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

Chapter 274 We Take Over

Seventh Street.

Lyon parked the car on the street corner opposite the bowling alley, turned off the engine, but didn't get out immediately. He first sat in the driver's seat and surveyed the surrounding environment.

Surprisingly, the storefront of this bowling alley wasn't dilapidated.

It's not one of those abandoned buildings with half a sign missing and walls covered in graffiti.

On the contrary, it looks like a normal bowling alley that's just closed because it's early morning on a weekday.

The exterior walls are painted in light blue and off-white stripes. Although some areas have faded, it is clear that someone is maintaining them.

The neon lights at the entrance were off, but the lights themselves were intact and not broken.

The glass doors were tightly closed, and a plastic sign that read "CLOSED" hung inside.

Lyon opened the car door, and the early morning wind rushed into his collar.

He took a crowbar from the trunk and walked to the fire escape on the side of the bowling alley.

A new lock was hung on the iron gate, just like the outer wall, showing that it was well maintained.

Vic said this was the Bloods' armory, but Marcus was clearly not the kind of fool who would hide weapons in an abandoned warehouse and wait to be caught by the police checking his watch.

He found a legitimate bowling alley that was still open as a cover.

Lyon squeezed the flat end of the crowbar into the gap of the door lock, pressed hard, and the sound of the lock spring breaking echoed in the empty alley.

He opened the door, slipped inside, and then closed it slightly.

The bowling alley was pitch black, filled with the smell of floor wax and old bowling shoe leather.

Lyon took out a flashlight, the beam sweeping across the rows of bowling lanes, the neatly stacked bowling pins, and the league posters on the wall.

This place appears to be operating normally this afternoon.

The cash register on the counter was unlocked, with several dozen yuan in loose change inside. Wristbands and anti-slip powder were on the shelf next to it for sale.

Leon walked past the reception desk and, following Vic's instructions, found the stairs leading to the basement.

The stairwell is hidden behind a wooden door that reads "For Staff Only".

He pushed open the wooden door, and the beam of his flashlight shone into the stairwell. This staircase was much wider and cleaner than the one in the dry cleaner's shop, and had obviously been renovated.

The walls were freshly painted with cement mortar, the handrails were rust-free, and even the steps were covered with anti-slip mats.

The basement door was a steel fire door, much more presentable than the metal door at the dry cleaner.

The door wasn't locked.

The Blood Gang probably thought no one could find this place.

Lyon pushed open the door, the beam of his flashlight sweeping into the basement, and couldn't help but whistle.

The basement is about the size of two basketball courts put together, with a ceiling height of nearly four meters.

Several fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling. Leon touched the switch by the door, and the moment he turned it on, the entire basement was illuminated.

The fluorescent lights emitted a cool white light, illuminating everything inside clearly.

On the left-hand wall, two rows of weapon racks were secured with heavy angle iron and bolts.

More than twenty AK and AR series fully automatic rifles were neatly hung on the rack. The bolts of each rifle had been removed, wrapped individually in plastic bags, and hung on their corresponding stocks.

On a billiard table nearby, covered with a green waterproof tarpaulin, were stacked a dozen shotguns and at least thirty pistols of different models.

Glock, Beretta, and even two Desert Eagles.

Each gun was oiled, and the barrels reflected light.

Dozens of green military ammunition boxes were piled up in the corner, forming a small mountain more than two meters high.

Leon walked over and lifted one of them, revealing neatly stacked 5.56mm bullets inside.

Then his gaze shifted to his right.

On the right side of the basement, there was a small mountain of cardboard boxes.

Lyon walked over and picked up a transparent vacuum-sealed plastic bag. Inside was a piece of white powder about the size of a brick, which felt very hard when pressed.

In the cardboard box next to it, there were dozens of stacks of brown kraft paper packages.

He opened one of the packages, which contained blue crystals in a small, sealed bag.

Another box was filled with bundles of small medical vials.

Lyon threw the bag back into the box and wiped his hands on his pants expressionlessly.

The quantity of drugs was greater than he had anticipated, a fact that Vic deliberately downplayed during his confession.

He straightened up and looked around the entire basement.

Weapons, drugs, ammunition, and even two folding cots and a small freezer in the corner.

This place is not only the Blood Gang's armory, but also very likely their emergency shelter.

At that moment, a series of chaotic footsteps came from the entrance to the basement.

Leon reached for the handle of his gun at his waist and then heard a familiar voice.

"Sir! Walter said he saw your Camry at the alley entrance—"

MacArthur's voice trailed off the moment he stepped into the basement.

He stopped at the doorway, his gaze sweeping from the two rows of rifles on his left to the small mountain of ammunition belts, and then to the guns and ammunition on his right.

Then his lips began to curl upwards, and a light burst forth in his deep-set eyes that could only be described as "an old man seeing his dream girl," as if he couldn't wait to stuff those weapons into the hands of everyone willing to serve the stronghold.

Walter followed MacArthur in.

He glanced at the rifle first, then walked straight to the gun rack and squatted down.

He ran his fingers along the rails of an AR-15, then brought them to his nose and smelled them.

"CLP (3-in-1) gun oil," Walter said. "Someone did the servicing within the last two months; Marcus has some experts in the field."

""

Following behind were Ray and Elton. Elton almost tripped over an ammunition box. Their eyes were wide open, like headlights.

"My God." Ray swallowed hard.

Leon ignored him, walked to the corner, and turned on a tap.

The water pipe trembled violently a few times, spraying out a stream of murky, reddish-brown rusty water. After about ten seconds, the water gradually became clear, and the water pressure stabilized.

He looked up again at the ventilation ducts on the ceiling and the fluorescent lights overhead.

"This bowling alley has a normal power supply and water pipes."

MacArthur blinked. "So?"

"So these items don't need to be brought back to Psychedelic Cat."

Lyon dried his hands, walked to the center of the basement, and pointed upwards.

"This building is a bowling alley that is still in operation."

"There's a sign outside, a business license, and last month's utility bills. It looks perfectly legal."

MacArthur paused for a moment.

"Psychedelic Cat, there was just a firefight there, and our movements in the West District are definitely being watched. There are definitely people outside observing it."

"But it's different here. Although there might be remnants within the Blood Gang who know about this place, as I previously thought, to the general public in the West End, the owner of this bowling alley is still the same old guy."

"Although he is dead, no one cares about this place anymore."

"Besides," Leon gestured with his chin towards the gun rack and ammunition boxes, "moving these things to the Psychedelic Cat's basement would be a bit of a hassle."

"The transport volume is too large, the distance is too far, and it passes through at least three patrol areas along the way. Once the vehicle is stopped for inspection, we cannot explain why a beat-up pickup truck is carrying more than twenty military rifles."

"So I plan to keep operating here."

MacArthur stared at Leon for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed.

"Disguise. You mean we disguise this place as a normal, operating bowling alley. And underground, that's our real headquarters."

"Will it work?" someone asked in a low voice.

Lyon walked to the counter, pulled out a stack of shift schedules from the drawer, which recorded the employees' working hours from the previous week.

"The Blood Gang has been doing this before. They openly run this stadium, launder money, and hire ordinary employees. They just used it as an arms transfer station before."

"Now, we'll take over."

He threw the schedule on the table.

"Over at Psychedelic Cat's place, Old Welder is still secretly tapping into the streetlights' electricity. The circuit breaker keeps tripping when the power goes up; even several induction cookers running at full blast can't keep up. Remember how Water almost burned out the junction box last time?"

Walter stood in the corner, flicking the cigarette from his ear, and muttered, "If the power hadn't gone out so quickly that day, the whole line would have caught fire."

"It's different here."

"This building is a legitimate commercial building. The water and electricity are supplied through independent underground pipes, not stolen from streetlights. The water heater still works, the electrical box isn't rusted, and the sewers aren't clogged."

"As long as we continue to order goods and operate according to Marcus's original plan, no one will suspect anything here."

"We can let the brothers in the community use this place as a base, which can also help us solve some of the employment problems."

Elton, standing to the side, scratched his head. "So—we're going to open a bowling alley?"

"Yes," Lyon said. "You and your mud-dwelling buddies will be bowling alley employees starting tomorrow."

"The sales area is operating normally, with cashiers, shoe rentals, and beverage sales. The employees are selected from our staff; they need to be clean, have no criminal record, and be able to chat with the elderly white men and women in the community."

"The rear section will serve as a material warehouse and personnel transfer station."

"The second-floor offices were converted into a communications room and dormitories, and the basement—"

He pointed to the gun rack at his feet, "Don't move it, just leave it here."

Elton's lips twitched.

MacArthur clapped his hands, interrupting the surrounding chatter. "Commander, what about the psychedelic cat?"

"It's operating normally," Lyon said.

"The kitchen continues to provide meals, the dormitories continue to be occupied, and the grievance meetings continue to be held."

"Let outsiders think that our focus is still there, so if someone wants to mess with us, their reconnaissance forces will prioritize targeting the psychedelic cat."

"And then our people are acting as shields over there?" Walter frowned.

Leon looked at him. "Not a shield. Security around the Psychedelic Cat will be strengthened. Ray will continue to maintain order there. We'll send out more shotguns."

"If anyone is stupid enough to run over the Psychedelic Cats again, their firepower is enough to hold out until our people drive over from this side of the arena to provide support."

MacArthur nodded.

"A perfect plan, Commander."

"This outpost has enough depth and power, so we can set up a command center in the basement and move the radio and weapons maintenance station here. The only problem is—"

MacArthur turned his head and his gaze fell on the pile of drug boxes that looked like a small mountain.

"What should we do with these things?"

MacArthur walked up to a cardboard box, opened one of the packages, and rubbed a little of the crystal-like mixture between his fingernails.

"Commander, I must offer a practical military suggestion?"

"Based on the objective medical and pharmacological effects of these drugs, in extreme cases—"

"For example, in desperate situations such as being surrounded, running out of ammunition, or needing to engage in hand-to-hand combat, they can significantly increase a soldier's pain threshold and explosive power in a short period of time."

Leon looked up at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Literal meaning." MacArthur walked to the gun rack and patted the row of automatic rifles.

"Now we have the firepower of a platoon, plus these enhancement agents," meaning that if necessary, soldiers can ingest a small amount of methamphetamine before battle, which can greatly increase their reaction speed and aggression in a short period of time.

"During World War II, German armored divisions relied on Perfitin to hold off the Blitzkrieg. The US military also used Modafinil for long-range reconnaissance patrols. There is precedent for this in military operations."

Leon looked at the expression on MacArthur's face.

He wasn't joking.

The old man spoke these words in a very calm tone, as if he had long been accustomed to it.

"Are you finished speaking?"

That's all for now.

Lyon walked up to him and stopped.

"General, listen up."

"The soldiers under my command are not cannon fodder of the Nazi Wehrmacht, nor are they soldiers who die in the jungles of Vietnam and are found to have amphetamines in their bodies by the coroner."

"If you think these things can improve combat power, then you should also know very well that once a person relies on drugs to pull the trigger, he is not far from losing his mind and pointing the gun at his own people."

MacArthur's finger paused in mid-air.

"Soldiers may experience hallucinations, paranoia, and violent impulses. Do you expect a group of addicts, under the influence of drugs and unable to distinguish friend from foe, to execute complex tactical orders?"

"Your soldiers are only soldiers when they are fighting. At other times, they are a group of debtors, bankrupts, and orphans abandoned by society."

"If I had a needle that could make them temporarily forget the pain of reality—"

"Do you think they might come looking for you even when they have no enemies?"

"I built this community not to create another group of addicts."

Leon shifted his gaze from MacArthur's face to all the people standing in the basement.

"Not a single gram of these things can be kept."

"Not even a single gram can be touched."

MacArthur opened his mouth, then closed it.

He lowered his eyelids, looked at the neatly arranged bricks of drugs on the ground, and remained silent for a few seconds.

"Understood." MacArthur's voice returned to normal, devoid of the fanatical militarism he had displayed earlier.

"It was my oversight."

"Commander, I withdraw my previous suggestion."

"Let's not talk about this anymore," Leon waved his hand.

There was a few seconds of silence in the basement.

"But the value of these inventories, if discounted, would be enough for us to purchase more building materials and medical supplies," Walter chimed in, his tone very pragmatic, simply calculating costs and benefits.

"Methamphetamine, fentanyl, and some cocaine."

"These varieties combined would have a street retail price of at least two million. If you dilute them with flour or something similar, the price could potentially double."

"And it can't be converted into cash either," Lyon said.

"Selling us back to the streets would mean we'd become the next Bloods. Selling us to other gangs in other neighborhoods would mean funding the next Marcus."

"So it was burned?" Elton asked.

Lyon remained silent for a few seconds, looking at the pile of cardboard boxes.

"No."

"Load them into the car."

"Choose the smallest and least valuable one from those three abandoned warehouses, and haul it all over there. Once there, sort them out, and seal the drugs separately."

MacArthur seemed to understand something, but he didn't quite catch on.

Leon reached out and patted the top cardboard box, then explained the arrangements below in his capacity as RayFong.

"We raided the Blood Gang's headquarters tonight and killed dozens of them."

"I just confirmed with the people at the police station. They will definitely know that I took the Blood Gang's car, gun, and money, but they won't know the exact amount."

"According to my contact, I need to give the police station some things, and then he will operate within the police station to make them think that although I am dirty, I am controllable."

In fact, Lyon's so-called contact person refers to himself, and his operation within the police department actually refers to his direct dealings with Sterling himself.

Lyon pointed to the ground beneath his feet.

"Early this morning, I left a ledger of the Blood Gang's low-level loan sharks and tens of thousands of dollars scattered in the dry cleaning shop for the police station."

"After some time, when the police become suspicious of me again, I will reveal the coordinates of that warehouse to them."

"At that time, the liaison would be in charge, saying that these were discovered during the crackdown on the Blood Gang and that there were large quantities of drugs inside."

"As long as the other party gets impatient, we'll give them a little something to buy time."

"Once our base is fully established, we have more people, and our strength is so great that the police can't easily take action, then we can have a frank discussion with the police."

MacArthur patted his knees, stood up, and put his gun sling back on.

"A delaying tactic, trading space for time."

"Then I'll arrange for people to move the goods now, and transfer the drugs to the warehouse first." MacArthur turned around and began to give orders.

"Walter, Elton, fold down the back seats of the SUV, wrap all of this stuff tightly in black tarpaulins, and tie it to the floor of the back compartment."

"Elton, you just drove up in a modified SUV, right? You stuffed those boxes of fentanyl under the back seat cushions, so even if the police pull you over, they won't be able to find it."

Lyon walked toward the stairwell, ready to go up.

MacArthur's voice came from behind.

"By the way, sir. When we were moving the vehicles earlier, Jarvis and Cole were a little slow, so I had them stay there to clean up."

"Since we're taking over this headquarters, we'll need to allocate some personnel. I'll bring them over to oversee things first."

Leon turned to look at MacArthur and nodded.

"I'm handing this building over to you now."

"You're in charge of taking inventory of all the stock and selecting a few of the most discreet people to stay on duty. Remember to arrange shifts afterwards."

"This outpost needs to be specifically monitored before enough personnel can infiltrate it."

"When will the expansion of the army begin?" MacArthur asked.

"Tomorrow, let's wait for the liaison at the police station to pull the heat down today." Leon took one last look at the gun racks, ammunition boxes, and boxes of drugs, memorizing their locations.

"Today, take care of any loose ends related to tonight and assess our current losses. I'll contact you again regarding the rest."

"Roger that." MacArthur snapped to attention, his voice booming.

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