looked up, his face expressionless, and cautiously observed the unfamiliar face that was slowly approaching through the half-open car window.

Eric showed no signs of aggression, nor did he make prolonged eye contact with the driver; he simply walked naturally.

Approach the truck like a passerby.

The burly man frowned, his hand instinctively moving closer to the bulge at his waist, staring intently at Eric as he approached.

"Hey bro, can I borrow a light?"

Eric successfully walked to the driver's side window and spoke in slightly accented French, his voice natural, while making a smoking gesture.

The burly man, still wary, glanced at Eric's empty hands, and when he confirmed there were no obvious weapons, his brow relaxed slightly.

But looking at Eric, a hint of impatience flashed in his eyes. He didn't even bother to reach for the lighter. Instead, he rudely waved his free hand, as if shooing away a fly, in heavily accented French:
"Get out of here, there's no fire for you!"

Before the burly man could finish speaking, and as he impatiently waved his arm, his attention wandering, Eric's eyes narrowed slightly, and his right hand, which had been hanging by his side, grabbed the burly man's waving wrist.

Taking advantage of the man's unpreparedness, he suddenly pulled the strong man's arm sharply towards the outer edge of the window frame and bent it downwards.

Crack! The crisp sound of bone breaking was masked by the ambient noise of the carriage and the street.

His elbow slammed against the bottom edge of the hard metal window frame at an unnatural angle.

The intense pain struck the strong man's nerves like an electric current, causing him to open his mouth wide and only be able to let out a short, suppressed groan.

He reached into his waist with his other hand as he groped around haphazardly.

Eric's left hand was poised to strike, loosely clenched into a fist with his middle finger knuckle protruding, and he slammed it into the opponent's Adam's apple, which was completely exposed and unprotected due to his forward lean.

A cracking sound came from deep within the burly man's throat.

His eyes bulged out instantly, bloodshot, and all sound was cut off deep in his throat, leaving only a chilling hoarse sound of instinctively trying to breathe but unable to get oxygen.

The hand that reached into her waist instantly froze.

Seeing the strong struggle of the burly man, Eric did not pause at all. He released his wrist, which was no longer useful, and reached forward, through the gap in the car window. His arms, like cold iron hoops, tightly strangled the burly man's neck, compressing his carotid artery.

A two-pronged approach was adopted to completely extinguish its lifeline.

Boom!Boom!Boom!
The burly man's body began to spasm uncontrollably, and his legs kicked futilely under the driver's seat, producing a dull and continuous thud, causing the entire carriage to shake slightly.

The commotion made Eric's eyes twitch: "How can they play assassins like this?"

The unusual noise seemed particularly jarring on the relatively quiet street.

At the bar entrance, the two guards who were leaning against the wall smoking stopped chatting at the same time.

"What's that sound?" One of them frowned and looked warily at the van ten meters away.

His companion straightened up as well: "What's Pavel up to?" he muttered, glancing at the truck.

Due to the limited viewpoint and the approaching darkness, it was impossible to see what was happening inside the car.

The two exchanged a glance, both seeing the confusion in each other's eyes.

"Pavel?" the first man called out tentatively toward the truck.

no respond.

"Pavel? What the hell are you doing?" the second man shouted again, louder than before, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun handle at his waist.

Still no response.

This silence was even more unsettling than the commotion just moments before.

"Something's not right." The second man lowered his voice, his relaxed expression completely vanishing as he drew a pistol from his waistband.

"Go over and have a look!"

The first person also drew his gun from his waist, and his eyes changed.

"Be careful, there might be a problem."

The two men stopped talking and, standing on either side in a loose tactical formation, cautiously approached the now-silent van.

Their slow movement, taut bodies, and fingers pressed pre-pressed on the trigger betrayed their intense tension.

Eric released his arm from under the car door, letting go of the muscular man who was now limp, feeling helpless.

This commotion will definitely alert the two people over there.

He couldn't quite understand how those incredible infiltration and assassination attempts in movies were actually accomplished.

Perhaps he simply doesn't have time to prepare, and his equipment is severely inadequate; or perhaps the truck itself and the wide terrain present some limitations.

"Pavel?"

A tentative shout came from outside the car.

Eric glanced at the quiet, already lit apartment building, then curled up, his body pressed against the shadows of the front wheel hub and the side edge of the hood.

I pulled out the Glock 19, checked it again, and adjusted my breathing slightly.

We have no choice but to launch a direct attack.

"Look, Pavel!" a voice exclaimed in surprise, clearly having spotted his companion slumped over the steering wheel through the car window.

"Damn it, what's going on?" another voice asked, sounding even more anxious.

"Wake him up!"

Using the sound to pinpoint the location, Eric briefly concealed himself on the side edge of the car's hood, adopting an isosceles firing stance as he darted to the side and slipped out.

The two sentries, who were approaching in a loose tactical formation, moved to an angle where they could clearly see the situation inside the driver's cab.

They immediately spotted their companion Pavel, slumped over the steering wheel, and the dark figure that had suddenly appeared from the shadows of the front of the car just as they finished speaking.

Their pupils contracted sharply in shock, and their trained instincts made them immediately raise their guns, their fingers poised on the triggers; their reaction was not slow.

But Eric took the initiative and was faster than them.

boom!
A sharp, loud gunshot suddenly rang out, completely shattering the evening tranquility of the Saint-Denis district.

The bullet precisely pierced the forehead of the first person preparing to approach the driver's seat.

Before he could even fully aim his gun at the target, a cloud of blood burst open on his forehead, freezing him in place, and he fell straight backward.

At the very moment before the muzzle flash of the first shot had completely dissipated, Eric subtly flicked his right wrist, which was holding the gun, to the left, causing the muzzle to trace a tiny, almost invisible arc.

The second person behind him had just finished aiming. He had even seen the splatter of blood when his companion was shot in the head, and a look of utter horror had just appeared on his face.

boom!
The second shot rang out immediately afterward, without pause.

The shot hit him squarely in the face. He didn't even have time to scream before he fell to the cold pavement, the gun sliding far away from his hand.

In the blink of an eye, the two sentries were instantly killed by headshots, the whole process taking less than a second.

The echoes of the gunshots still reverberated through the street, dull and jarring. Eric didn't look at the bodies on the ground; he knew that the two unmasked gunshots were like the sounding of war drums, and the people inside the building must have been alerted by now.

Eric strode decisively toward the dark red iron gate of the apartment building, steadily raising his Glock 19 as he scanned the top of the building's exterior wall with his gaze.

Bang! Bang! Two more clean gunshots rang out, and the two hemispherical surveillance cameras installed on the left and right sides above the iron gate exploded. Plastic fragments and electronic components flew everywhere, and after a few flashes of electrical sparks, they went out completely.

-

The corridor was narrow and dark, the walls were peeling and mottled, and the air was filled with the smells of mildew, sweat, and fear.

The third floor was specially modified into a filthy prison, with each tightly closed door holding young girls who had been deprived of their freedom and hope.

Inside one of the rooms.

Kimmy and Amanda huddled in a corner of the floor. The room contained only a bed, a foul-smelling bucket in the corner, and a bedside table filled with tissues and some syringes.

Their clothes were still intact, but stained, and their faces bore tear stains and undisguised terror.

Just hours ago, they were excited about their vacation in Paris, but now they've fallen into hell.

Amanda's body trembled uncontrollably with fear. She gripped Kimmy's arm tightly, her voice trembling with sobs, "Kimmy... what will they do to us? Why did they capture us?"

Kimmy tried to remain calm, but her voice trembled slightly: "I don't know, Amanda. Calm down, breathe."

Amanda's voice trembled: "Calm down? We've been kidnapped! Locked up in this godforsaken place! Did you hear those sounds from the other rooms? Those crying sounds?"

The more she spoke, the sharper her voice became, fueled by fear.

At that moment, heavy footsteps and rude shouts in Albanian came from outside the door.

Jinmi immediately covered her mouth, signaling her to be quiet, and stared intently at the door. The footsteps stopped in front of their door, and the lock clicked open.

A burly, fierce-looking Albanian with a full beard walked in, followed by a slightly thinner accomplice with slick eyes.

“You! Stand up!” the burly Albanian said in heavily accented English, pointing at Amanda.

Amanda shrank back in fright, clinging tightly to Kimmy: "No! Don't!"

Kimmy stood in front of Amanda, though she was also very scared, she could only force herself to remain calm and said:
Where are you taking her?

The burly Albanian didn't answer. He just found Amanda too noisy, so he impatiently stepped forward, forcibly pushed Kimmy aside, grabbed Amanda's arm, roughly pulled her up, and threw her into his companion's arms.

"Elisha, get a health check-up to see how much you can buy it for."

Elisha held the struggling Amanda, nodded, and prepared to leave.

Amanda cried out in despair, struggling desperately: "Let me go! Kimmy, save me!"

Jinmi rushed forward anxiously, but was shoved away by the burly man with his other hand and slammed against the wall.

"Don't worry, it'll be your turn soon! We'll take some nice photos for you and find you a good buyer."

Just then, two faint gunshots rang out from downstairs. They were very faint, but in the deathly silence and oppressive atmosphere, they sounded like a thunderclap.

“Florian?” Elisha paused, exchanging a wary glance with Florian.

"What the hell is going on down there?" Florian cursed under his breath.

Only Jinmi felt a surge of emotion and opened her eyes wide.

Then came two more gunshots, followed by more, clearer shots, and then shouts in Albanian from their accomplices.

Elisha's face showed panic: "Something's wrong! Are they the police?"

“Impossible! We just paid a huge sum of money!” Florian hesitated for a moment, then shoved the crying Amanda back into the corner.

"Keep an eye on them!"

Florian said to Elisha, then drew his pistol from his waist, strode out of the room, and closed the door behind him, clearly going out to check the situation.

Only Kimmy, with her fascinating expression, Amanda, filled with fear, and Elisha, who was also starting to get nervous, remained in the room.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Clearing his eyes from the outside world, Eric stepped right up to the iron gate and listened intently to the sounds inside.

From inside the door came faint Albanian shouts and hurried footsteps, growing ever closer.

“There’s gunfire!”

"The camera signal is gone!"

"Where are Pavel and the others?"

"Go out and see what's going on."

Chaotic Albanian shouts came from inside the door, filled with surprise and uncertainty. They knew something was wrong outside, but they couldn't be sure of the specifics.

"You go!"

"Damn it, why me?"

“There were only two different voices.” Eric leaned against the wall next to the door frame, holding his Glock 19 to his chest.

The bolt on the iron gate was carefully pulled open, making a soft creaking sound.

A crack slowly opened, and a head and half a shoulder, extremely tense, peeked out, a pistol in its hand pointing haphazardly at the empty street ahead.

His gaze was instinctively drawn to the body of his companion lying in a pool of blood a few meters away, and his pupils dilated in horror.

"out"

Eric emerged from the shadows of the door like a ghost, grabbing the thumb and forefinger of the other man's gun-wielding wrist with his left hand and forcefully twisting it against the iron door at the joint.

Crack! A crisp sound of bone breaking rang out.

At the same time, Eric lunged forward, his right shoulder slamming heavily into the door panel that had just been opened.

Bang! The heavy iron door slammed into the face of another guard who was about to provide backup. The sound of his nose breaking was clearly audible, accompanied by a shrill scream, as he was thrown backward.

The gunman, whose wrist was grabbed by Eric, had his arm bent at an odd angle. The intense pain caused him to involuntarily loosen his grip, and the pistol fell to the ground.

Before he could react, the scream had barely begun when Eric's Glock 19 in his right hand was already pressing against his chin from below.

Bang! The bullet pierced the skull, and a mist of blood sprayed from the top of the head, splattering red and white matter onto the mottled wall.

Eric released his grip, then pushed the limp corpse forward as a human shield, and burst through the door.

In an instant, Eric absorbed the layout behind the door.

Inside the door is a short corridor that connects to a small cement courtyard of less than ten square meters, piled with clutter. At the end of the corridor is the narrow first staircase leading upstairs.

As for the second section of stairs, the view was obstructed by the corridor wall, so it cannot be confirmed.

Perhaps due to the timing of their reactions, their positions, and the time of day, only these two people were behind the door.

The gunman, who had been knocked down by the door, was lying on the ground, clutching his bloodied face and howling in pain, rolling around as he tried to raise his gun.

Eric fired another shot into the head as he was moving, and the screams stopped abruptly.

(End of this chapter)