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

Chapter 92 Call
interesting.

Hearing this analysis, Eric began to realize that this driver was no ordinary person.

The fact that it can accurately smell the gunpowder smoke already puts it outside the reach of ordinary people.

Because he is now standing in front of an ordinary person, even if the other person can smell the strange odor, they are unlikely to immediately think of the word "gunfire".

This driver must at least be an ordinary person who frequently handles and fires guns.

Was I right?

Eric glanced at the smiling driver, who was glancing occasionally at the rearview mirror. He didn't hide his police officer identity because there was no need to, and nodded.

"Congratulations on guessing correctly, but unfortunately there is no reward."

McCall chuckled, glancing absently at the rearview mirror. "I'm sorry to have disturbed your rest. I'll make sure you get to your hotel safely." He didn't say anything more after that, his eyelids blinking slightly.

Today was a bit unusual. I wonder if it's because this young man has a very comfortable aura that makes people feel at ease, and he did something unnecessary on a whim.

But Eric had no intention of ending the conversation now, and asked, narrowing his eyes slightly:
"What did you do before?"

McCall gave an American look and glanced at the rearview mirror: "Same as now, I'm the driver."

Eric shrugged, expressing his feelings: "Good, looks like you're a good driver."

McCall smiled.

After the conversation ended, Eric didn't force himself to look away and instead looked out the window again.

Although the other party didn't reveal anything, he could still glean a lot from the information they showed, such as the hands they were holding on the steering wheel.

The calluses on the right hand are much thicker than those on the left, and the muscles appear wider and more prominent.

The evidence shows that the right hand was the opponent's dominant hand for firing, with longitudinal cracks and indentations on the skin, which are caused by long-term friction from recoil.

Shooting enthusiasts won't show these obvious marks; only people who shoot regularly will.

Of course, there are exceptions. For example, someone with a cheat code that can enhance their innate talent might achieve in just one practice session what others do in a year.

In this way, there will naturally be no such obvious traces.

"This guy seems to be a hidden master in the city," Eric thought nonchalantly.

Main road outside the Bitmore Millennium Hotel.

McCall turned to Eric and reminded him, "We're here, sir."

“Okay.” Eric nodded, took out cash to pay the fare, then opened the door and got out of the car, without exchanging any words with the black driver throughout the entire journey.

hum!
He even watched the ride-hailing car leave before heading towards the hotel lobby.

Despite this unexpected little incident, Eric always adhered to the principle of minding his own business when it didn't concern him.

Entering his regular suite, which he hadn't yet checked out of, Eric habitually activated the warning mechanism at the door before relaxing. He then took clean clothes from the backpack he had been keeping on the table and slipped into the bathroom.

First, take a bath to relax your tense nerves.

Eric lay down, his phone still on the side of the bathtub, enjoying the warm water covering his body, and took a deep breath.

Only here could he truly rest.

The battle is exhilarating, but once it ends, you feel a bit down overall.

Eric knew why; it was a consequence of his full-blown outburst and subsequent landing.

Even so, his mind still couldn't rest.

"The case is closed, and the house will be completely renovated and refurbished tomorrow."

His house is insured with home insurance, so he can apply for compensation from the insurance company, meaning he has suffered no loss.

"After dealing with the house, we still need to deal with the inheritance. Oleg is dead, so this part should be resolved quickly, as the information is already quite sufficient."

"Now that I have the money, I'll use my vacation to build myself a private armory!"

As Eric was thinking, his phone suddenly vibrated.

He was silent for a moment, then reached out and picked it up.

Most of the people who call him at 10 p.m. are doing it for personal reasons.

Sure enough, the caller ID on his phone screen was Tifa, his first woman in the true sense of the word.

After thinking for a moment about why Tifa was calling, Eric's first words when he answered the phone were...

Tifa, I miss you.

at the same time.

Tifa was wearing a silk nightgown that flowed like water, hugging her perfect curves. She was leaning against the sofa, the slightly open V-neckline gleaming in the soft light, revealing a small patch of porcelain-white skin below her collarbone.

With a slight smile, he ignored Eric's words: "I saw the news today. The West Canyon Police Department miraculously rescued a kidnapped girl in half an hour. Major incident, no leave. The protagonist in that news isn't you, is he, Eric?"

Eric turned on the speakerphone, placed his phone beside him, and lay down comfortably, listening to Tifa's relaxing voice.

"You're on vacation again? Wow, time flies! How many days off are you taking this time?"

"One month."

Tifa's gentle voice reached my ears: "Have you figured out how you're going to spend this long vacation?"

“Not yet.” Eric looked at the ceiling and smiled, completely relaxed.

“Tifa, I’d like to book a month’s treatment with you.”

If you're looking for someone who can make you completely relax, then Tifa is definitely a good fit.

His relationship with Tifa was rather ambiguous. It wasn't exactly a physical relationship, nor did it seem like a romantic relationship. In retrospect, they seemed to get along like old friends.

But he only knew one thing, no, he only had one very domineering idea.

Any scoundrel who dares to touch Tifa, he'll really come knocking on their door in a tank and with a rocket launcher.
Tifa's smile never faded as she said softly, "My consultation slots are fully booked."

Eric persisted, "I'm injured! Really injured! I need your counseling and therapy!"

Tifa remained calm: "I can recommend other people to you."

“Okay, okay,” Eric surrendered on the spot, laughing.

"So you called tonight just to tell me about the news you saw?"

“This is just the first thing,” Tifa said, lying on the sofa with her dazzlingly white feet crossed.

"There's a second thing."

Eric asked curiously, "What?"

"Are you home?" Tifa asked.

Eric raised an eyebrow, instantly understanding Tifa's thoughts; she wanted to speak with him personally.

Yes! This is a good time! Excellent!

"My house is being renovated, so I'm at the Bitmore Millennium Hotel." As he spoke, Eric's chest suddenly felt hot, whether from the heat of the bath or something else, he didn't know.

However, Tifa squinted and said, "Renovation? Are you sure?"

“Confirmed!” Eric was too lazy to tell Tifa about the intrusion into his home, lest he worry her and have to waste his breath, so he changed the subject directly.

"Should I come pick you up?"

(End of this chapter)