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

Chapter 91 Mystery
Suddenly recalling how Daves had been giving her a long face as he kept reporting Eric's investigation results, Grey shook her head inwardly, a smile playing on her lips but not showing on her face.

Why don't you take a look first?

She spoke gently, pushing the documents in front of her forward.

Eric nodded, feeling increasingly reassured. Judging from Inspector Grey's tone, he was confident he would get through this easily.

Relatively speaking, with all the enemies dead, he can still continue working as a policeman, so this ending isn't bad.

But what about the mole and those guys who were shot?

The thought echoed in his mind. Eric took the document and looked at it, his eyes flashing slightly.

Judging from the contents of the document, although the operation was exposed, the objective was still successfully achieved.

Besides Choi Dong-geon, whom he killed, another major target, Quentin Gobert, was also killed by SWAT officers in this operation.

The gist of it is that this guy went crazy with it.

Unlike Choi Dong-geon, who was informed by an insider, he was completely unaware of the Los Angeles Police Department's operation. When he learned that the police had suddenly surrounded the warehouse and started counting the underlings outside, he immediately grabbed a fully automatic weapon and went on a rampage, eventually being shot dead by the SWAT team at the warehouse entrance.

"As expected, the thinking of poison demons is abnormal."

Seeing this, Eric felt a little relieved, and his meager sense of security returned somewhat.

As Eric reviewed the information, more details began to emerge.

Just as he suspected, Oleg had indeed been forcibly taken away by Quentin Gobert.

Because Quentin Gobert wanted to extract information about Oleg from him.

But Quentin Gobert was not getting satisfactory results, and he became increasingly aggressive with the drug's effects.
So Oleg's ending wasn't good; he was tortured and seriously injured by Quentin Gobert, ultimately dying.

Upon seeing this, Eric didn't have any particular thoughts; he simply felt that evil people would eventually be punished by evil people.

This is good news for him.

But what silenced Eric was that one of the detectives from the Second Squadron under the Anti-Drug Bureau, who were shot by Cui Dongjian and his men, had tragically died in the incident.

Having read this far, the more uplifting information that follows won't have the same effect.

Even if the mole is caught.

Because Choi Dong-geon didn't have time to pack up, destroy, or for some other reason, the detectives found some information and evidence about the mole in Choi Dong-geon's room. Combined with their own investigation and interrogation, they finally caught the mole.

It was a senior Korean-American patrol officer from the Wilshire Police Department who secretly sent a message to Choi Dong-geon, who was also scheduled to participate in the deployment meeting for this operation.
Eric was too lazy to read the rest; he only needed to read the first few sentences of the latter part.

Millions of dollars in cash, a large quantity of firearms, complete equipment for manufacturing fentanyl, and half a warehouse full of drugs.
Put the file back on the desktop.

"Finished watching?" Grey asked gently.

“Hmm.” Eric looked at the police inspector in front of him, who seemed to know everything, and asked again.

"So what will happen to me?"

Upon hearing this, Grey simply said, "Take a good vacation and then return to your post."

She paused for a moment, then continued seriously:
"And Officer Eric, thank you for your timely assistance. The police department will handle the rest, such as compensation and insurance matters."

And so Eric came and went like a tourist visiting the Wilshire Police Department.

He was like someone who had been forcibly isolated from the outside, kicked out by everyone who was supposed to be united.

This gave Eric a rather strange feeling and illusion, as if he was being selectively protected by everyone?

But no matter what happens afterward, it should be none of his business anymore.

That's obvious. "Sir, where are you going?"

In a ride-hailing car that had been called, the dark-skinned, bald Black driver looked at the silent young man sitting in the back seat and calmly asked him a question.

He glanced at the police station, following the young man who had just come from there, and then sniffed the air, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Upon hearing this, Eric shook his head inwardly, looking at the rather busy Wilshire Police Department, which seemed to be putting on its final preparations.

“Bitmore Millennium Hotel”.

The house isn't ready yet; we can't start cleaning until at least tomorrow.
Since the hotel room he booked yesterday hadn't been cancelled, he figured he might as well go directly to the hotel; he needed to find a quiet and clean place to rest properly.

After fighting with all your might, all that's left is exhaustion; whatever comes up, you can deal with it tomorrow.

The Bitmore Millennium Hotel? The Black driver raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised.

Because the Bitmore Millennium Hotel is a five-star hotel, ordinary people rarely choose such high-end places.

Without giving it much thought, the driver simply nodded and said, "Okay."

As soon as he finished speaking, the ride-hailing car slowly started moving.

Eric continued to look out the window at the ever-changing scenery as the ride-hailing car moved.
At 9:30 p.m., Los Angeles is like a dazzling and complex painting, showcasing its unique urban charm amidst the interplay of lights and shadows.

But during the ride-hailing journey, what Eric saw was only half of what he expected.

Half of the high-rise buildings are draped in neon lights, everything is quite bright and dazzling, but the other half is a cruel scene where homeless people huddle in tents on some street corners, and the sound of overturned garbage cans and police sirens intertwine.

I was originally hoping to quietly enjoy the feeling of conflict, but perhaps to relieve my distress, the ride-hailing driver seemed to be very talkative.

"Sir, you just came from the police station? Did something happen?"

Eric turned to look at the driver, a bald man with a strong build, probably in his thirties or forties, wearing a light blue shirt and black casual pants, just a typical middle-aged man's outfit.

Everything seemed ordinary.

But for some reason, as Eric looked at it, he subconsciously glanced at the driver's license clipped to the center console.

I spotted the name McCall.

McCall looked up at the rearview mirror and said, looking at Eric's reflection in the mirror.

If you feel offended, I can apologize.

“It’s nothing,” Eric said, shaking his head.

"I am not a prisoner who has been arrested."

"Hehe!" McCall chuckled, revealing his bright white teeth.

"You've misunderstood, sir."

Eric raised an eyebrow and said, "So, what do you think it could be?"

"Bang bang bang!" McCall glanced at the rearview mirror again and met Eric's gaze on the mirror.

"I think you must be a police officer, and a dedicated one at that."

Eric was genuinely surprised by this: "Why?"

“Because you smell of gunpowder on you. I’ve fired a gun, and that won’t fool me,” McCall said.

"And at this very time, he came out of the police station."

(End of this chapter)