America: From a Fallen Child Star to the Head of the University of the West

In the early days of American law enforcement, there was an unspoken rule: police officers would carry an unregistered weapon, and in the event of a manslaughter or the need to arrest someone, they would throw the weapon next to the suspect and claim, "He has a gun."

This thing has a slang term: "Drop Gun".

For example, the police officers involved in the "Lampard scandal" did such things. Rafael Perez, the central figure in the scandal, later admitted that he and his colleagues often carried "guns for framing" and drugs.

When they shoot or arrest innocent people, they throw the guns next to the victims or stuff drugs into the suspects' pockets and then falsify arrest reports.

Although the truth of the matter was later exposed, the principle remains the same. In any case, the suspects identified by the police are often indeed the murderers, but they just lack evidence. So, getting on the bus first and buying the ticket later becomes a convenient option.

The problem is that it's the 21st century now, and fabricating evidence is no longer such a simple matter. This also applies to Daniel Brown.

His core demand was actually quite simple: to keep the public suspicious of Sean, thus trapping him in Pennsylvania and fulfilling the expectations of the bigwigs.

As long as Sean Penn is mired in his political troubles, unable to campaign in other states or expand his influence nationally through speeches, that's enough.

Fortunately, the powerful figures didn't want to get rid of him directly, but rather to use him. Otherwise, things would have been much more complicated.

This will put his ability to fabricate evidence to the test.

Right now, the police car is speeding along the highway, and the scenery outside the window is gradually becoming desolate.

Brown held the steering wheel with one hand and rested the other on the window frame, chatting casually.

"Speaking of which, the American driver's license testing system is pretty absurd, isn't it?" Brown said casually, glancing at the road ahead. "Think about it, to get a driver's license, you have to drive yourself to the testing center. But you don't even have a license yet, so how can you drive there? It's like you need work experience before you can find a job."

Sean sat in the passenger seat, watching the withered trees rushing past the window: "This... isn't it usually because there's a licensed driving instructor sitting in the passenger seat?"

"Yeah, practice partner." Brown smiled, but his eyes glanced at Sean through the rearview mirror. "But Pan, it's still hard to monitor, isn't it? Just like we never know if the person sitting in the driver's seat taking the test has just taken drugs the night before, or if they're in some kind of euphoric state."

"I don't understand what you mean, officer."

"Don't be nervous, Pan, I was just saying." Brown shrugged. "I know about your past, but I've heard that if you smoke too much of that stuff, it can sometimes cause hallucinations, making you feel like you're invincible, or even that you can plan the perfect crime."

Sean listened calmly to his teasing.

The original owner was indeed a scoundrel, but what does it have to do with him now?

Wait, is he trying to trick me into revealing information?

Yes, an addict is capable of anything, even murder and robbery...

“That’s all in the past, Officer Brown.” Realizing this, Sean turned to look directly at Brown. “People change. Like you, I believe you must have been a good cop full of justice when you were young, only wanting to catch bad guys, instead of being forced to target a law-abiding citizen for some political mission.”

Brown felt a pang of anxiety, but his smile remained unchanged.

"You're really quick-witted. I hope your mind will be just as sharp when we get there."

The car turned onto a dilapidated side road, where the weeds along the roadside were taller than a person.

This is the blind spot on State Route 13.

Brown parked the car on the side of the road and turned off the engine. The surroundings were deathly silent, save for the occasional distant train whistle.

"Get out of the car, Holmes."

The two men stood on the gravel ground by the roadside. Although more than half a month had passed since the incident, some dark oil stains could still be seen on the ground, left when the armored truck overturned.

Brown lit a cigarette and pointed to that spot.

"January 15th, Martin Luther King Jr. Day." Brown exhaled a smoke ring. "You haven't forgotten where you were that day, have you?"

“I work for the transport workers’ union,” Sean answered readily. “Isn’t that where you met me?”

“How could I forget?” Brown turned around and stared at Sean. “I’m just wondering why you’re not going on vacation for the holidays, but instead going to a party of truck drivers and movers? Don’t tell me it’s to experience life.”

"I'm going to investigate Thomas Reynolds' death," Sean said without changing his expression.

Meanwhile, several more police cars arrived at the scene.

"Logically, it makes no problem." Brown seemed not to hear the car. He silently threw the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it out with his toe. Next to that cigarette butt, there was a large pile of equally shriveled cigarette butts.

Sean thought, "They should protect the scene properly."

"But that sounds like a perfect alibi, doesn't it?" Brown laughed at Sean.

"What are you trying to say?"

"It's nothing, just saying," Brown said, walking towards the roadside railing. "Isn't that what police are all about—questioning everything?"

"Come here, Mr. Pan. Stand a little closer." Brown beckoned. "Come stand here and take a look. This is the observation point the robbers used when they were lying in ambush."

Sean stood still.

"What's wrong? Afraid of getting your shoes dirty?" Brown provocatively asked.

"No, I just think the view from here is good enough." Sean maintained a safe distance.

"Don't be so reserved." Brown walked back and tried to pull Sean's arm. "You have to put yourself in the role. You're an actor. If you were the mastermind, what would you do? Where would you hide that heavy pickup truck? From which direction would you have those two motorcycles come out?"

"Come on, touch this railing," Brown said, pointing to the deformed metal. "Feel the force of the impact. It'll help your reasoning."

Sean looked at the railing, then at Brown's seemingly sincere eyes, which actually held a glint of cunning.

Something feels off...

As soon as you put your hand on it, your fingerprints will be left.

As long as you walk over it, you'll leave your footprints.

In this remote, unmonitored area, if the police suddenly announce tomorrow that they've found Sean Penn's fingerprints on the fence, or discovered fibers from his clothes in the grass, he'll have no way to explain himself.

Fortunately, he brought a voice recorder.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Officer Brown.” Sean took a step back. “I’m here to use my brain, not to reenact scenarios.”

"Are you refusing to cooperate with the investigation?" Brown's face darkened. "I brought you here to give you a chance to clear your name. You won't even look at me; are you hiding something?"

"Officer Brown, why do you assume that about me? If I really had something to hide, I wouldn't have come here in person."

"Really? But I've heard a saying: criminals always return to the scene."

Just as the two were locked in a stalemate and the tension in the air grew stronger, Sean's cell phone suddenly rang.

The sound of the bell was particularly jarring in the open field.

Sean immediately pulled out his phone. The screen displayed Vincent's name.

"Sorry, that's my lawyer."

He then answered the phone, and before he could speak, Vincent's urgent voice came through the receiver:

"Pan, are you alright? You must always be vigilant and not leave any so-called evidence at the crime scene. Even leaving just a footprint that is out of date is enough for them to find an excuse to prolong the case."

"I know," Sean said into the phone, looking at Brown's gloomy face. "I've already sensed it; I've been keeping the recorder on the whole time."

"Anyway, stay away from that scene. Do you need me to come pick you up?"

"clear."

Sean hung up the phone and waved it at Brown.

"It seems my lawyer doesn't approve of this kind of field trip teaching." Sean smiled. "Officer Brown, I think our 'date' can end here for today. Take me home."

Brown stared intently at him, his jaw muscles clenching. "Our investigation can't end here."

"I'm done, you can continue. Or I can go back by myself," Sean said.

"You'll regret missing this chance to clear your name, Pan," Brown persisted.

"I say, Mr. Brown, do you really want to kill me?" Sean frowned slightly, and his words caused the surrounding police officers to stop what they were doing.

Brown paused for a moment, then said, "What do you mean? Our police department investigates cases based on evidence!"

"I hope so! But isn't the biggest evidence right in front of you? What kind of criminal knows the transport route so well? What kind of criminal can solve everything in three minutes..." Sean revealed a sinister smile.

"What do you mean?"

Brown's opinion of him plummeted.

"Are you suspecting that we, the police, staged this whole thing? That we killed our own brothers?" he roared, then walked up to Sean. The two were now less than five steps apart, their eyes locked, neither giving an inch.

"Calm down, officer. Stop trying to trick me." Sean looked at Brown indifferently. "But as you said, it's not impossible: after all, the perpetrator might return to the scene."

"Damn it," Brown glared at him, "go back to where you came from, and don't even think about getting in my car again."

"That would be perfect. Your police car isn't comfortable. It's full of your cigarette smell. It's 2024 already, and it's hard to imagine a policeman not following the no-fire rule in his car. You should at least have a smoke!" Sean continued to provoke.

To be honest, he just couldn't stand the taste of Marlboro anymore.

Brown's face darkened upon hearing this. "What right do you, a drug addict, have to comment on me?"

"Say what you will about me, officer, just don't say it in public, or you'll get a cease and desist letter," Sean said dismissively to Brown, then glanced at the pile of cigarette butts that looked like corpses. "Your handiwork is quite impressive."

"Shut up!" Brown snapped angrily, then turned and kicked the pile of cigarette butts in frustration. "Look at this. All kinds of cigarettes here, Marlboro, Newport... well, mostly Marlboro, but at least it proves I'm not the biggest smoker."

Sean was both amused and exasperated by his seriousness, but then he suddenly realized something.

While he may not have a deep understanding of addictive substances, it's difficult to avoid dealing with them in the United States. This is especially evident in his research on the characteristics of African American life.

One report indicated that 80% of young African Americans choose menthol cigarettes when smoking, with Newport being the most well-known.

Thinking of this, Sean glanced at the officers around him.

"Mr. Brown, are all your men...white?"

Brown, who was still angry, frowned. "Kid, what do you mean? You think I'm a racist?"

But when he met Sean Penn's calm gaze, his emotions gradually calmed down, and he realized what he was talking about.