You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 269 The Blood Gang's Legacy, Part Three

At the same time, Jackdaw, carrying his spare sniper rifle, silently walked out from the shadows of the dark shipping container.

He glanced at the Ford police car parked beside him, then turned the camera towards Lyon.

"Is it all cleaned up?" the crow asked.

"It's clean now." Leon turned around. "You two can leave."

The crow did not move immediately, but kept looking at Lyon, waiting for him to continue.

"Oh right, the Blood Gang leader, Vic, he spat out a name before he died: Inspector Connor of the West Precinct. He's the one who sold Mia's address to the gang."

The crow's eyes turned cold.

"On the way back, check the name with the gossipy girl, and then tell her verbatim. Tell her that this is a mess within her branch office, and she should handle it the Sterling family way."

When Lyon gave the order, his tone was very natural, as if he were the one in a superior position who could give orders to Sterling.

In fact, this was precisely the political plan that Lyon had been urgently seeking to achieve.

He had to get rid of those two private soldiers belonging to the Sterling family immediately.

He needed to send his own people to deal with the armed forces inside the factory.

Besides, the Bloods' legacy in the West Side—the $1.4 million in the dry cleaner, the dozen or so armored cars in the three warehouses, and the batch of fully automatic rifles in the bowling alley basement that could provide enough firepower for a company—if these resources fell into the police department's evidence division, they would only end up as numbers used by bureaucrats to boost their political achievements.

But if you fall into the psychedelic cat's stronghold, that's a qualitative change.

Lyon only needs a little time.

He is now Sterling's subordinate. The reason Sterling lets him go is that the homeless force he supports is currently at the rudimentary stage of "a few thousand people collecting scraps," posing no threat to Sterling. On the contrary, it can help her solve the security problems on the streets.

But if MacArthur were to take over all the weapons and funds, he could quickly expand the Psychedelic Cats outpost into a large, disciplined, and armed organization with hundreds or thousands of members.

By then, Sterling would no longer be able to control him.

He will completely control the grassroots ecosystem of the West District.

Sterling's attitude toward him will be forced to change from "tacitly exploiting" to "equal cooperation".

Because once relations sour, a homeless community with thousands of soldiers and a traitorous police officer would be enough to completely destroy Sterling's painstakingly built political career.

In the eyes of politicians, this is a classic case of raising a tiger to cause trouble, but Sterling really had no choice but to accept this ally.

The crow nodded, indicating that it had remembered the name.

"What about the corpses in the factory?" Crow pointed to the red brick building still seeping blood. "Should I contact the family's cleaners to come and clean up?"

Lyon glanced casually at the Ford police car next to him out of the corner of his eye.

"Need not."

Lyon lowered his voice.

"There are two regular patrol officers in the car. Your appearance is already outrageous enough. Fortunately, I know these two guys well enough to keep things under control. It would be even more inappropriate to bring in the Sterling family's cleaners to make an appearance at a time like this."

He paused for a moment, then said, "I have a designated body collector who is very clean-handed. Leave this to me."

Following Leon's gaze, the crow glanced at the two trembling police officers in the car, its brow furrowing slightly before relaxing.

Although Jackdaw was a bit smarter than Chatterbox, his mind was ultimately that of a soldier who only knew how to execute tactical orders.

His experience serving in the Navy SEALs made him accustomed to following orders from his superiors, and he did not understand the complex power struggles among politicians for resources.

In his view, since Lyon had the channels and the reasons were reasonable, he didn't need to worry about it.

"Understood, we're withdrawing."

The crow turned around decisively and walked towards the black GMC SUV.

The gossipy man gave Leon a salute, opened the car door, and jumped into the passenger seat.

The muffled engine sounded in the rainy night as the GMC SUV rolled over the muddy ground and quickly disappeared at the end of the complicated roads in the abandoned industrial area of ​​the East District.

The GMC's cabin was quiet, with only the sound of windshield wipers scraping against the windshield.

After driving about two kilometers, Han Ya's hand on the steering wheel suddenly stiffened.

He slammed on the brakes, the SUV paused briefly on the flooded road, then accelerated again.

"Holy crap—" A rare look of astonishment suddenly appeared on Han Ya's usually expressionless face.

"What's wrong? It has a tail?" The chatterbox immediately reached for the rifle on his lap and glanced warily at the rearview mirror.

"No." Crow took a deep breath and turned to look at Broken Beak.

"He stole all our equipment."

The gossip was stunned.

He blinked, quickly recalling in his mind Leon's pose standing in the rain.

A NIJIV-level heavy-duty bulletproof vest.

A fully equipped HK416 assault rifle with a holographic sight attached and its magazine just emptied.

There was also the SR-25 semi-automatic sniper rifle equipped with a LeupoId high-powered scope, which took down five or six deserters in just over ten seconds.

Leon didn't even take off the military-grade encrypted walkie-talkie and throat microphone hanging around his neck, nor the helmet equipped with night vision goggles.

Those were all top-tier items that the Sterling family had acquired at great expense through private security channels, and each one was labeled "expensive".

"Grass."

The gossip stared wide-eyed. "Was he in such a hurry to make us retreat just to steal our equipment?"

He turned to look at the crow, "Should we go back or come back?"

As the crow gazed at the dark rain ahead, images of Leon scaling the third-floor exterior wall in an instant flashed through his mind, along with the man's cold, efficient shooting rhythm behind the scope, like a machine.

That was an inhuman fighting force that even he, a former Navy SEAL elite, found terrifying.

The crow hesitated for a full five seconds.

"Never mind." Han Ya stepped on the gas and accelerated. "Go back and tell Miss to go and ask for it herself. If she wants it back, it's just a matter of a word."

On the other side, Lyon stood outside the abandoned factory, which was covered in mud and water, looking at the empty space, and took out an anonymous spare cell phone from his pocket.

He dialed Lei's number first.

The phone was answered after ringing less than two times.

"Sir." This time it was MacArthur who answered directly. His voice sounded strong and energetic, and in the background there was the noise of chainsaws and hammers hitting the walls.

"I've already taken the wrecked Honda to the scrap yard you specified. The owner didn't ask any questions, just told us to unload the car and leave quickly. He said he'd handle the logistics in case of an emergency, but you'll need to explain that to him afterwards."

"Good job." Leon held his phone between his shoulder and shoulder, then loosened the Velcro on his tactical vest slightly. "How's the wounded being cared for?"

-

"The bullet in the screwdriver has been removed, and Cole's knife wound has been stitched up. I'm currently inside the base directing the reconstruction of the fortifications."

"Okay, now free up some manpower and bring some trucks that can carry goods to the abandoned steel plant No. 9 in the East District."

"A mission?" MacArthur's voice immediately tightened.

"No, clean up the battlefield."

Lyon looked at the broken window on the third floor of the factory building. "There are forty or fifty guns here, some ammunition, and most importantly, an M249 squad automatic weapon. They are all unmarked black goods."

There was a sudden, deathly silence on the other end of the phone.

Two seconds later, MacArthur's heavy, suppressed breathing came through.

"M249 machine guns?" MacArthur's tone instantly rose, his voice filled with almost fanatical excitement. "As expected of the commander! With this equipment, let alone street gangs, even if a reinforced platoon of National Guard soldiers charged at us, we could leave their guts on the steps outside! We can finally officially expand our army!"

"Don't get too excited. Bring a few people who are discreet and efficient."

Lyon interrupted his war fantasy, "This shipment must be moved into the basement before dawn, and we need to be quick."

"Understood! Reach the beachhead within twenty minutes!"

MacArthur slammed down the phone.

Leon put away his phone, stretched his stiff neck slightly, and then dialed a second number.

The phone rang for a long time this time.

"You'd better have some kind of apocalyptic emergency."

Alex's voice came through the receiver, heavy with exhaustion and irritability, accompanied by the roar of car engines and the screeching of windshield wipers.

"I just hauled three bodies from Highway 9. What kind of freakish method did you use? One of them had half his head smashed off, and blood and brain matter were smeared all over the car seats. I spent half an hour scraping away those bits of flesh with a shovel!"

"Thank you for your hard work," Lyon said in a flat tone.

"Don't give me that crap. Not only did you hang up on me just now, but the real issue is I've already had a serious sleep deficit this week. Why are you calling me again?"

"Here's your commission." Leon looked at the blood flowing all over the ground. "Another big shipment from the abandoned steel plant number nine in the East District."

"How many?" Alex asked warily.

"Around forty or fifty."

,

"Fuck your grandpa!"

Alex let out a bloodcurdling scream on the other end of the phone.

"Forty or fifty?! You went to bomb buildings again?! My beat-up refrigerated truck can't possibly carry them all in one trip!"

"No building was blown up, just a regular firefight."

Leon put his hands in his pockets and avoided a puddle.

"We were fighting the Blood Gang. They came out in full force tonight, and I wiped them all out."

Are you alone?

"Not quite, but close enough."

Alex gasped sharply on the other end of the line.

"You're insane—you really are insane."

Alex's voice trembled slightly, and he even forgot to complain.

"Do you know what forty or fifty corpses means? In Seattle, that's enough to be on CNN's front page for a month straight!"

'

"That's why we need you to clean up the mess," Leon said.

"Hurry up, this is the East District, not my jurisdiction. Although no one has called the police yet, if we drag this out too long, things could go wrong."

"Awesome."

Alex gritted his teeth and forced out two words.

"Okay, I'll turn around right away, but this isn't over yet."

He lowered his voice, his tone becoming serious: "You must explain the situation to me clearly later, not missing a single detail, understand?"

Lyon's eyes lit up with understanding.

He knew exactly what Alex meant by "explain the situation."

As an intermediary in the intelligence network, Alex faces a strict reporting mechanism.

The massacre Lyon committed tonight, which is enough to change the landscape of Seattle's underground, will inevitably raise suspicions at headquarters if a detailed report detailing the causes, consequences, tactical motives, and spoils of war is not sent back home.

However, Lyon certainly had no intention of leaving headquarters. He had always served his hometown, and he couldn't wait to report the intelligence back to headquarters and see their response and subsequent arrangements.

"I know."

Lyon responded calmly.

"After you finish collecting the body, I will tell you the whole story."

"At least you still have some conscience."

Alex muttered, "Wait for me, twenty minutes."

The phone hangs up.

Lyon put his phone back in his pocket and looked up at the still gloomy rainy night.

He turned and walked to the Ford police car, opened the back door and got in.

The heater was on in the carriage, and Mia was fast asleep in the back seat, her brows completely relaxed.

Bob and Miller remained seated, frozen in place as they watched Leon sit down.

"Lyon—" Bob swallowed hard, pointed outside the car, "You just—were you calling people to clean up the floor?"

"Hmm." Leon leaned back in a comfortable position. "I've already spoken to Sterling. There will be professionals handling things on site. We don't need to wait for the Internal Affairs Department to question us, and they won't know about this."

Miller nodded vigorously in the back seat, his eyes filled with blind admiration: "The sergeant is right. This mess of gang warfare should just disappear in the rain."

Leon didn't reply. He closed his eyes, feeling the absolute calm brought by 20 points of willpower slowly fading, and a slight soreness gradually rose from deep within his muscles.

Next, all that's needed is for MacArthur to come and take the weapons away, and for Alex to clean up the bodies. This bloody counterattack that spanned the West and East Sides will then be completely over.

The vast resources that are about to be consumed by the homeless community will become the first cornerstone of his power in Seattle.

Of course, after confirming that MacArthur and Alex were doing their jobs properly, the most important thing was to take Mia to Pastor Thomas for a quick check-up; she absolutely couldn't have any problems.

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