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

Chapter 334 Shooting Encounter!

Terminal Bar.

After several rounds of drinks, the atmosphere became even more lively.

In the booth, Eric mostly listened, observed, and slowly sipped his drink.

Listening to them talk about past blunders and anecdotes from the police station, I was occasionally pulled into arguments about the ball game by White.

Finally, Eric looked at Joyna and Penia, who had been dragged into the center of the dance floor by White, and shook his head helplessly.

In the crowd, White's massive frame appeared somewhat clumsy to the rhythm of the jazz music, but he was full of enthusiasm, and he insisted on pulling the relatively reserved Joyna and Peña to sway.

"Come on, Eric!"

Seeing that White still wanted to drag him into the mess, Eric raised his glass, sat firmly in the booth, and clearly refused with a smiling look in his eyes.

He won't step in.

Seeing this, White had no choice but to give up and instead tormented Joyna and Peña even more.

Costa leaned against the wall, relaxed, looking at his teammates on the stage with a slight smile on his face. He suddenly looked at Eric and spoke.

"Eric, I have a question for you."

Eric turned his gaze away and looked at Costa.

“What do you think of our Fourth Squadron?” Costa asked.

Although he didn't understand what Costa was trying to say by bringing this up, Eric still said earnestly, "It's better than I expected, very good."

Costa's lips twitched slightly: "Our trust isn't based on words, but on missions, on the tacit understanding of being able to entrust our backs to each other."

Eric met Costa's gaze and sat waiting for him to say something.

“So I hope you can trust us,” Costa said.

Eric paused for a moment.

“You’re smarter than I thought. I can see that. In this case, you’ve been one step ahead of us at every turn,” Costa said with a smile, looking at Eric.

He only realized it afterward. Eric must have known all along, because his quick wit and intelligence had already said it all. This kid is very smart; he had already thought of the next step before they even thought of it.

Skipping everything else, DNA matching is a matter of quick thinking and speed of response. Without strong logical reasoning and memory, it is really hard to think of this step instantly.

Even these veteran detectives were blinded by their own limited perspective, focusing only on Burroughs Thorne, and only considering a way to break the deadlock once they encountered a setback.

Being able to think of this step requires both intelligence and cognitive ability.

"team leader."

Eric was interrupted by Costa before he could finish speaking: "I know you always acted alone during your time as a patrol officer."

But next time, I hope you won't be so low-key and can boldly express your thoughts.

In other teams, a rookie who stands out so much would be disliked, but here, none of that nonsense will happen, I can guarantee you that.

Eric was silent for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"Captain, I'll give it a try."

Costa's features softened, and he raised his glass to Eric, saying, "Welcome to the Fourth Squadron, Eric."

Eric smiled, picked up his glass, and clinked it against Costa's, producing a crisp, light sound.

"Thank you, Captain." After saying that, he drank the rest of the wine in his glass in one gulp.

Costa nodded in satisfaction, downed his drink in one gulp, and then looked toward the dance floor.

"Do you want to go?"

Eric shook his head decisively.

"Alright then." Costa didn't force Eric and got up to walk towards the dance floor.

Eric watched Costa enter the dance floor, let out a soft breath, and leaned back in his seat, feeling the slight sense of relaxation brought by the atmosphere.

However, this relaxation did not last long.

The phone in my pocket suddenly started vibrating continuously, once, twice, three times. It wasn't a single message notification, but a short, frequent vibration pattern with a clear warning.

Eric frowned, the slight relaxation on his face vanishing instantly. This was the exclusive frequency of the highest-level alarm he had set for his home security system.

Eric glanced at the dance floor, then casually reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

The screen automatically lit up with a red alert. Eric squinted slightly, then got up and tapped the screen.

The real-time monitoring footage popped up instantly.

A dark-colored van was parked close to the wall, and three figures wearing balaclavas stepped out one after another.

Without a second thought, Eric knew exactly what these three were up to.

Eric's eyes turned slightly cold as he strode towards the bar's exit, operating his phone.

Two completely different scenes appeared on the screen. When Tifa saw the three people climbing, she realized what was happening and quickly went into the safe house. Eric breathed a sigh of relief.

As long as Tifa enters the safe house, she will be able to wait for him to return, no matter what.

At the edge of the dance floor, Costa's gaze inadvertently swept towards the booths, only to see Eric looking down at his phone as he hurried toward the door, his back view standing out starkly.

Costa's smile faded, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

"Hey!" White noticed it too. He stopped what he was doing and nudged Joyna next to him with his elbow.

Why did Eric slip away?

Joyna and Peña followed his gaze and only saw Eric's figure disappear around the corner of the passage.

"Maybe he's going to the restroom?" Peña guessed.

Joyner shook her head; a woman's intuition told her something was amiss.

"No, he looked very serious when he was looking at his phone just now."

White scratched his head: "What's going on? This is just the beginning of the fun!"

Meanwhile, Eric had already pushed open the bar's heavy soundproof door and strode towards his car.

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.

The regional 911 emergency call center room inside the Wilshire Police Department.

A message was popping up on the screen in front of one of the dispatchers.

Address: 1721 North Kingsley Road

Alarm type: burglary alarm, with a panic emergency high priority code.

Alarm source: Donut Fortress Security System Automatic Dialing System.

The dispatcher raised an eyebrow. This alarm was the same as those in the thousands of other homes in the district that had alarm systems installed, but the difference was that this alarm originated from an affluent area.

After thinking for a moment, she decided to follow the standard operating procedure, locate the patrol unit nearby, and issue instructions via radio.

"Code 2 (Normal event, no need to use police lights or sirens) Emergency burglar alarm triggered at 1721 North Kingsley Road. Please go there to check."

As the order was given, the patrol officers on duty along Lincoln Avenue exchanged glances. If Eric were there, he would know who the two men were: Holland and Levin, the patrol officers who had come to his door because of his previous killing of those South Koreans.

"Isn't this Eric's house address?" Second-Class Constable Levin asked hesitantly from the driver's seat.

“If we remember correctly, this should be Eric’s house. We’ve been there before, haven’t we? Let’s go take a look.” Sergeant Holland, sitting in the passenger seat, reached for the walkie-talkie.

"7-A-20 received, en route."

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.

The moment the heavy alloy door closed completely behind us, the emergency light strip emitted a soft, cool white glow near the floor, outlining the contours of this compact space.

It has everything you need, like a small room with supplies.

Tifa glanced around, then leaned against the wall to catch her breath.

Just then, her phone rang. Tifa tensed up instantly and quickly put it on silent. When she saw the caller's name, her sense of security returned to most of her body.

"Honey?"

Clear wind noise and engine sounds came from the other end of the phone, indicating that Eric was driving at high speed.

"Wait for me, I'll be there in five minutes," Eric said calmly.

Tifa smiled slightly: "Okay."

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

"Quick victory!"

Hearing the alarm, the sinister-looking man made a hand gesture, and the three of them quickly approached the main body of the house in a tactical formation.

The scarred man headed straight for the most conventional-looking living room floor-to-ceiling window, while the thinner man rushed towards the side entrance, and the sinister-looking man cautiously covered his rear.

The scarred man approached the floor-to-ceiling window and instinctively tried to pry open the latch with his tools, only to find that the window's construction was unlike any civilian model he was familiar with. The latch was hidden directly inside the reinforced frame, making it impossible to reach.

"Fuck!" he couldn't help but mutter under his breath, then reversed the pistol in his hand and, using the sturdy polymer grip base, slammed it down into the center of the glass.

boom!
The pistol grip struck the glass with a much duller sound than expected; the anticipated sound of shattering glass did not occur.

The scarred man looked on in astonishment. The huge glass was completely still, without even a scratch. Instead, his hand was slightly numb from the shock.

"Something's wrong with this glass!!" The scarred man was both shocked and furious. From the moment he saw the thick wall, he knew this operation wouldn't be so easy.

At the same time, a thin man's suppressed report came from the side: "The side door too! All metal reinforcement, industrial combination lock! Can't be pried open!"

The sinister-looking man's face turned ashen. He strode to the French windows and touched the cold glass surface with his hand; it felt unusually heavy and solid.

Without saying a word, he stepped back a few paces, raised the silenced pistol, and fired near the corner of the latch on the French window.

*Thud!* A gunshot rang out clearly, even after being suppressed by a silencer.

The bullet struck the glass, but there was no sound of the glass shattering. Instead, there was a loud thud, leaving a spiderweb-like white radial crack on the glass surface. The crack remained only on the surface and was less than one millimeter deep.

The entire piece of glass remained firmly embedded in the reinforced frame, unmoved.

"Bulletproof glass." The sinister man squeezed out the word through clenched teeth, his face so dark it looked like it was about to drip water.

The next second, a very faint hum of an electric motor came from all around the house.

Under the astonished and uncertain gazes of the three, a dense metal mesh instantly spread out from the floor-to-ceiling windows and the glass interlayer of all the windows, like a drawn curtain, completely blocking the view from inside and outside.

What was once a blurry view of the interior through the glass has now been replaced by a completely opaque silver metal panel.

"WTF? What the hell is this place?!" The scarred man suddenly felt a chill run from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

This is no longer an ordinary residential house, but a safe house designed to withstand attacks from light weapons.

The sinister man's heart sank to the bottom, feeling as if he had kicked a hornet's nest.

The owner of this house is absolutely insane! How afraid of death must they be to ruin their house like this?

"Something's wrong! Retreat! Go back the way you came!" The sinister man made a quick decision, realizing that the mission had failed and that staying any longer would only lead to being trapped.

He led the two others, who had also realized what was happening, back to the base of the wall, preparing to climb the two-and-a-half-meter-high wall again.

"Human ladder! Quick!" the sinister man growled.

The scarred man immediately squatted down against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him.

The thin man stepped on his hand, using the leverage to climb up, and with both hands he grabbed the base of the spikes at the top of the wall and struggled to climb up.

He sat atop the wall and quickly reached out to pull the sinister-looking man up as well.

Ignoring the pain from the sharp thorns scraping against him, the sinister man jumped off the roof of the car parked below.

Finally, it was the scarred man's turn. He took a few steps back, ran up the wall, and was pulled up by the thin man on top of the wall.

"Fake!"

The scarred man, enduring the pain of the scratches, cursed as he and the thinner man angrily jumped onto the roof of the car and then back to the ground. They felt utterly humiliated and frustrated.

However, before the three of them could get into the car, a car headlight swept over from around the street corner.

The three of them immediately tensed up, their eyes scanning the area sharply.

The three men recognized the patrol car from the obvious sign on top. They exchanged glances, their hearts sinking.

The police car was clearly drawn to the scene by the sirens and the earlier gunshots, which triggered a chain reaction.

at the same time.

Holland and Levin, who had just arrived, also saw the dark-colored van that was close to the wall, and three suspicious-looking men who had just stood still next to the van and were all wearing hoods.

"Something's wrong!" Holland whispered, his right hand already on the holster at his waist.

"Be careful!"

The atmosphere inside the car instantly became tense.

Levin nodded and slowly stopped the car twenty meters away, a distance that allowed the police lights to illuminate the other party while also providing some buffer space.

The two exchanged a glance, their understanding unwavering. Holland moved his hand to the switch on the car's loudspeaker, preparing to issue a routine inquiry, while Levin's hand rested on the transmit button on the police radio, ready to call for backup at any moment.

However, as the sinister man watched the police car stop and saw the officers observing their movements from inside, he had already made his decision.

Experienced patrol officers like these wouldn't approach them rashly; instead, they would keep a close eye on them and call for backup.

Once that point is reached, the risks become even greater.

"Strike first! Attack!" the sinister man roared.

Instinctively, before Holland could press the megaphone button, he had already raised his silenced pistol and brazenly pulled the trigger toward the police car's windshield.

Puff puff

Several suppressed gunshots shattered the tranquility of the night.

clang!clang!
The police car's windshield shattered instantly, with shards of glass exploding inwards! Holland and Levin instinctively ducked and crouched the moment they heard the gunshot. Although the bullet wasn't aimed at them, glass shards still splattered all over them.

"7-A-20 has been shot at 1721 North Kingsley Road! Repeat, we have been shot! Three armed suspects! Need urgent support! Code 3 Emergency!" Levin shouted into the radio, his body huddled under the dashboard.

Holland struggled to open the car door, preparing to use it as cover to attempt a counterattack.

(End of this chapter)