American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

Chapter 95 The Deal (Seeking first subscriptions!)

Fett took the USB drive, held it in his hand, and nodded. "Thanks. Come with me."

He led Mike through the bushes at the boundary of the two farms, avoiding the mud puddles, and into the backyard.

Standing in front of the fence, you can see the entire messy backyard of old Johnny's house.

Mike skillfully removed the standard lens and took out a thick, white telephoto lens from his bag to replace it.

"Click, click."

The shutter clicked like a machine gun.

In the footage, the greenhouse door is open, and the insulation material on the side has been torn with many holes. Although the marijuana inside has been emptied, the scattered planting pots, the remaining nutrient solution buckets, and the purple growth lights on the ground are still clearly visible.

Mike looked down at the sample photos on the camera screen, shook his head, and seemed somewhat dissatisfied.

He turned to look at Fett and pointed to the fence, which was only half a person tall: "It just doesn't feel right with this thing in between."

"I'm planning to flip over and take some close-up shots, Fett, you can't report me for trespassing."

Fett paused for a moment, then nodded. "Don't worry, I won't report you!"

Mike grinned, slung his camera over his back, braced himself against the fence post, and nimbly flipped over.

Watching Mike crouching low as he moved through the ruins of the greenhouse, Fett suddenly felt a sense of relief.

The fact that this guy is willing to take this risk for news shows that his desire for sensational stories outweighs the rules.

With this shared little secret, it seemed perfectly natural for her to ask him to investigate the car accident.

There's no need to worry about how to explain why I've suddenly started paying attention to that car accident again.

Not long after, Mike flipped back over, dusted off his hands, and said with a satisfied look, "Even the best telephoto lens can't compare to a close-up shot."

"Now I've captured all the details, even the labels on the nutrient solution containers are clearly visible."

Fett glanced in that direction instinctively: "There weren't any traces left, were there?"

"Don't worry, I'm an old hand at this." Mike patted his shoe proudly. "I try to walk on the weeds."

"Even if there were one or two of my footprints on the mud, with all those narcotics officers coming and going, making a mess of footprints everywhere, who could tell which ones were mine?"

He put the camera back in his bag and took out his notebook: "Alright, we have the photos. Now let's talk about what happened at the scene. You're the only eyewitness."

The two leaned against the tree trunk, and Fett began to recall the events of the morning.

Around 11 a.m., three black SUVs and two vans blocked the entrance.

Fett recounted in detail how the DEA surrounded the building, how the rammed door was broken open, and how fully armed officers threw those tall marijuana plants into the truck like garbage.

He described it in great detail, even vividly portraying the utterly devastated expression on Johnny's face when he was dragged out by two agents.

But he was very cautious.

He made no mention of sneaking into Johnny's backyard, cutting open the tarpaulin, or even filming the incident and anonymously reporting it.

As for his experiences of intercepting Johnny while he was taking out his feces on the highway and finding a huge sum of two thousand dollars in a mud puddle, those are things he kept to himself.

People and things associated with drugs are like a huge, bottomless vortex.

There must be a string of desperados behind Johnny.

A gentleman does not stand under a dangerous wall.

As a neighbor, he only wanted to eliminate this threat, not make himself a target.

As Mike listened, he quickly jotted down notes in his notebook, the pen scratching across the paper.

After the interview, Mike closed his notebook, looking satisfied.

This is an exclusive, firsthand recreation of the scene, coupled with the high-definition footage captured during the recent adventure; it's enough to fetch a good price.

He pulled a wad of cash, some in small bills and some in larger ones, from a concealed pocket inside his vest. He counted out a few and handed them over: "This is the informant fee, three hundred dollars. Although I took the film for you, let's keep things separate. Take this money. Rules can't be broken."

Fett looked at the somewhat crumpled banknotes, but instead of taking them, he pushed them back.

"No need for money."

Fett paused, his expression turning serious as he looked directly into Mike's eyes: "However, there's something else I'd like you to investigate."

"What's wrong?" Mike asked curiously, somewhat surprised, as he put away the money.

Fett paused for a few seconds, then organized his thoughts: "When you interviewed me last time, I mentioned to you that my mother died in a car accident."

Fett lowered his voice, carrying a hint of barely perceptible heaviness: "You're a journalist, you have connections, and you meet a lot of people."

"I would like to ask you to keep an eye out for any undisclosed details about that accident."

"I received an anonymous call a couple of days ago. The caller mentioned the car accident and said that things weren't that simple."

Seeing Fett's serious expression, Mike dropped his playful grin.

"Hit-and-run, stolen vehicle—" Mike stroked his stubble. "These kinds of cases are quite common in Arkansas, but since you said you received an anonymous call, it's definitely worth investigating."

"Could you tell me more details?"

Fett shook his head: "The caller only said it wasn't a car thief, that someone else was responsible, and then the call was disconnected."

As for the IRS's inexplicably efficient surprise inspection, he swallowed the words back before he could finish speaking.

This was just his guess. Although he and Mike had a pleasant working relationship and had just been somewhat "accomplices," it was ultimately just a relationship of exchanging interests, and the foundation of trust was too thin.

The IRS’s actions were clearly targeted. This information, which could involve a deeper conspiracy and even pose a danger to itself, was too risky for a journalist who makes a living by selling news.

Mike lowered his head in thought. "Is that so?"

He nodded: "Okay, don't worry too much. I don't think this call was malicious at all."

"I'll go back and check the police station's internal records, and ask a few of my old buddies."

I will let you know as soon as I have any news.

Fei nodded: "Thank you."

Mike waved his hand and grinned: "It's okay. If we find out something really big, I don't think you'll refuse to let me expose the killer for you."

"That will count as part of my performance."

He patted the pocket of his photography vest: "Alright, I have to go. In our line of work, time is money."

"If you actually get on that knife-forging show, remember to send me a message."

"No problem." Fett gave an OK sign.

Mike packed up his equipment, and the jeep roared away from the farm, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Fett watched the car disappear from sight, clutching the USB drive, then turned and went back into the house.

I opened the laptop lid, plugged in the USB drive, and uploaded the files one by one.

Opening the registration page, Fett's fingers flew across the keyboard.

Name, age, address, forging experience —

Fett breathed a sigh of relief after attaching close-up photos and videos of the knife and seeing the screen display that the registration was successful.

Now all we have to do is wait for the production team to reply.