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

Chapter 319 Check-in
a few days later.

The air was filled with the rich aromas of wine, old wood, and stew gravy.

Under the low wooden beams, the light was dim, with scattered wooden tables and chairs and yellowed old photos on the wall.

This constitutes Eric's vision of a Burgundy bistro.

"How is it?" Bill swirled his glass, his gaze sweeping over the weathered room, and chuckled.

"Didn't I lie to you?"

The two were sitting at one of the well-worn old tables, on which sat a half-empty bottle of Burgundy red wine, its deep red liquid gleaming in the dim light.

“It lives up to its name, this place is really nice.” Eric took a sip of his drink, the rich and complex flavor melting on his tongue.

"The owner must have a story to tell about how he managed to turn this place into what it is."

As Bill said, the owner's homemade wine and food here are quite good.

It was better than everything he and Tifa had eaten during their previous few days in Paris, and the atmosphere was quite comfortable.

A rare moment of relaxation appeared on Bill's face: "He has a lot of treasures, take your time to find them."

Eric smiled and said, "Yes, I've got it. I'll come again next time."

Eric continued, "Did Kimmy and Amanda both get back safely?"

"Yes, everything went smoothly. Their families have all picked them up." Bill nodded, a sense of relief washing over him.

But when he looked at Eric, his eyes held a strange look.

He suddenly remembered that when he was packing his things to go to the airport, Kimmy was lovesick, absent-minded, and hesitant about whether to say goodbye to Eric or not.

This has completely exposed everything.

Moreover, at the airport, Kimmy suddenly asked him another question: "Do people like Eric, like Dad, only like charming and capable women like Miss Tifa?"

It's truly unbelievable!
Bill glanced subconsciously at Tifa, who had already left her seat and was now chatting and laughing with her boss.

With an upright posture and an elegant and confident profile, he was gesturing as if asking for the secret to a certain dish.

Tifa is indeed one of those rare women who makes others feel unworthy of her and dare not approach her.

Bill withdrew his gaze and turned it back to Eric, who was completely unaware of the situation.

The guy was leisurely sipping his wine, his eyes clear, completely unaware of the huge stone he had thrown into a young girl's heart.

An indescribable sense of helplessness and a touch of bittersweet emotion, like the smell of alcohol, rose up and choked Bill's chest.

Eric is definitely the best choice, but as a father, it's a shame to watch his daughter's first stirrings of love, a love destined to end in heartbreak.

This feels even worse than swallowing a lemon whole.

Eric noticed Bill's unusual behavior and looked at him questioningly.

"what happened?"

Bill grinned. "Sometimes I really think you're a walking succubus."

Eric didn't understand Bill's implied meaning, and simply laughed, "Succubi usually refers to women, right?"

After Eric finished speaking, he looked at Tifa and raised his glass to her.

Tifa's face, flushed from the alcohol, wore a sweet smile. Instead of returning to her seat, she whispered a few words to the owner and pointed to a decorative lute that looked quite old hanging on the wall.

The boss raised his eyelids, his gaze sweeping over Eric and Bill, and nodded.

The next second, under Eric's slightly surprised gaze, Tifa walked over, took down the violin, tried a couple of notes, and then lightly leaped onto the slightly elevated area in front of the bar.

This immediately attracted the attention of the customers present.

"Tifa can play this?" Bill asked in surprise.

“I don’t know,” Eric said with a smile, watching Tifa sit on the high stool over there, brushing the keys, trying a few notes, and then smiling as she turned her head to begin plucking the strings.

The prelude flowed out.

Before Eric could figure out the origin of the prelude, someone exclaimed in surprise in French, "La Vie en Rose!"

Eric knows French: "La Vie en Rose".

Bill shook his head, glanced at Tifa and then at Eric, and while he chuckled, a sour feeling welled up inside him.

He picked up the bottle, silently filled Eric's glass with a smile, and poured himself a large glass as well, without saying a word.

"Quand il me prend dans ses bras" (When he took me into his arms)
“Il me parle tout bas” (He whispered to me…)
As the music stopped, applause, more restrained yet deeper than before, rang out in the tavern.

There were no noisy whistles, only gentle high-fives filled with appreciation and blessings.

-

Los Angeles at 8 a.m., one of the detached villas.

"Are you getting ready to leave?"

Eric placed his hands-free phone on the entryway cabinet, and Tifa's cheerful voice came through.

Eric bent down to put on his shoes, straightened up, and gave his identification and documents a final check.

"Okay, I'm leaving now." Eric picked up his phone, turned off the speakerphone, and held it to his ear.

"Otherwise, it wouldn't be good to be late on the first day of registration."

On the other end of the phone, Tifa seemed to be drinking something, probably her morning coffee.

“First day, Agent Eric Stevens,” Tifa’s voice still carried a hint of sleepiness.
"how do you feel?"

“It’s like opening a new door,” Eric said as he pushed open the door, the cool morning air rushing in.

“Sounds good.” Tifa’s voice was tinged with amusement. “Remember to check out the view from the new office window.”

“First task received,” Eric said with a smile, closing the door behind him.

"Then I wish you all the best on your first day, Agent Stevens."

call ended.

Eric put away his phone, paused to glance around the house, and left satisfied.

When I returned from Paris, the renovation work outside had already been completed.

Diego delivered a perfect answer.

The fence posts are nearly twice as thick as standard ones, enough to withstand a violent impact from a vehicle.

The anti-climb spikes at the top also serve as a strong warning.

Inside the fence
All of these elements are cleverly integrated with his original courtyard design and landscaping.

To outsiders, it would just look like a house with a strong sense of security.

These details were not actually in his design drawings, which shows that Diego secretly put in a lot of effort.

Eric opened the door of the Ford Raptor, sat in the driver's seat, and took a deep breath, recalling the girl who seemed to be in good spirits when he saw Diego off.

The low growl of the engine starting echoed through the garage.

— 555 Ramirez Street, Los Angeles.

When Eric returned to the address and saw the large cluster of buildings right in front of him, he felt a different emotion.

Previously, I came here as a patrol officer, but now I've changed my identity and am re-examining this place from the perspective of an investigator.

The buildings seem to be the same as before, but the feeling is different.

"It occupies quite a large area," Eric muttered to himself as he parked his car in the parking lot and glanced at the several interconnected buildings.

But Eric felt it was only natural, after all, this was one of the LAPD's most important integrated law enforcement areas.

All the core departments are located here.

The headquarters of the Forensic Identification Laboratory (SID) is located deep within these buildings, housing the core technical departments that determine the course of a case, such as firearms testing and DNA analysis.

Also located here is the headquarters of RHD's detective department, which is responsible for investigating the city's most serious and complex cases, including murder, kidnapping, and major robbery.

And this is where he is to report for duty.

Eric got out of the car, checked the direction, and walked over, blending into the flow of people in casual clothes and uniforms who were hurrying by, yet maintaining an observer's distance as a newcomer.

Upon finding the RHD detective agency building, Eric pushed open the revolving glass door, and was immediately struck by the sheer size and bustling activity of the interior space.

The lobby here is several times larger than the West Canyon Police Department, and the high ceilings make it feel more oppressive.

The crowd was noticeably denser, and the clothing was more mixed. There were prosecutor assistants in suits carrying document bags, walking quickly through the crowd, as well as technicians in lab coats and people in casual clothes.

The air was filled with a mixture of higher concentrations of caffeine, disinfectant, cheap cologne, and the distinctive smell of countless piles of paper documents.

There is also an invisible electric field that is used in high-intensity, high-pressure work.

Is this the police department? Eric withdrew his observational gaze, a hint of anticipation creeping into his heart.

To be honest, after two years of working as a patrol officer, I'm really getting tired of it.

Coming to a new workplace now definitely brings a sense of novelty.

Eric took a deep breath and didn't head straight for the elevator area on the inside like the others, since it seemed like you needed to swipe a card there.

Instead, they turned to the security reception desk on one side of the lobby.

When a uniformed, serious-looking police officer looked up and saw him, he blinked as if he recognized him.

“Eric Stevens.” Eric glanced at the name Finn Homan under his nameplate, confirmed he didn’t recognize him, and calmly handed over the transfer letter and temporary pass.

"First day reporting to RHD Fourth Squadron."

“I know you, Agent Stevens. Captain Costa told me about it yesterday.” Finn’s serious face instantly softened.

"Really?" Eric asked in surprise.

“Yes.” Finn nodded with a smile, made a note in the register, and then took out a temporary access card and handed it to him.

"The temporary card is valid until the end of today's workday, but don't worry, someone should be able to take you to the administration office to apply for a formal ID."

"And RHD Squad 4 is on the third floor. Welcome to the Detective Department, Detective Stevens."

"Thank you." Eric accepted the temporary card upon hearing the different form of address, smiled and nodded to Finn, then turned and headed towards the elevator area where a card was required to enter.

After passing through the turnstile, I entered the elevator and pressed the button to go to the third floor.

The elevator ascended smoothly, and the brief moment alone allowed Eric to gather his thoughts and prepare for the new work ahead.

But when the elevator doors opened again, a completely different atmosphere from the lobby downstairs instantly enveloped him.

The air here is more stagnant, mixed with the scents of aged coffee, paper ink, and a faint smell of fatigue emanating from long hours of overtime work.

To put it simply, he could actually smell the stench of sweat mixed with the smell that cheap aftershave was trying to mask.

Eric instinctively raised an eyebrow, stepped out of the elevator, and found that this floor was all RHD's office area, divided into one space after another.

The phone rang incessantly, but most of the people answering spoke in hushed tones.

The background noise consisted of the clatter of keyboards being pounded, the hum of the printer spitting out paper, and the occasional low curse from an agent, sounding either tired or annoyed.

“This looks even worse than the patrol officers? No wonder Will and the others have no interest in detectives.” Eric’s lips twitched.

"Have I jumped into a fire pit?"

Some agents, busy with their work, gave him questioning looks when they spotted him, but Eric ignored them and simply went to the office area belonging to the Fourth Squadron.

There was a handwritten, slightly curled label for the Fourth Squadron posted on the door, with a line of small print below it that read "No Unauthorized Personnel Allowed".

"That's quite something. You have to swipe a card to get in here. What kind of idle people could there be?" Eric pushed open the door and entered, his gaze sweeping over the room.

I must say, the office area of ​​the fourth squadron is quite large, like a large, separately designated room.

Several desks were arranged haphazardly; there were only five desks? Based on this, Eric roughly judged that the newly established squadron seemed to have only five people.

My gaze continued to sweep across the five tables, which left a passageway between them, with a pile of folders stacked on top of them.

Of course, besides the office area in front of us, there are several other areas nearby.

The room includes a rest room, a water dispenser, a meeting room, an archive room, and the captain's office.

But it seems he arrived a little early; there was no one else in the office.

Just then, Eric heard a noise in the water cooler. Looking over, he saw a dark figure through the not-so-transparent window.

Eric slowed his pace and walked over.

As the distance closed, the outline of a woman gradually became clear.

The other person was standing in front of the coffee machine, with their back to the door, wearing something like a casual suit, with their dark blonde hair tied up in a neat bun at the back of their head.

Seemingly hearing footsteps, the woman immediately turned around, holding a steaming mug in her hand.

He was around forty years old, with a dignified appearance and gray eyes that carried the scrutinizing quality cultivated from years of investigative work.

It was the person he had met before, Peña, who had entered the scene with Costa.

Seeing Eric, she was a little surprised, but not entirely unexpected.

"You're ten minutes early!"

Upon hearing this, Eric calmly replied, "It's a new workplace, so I'm used to coming here in advance to familiarize myself with the environment."

A flicker of interest crossed Peña's eyes. She already knew Eric's name, but she wondered if he could adapt now that he had changed direction.

Solving cases isn't about fighting and killing; it requires using your brain.

“I understand,” Peña said with a smile, and went over to introduce herself.

“Penia Houston, you should know me, we met on the scene before.”

Eric nodded and said, "Eric Stevens, just call me Eric."

“Costa hasn’t arrived yet. He’s usually held up by his bed for a while, and the others won’t be here for quite some time either,” Peña said with a smile, noticing Eric’s gleam in his eyes.

"You're right, I've been waiting for you today."

With that, Peña walked out from in front of Eric: "Come with me. I'll take you through the process first. Only after you've completed the formalities can you be considered to have truly stepped into the Fourth Squadron."

(End of this chapter)