America: The Gear-Up Detective

Police station, interrogation room.

Simon Brandt sat in the interrogation chair with his hands cuffed to either side of the chair.

Connor and Jose sat opposite him and conducted the interrogation.

Where were you this morning, between 6 and 8 a.m.?

"I went out for a walk, and the scenery in Los Angeles is pretty good."

"Bang!" Connor slammed his hand on the table, startling Simon, who was caught off guard.

"You know what we're going to ask! Answer me honestly, where you went and what you did this morning!"

Simon pursed his lips; he'd been through this kind of situation countless times. "I went out for a walk this morning and dropped someone off on the way."

Jose sneered and showed Jackson the screenshot from the security camera outside his room. "You don't think we arrested you without knowing anything, do you?"

Simon's expression changed, but he remained indifferent. At worst, he would just go to jail. It wasn't like he hadn't been there before. There were plenty of people there, and they were all very nice to talk to. It was no different from going home.

At this moment, Connor stared at Simon and said in a deep voice, "Do you know who that person you kidnapped this morning is?"

Before Simon could react, Connor continued:

"His name is Michael Jackson, and he is a senior detective in our Detective Agency's Murder and Robbery Division."

You should know the consequences of kidnapping an LAPD officer. You've just put yourself on a federal felony...

As Connor recounted his account, a flicker of panic crossed Simon Brand's dark face.

Although both are kidnappings, kidnapping a police officer is very different from kidnapping an ordinary person.

When ordinary people are kidnapped, the police have limited resources to use. In the end, if the killer cannot be found, then they cannot be found. Even if they are caught, according to California law, the sentence is 3, 5, or 8 years in prison, plus bail conditions, so they can be released again not long afterward.

However, once a police officer is kidnapped, almost the entire city's police system will be mobilized, determined to find the kidnapped officer. In terms of sentencing, in addition to the original kidnapping charge, the officer will also be charged with an additional federal felony.

Under Title 18, Section 1201 of the United States Code, kidnapping a federal, state, or local law enforcement officer is a federal crime, with a minimum sentence of 10 years and a maximum sentence of life imprisonment.

Furthermore, the federal prison system now has virtually no concept of parole, which means that you have to serve your sentence for as long as you are sentenced to.

Simon struggled for a moment, but ultimately remained silent.

Connor laughed in exasperation.

"What, you think your crime isn't serious? An accomplice?"

I can tell you directly, so far we've only found you, and we've only investigated you. If you don't say anything, then I'm sorry, you'll have to bear all the blame!

Without giving Simon Brand any time to consider, Connor continued, "If Jackson is unfortunately killed, and we still have no leads on the killer..."

Connor stared intently at Simon Brand. What he was about to say was not appropriate to be said in the interrogation room where they were being recorded and monitored, but Simon already understood.

Simon felt an unusual itch in the gaps of his dreadlocks and instinctively reached out to scratch it, only to find that his hands were firmly restrained by handcuffs.

Simon seemed to only now come to his senses, muttering, "Confess, confess..."

"What?" Connor didn't hear clearly.

"Plea bargain! Plea agreement!" Simon Brand roared. "Even though I've robbed, kidnapped, smuggled drugs, stolen things, and like playing with guns, I know I'm a good man!"

Their schemes had nothing to do with me; I had no idea that little black man was a policeman!

Connor smiled, looking at Simon who was completely panicked. "Plea agreement? You have no choice. You can only cooperate with us, tell me who the mastermind is, and then pray that when we find Jackson, he is still alive and we can catch the main culprit. Otherwise, prepare to spend the rest of your life in federal prison."

Then Jose took out a pen and paper, and Simon said a few names and a location.

"San Pedro Bay, Darian Weaver..."

......

Rod drove around the streets, trying to find some clues.

I glanced at the time; three and a half hours had passed since Jackson went missing.

Several helicopters were circling overhead over Los Angeles.

On the streets, there are noticeably more patrol cars.

Radios throughout the entire police system went into overdrive, searching for any trace of Jackson.

Even two weeks ago, the LAPD's crackdown on street gangs didn't involve this level of patrol activity.

In any country in the world, assaulting or killing a police officer is absolutely the highest level of legal punishment, and the entire law enforcement system will spare no effort to hunt him down.

Of course, Mexico might be a bit of a special case, after all, it's too far from paradise...

The next moment, Rhodes's phone rang.

The caller ID shows Connor.

"Rhodes, where are you? We've found Jackson!"

"Where?"

"There's a bunch of abandoned containers in the northwest corner of San Pedro Bay. SWAT has already gone there. Come and join them."

"Coming right away!"

Rod slammed on the brakes, then jerked the steering wheel, shifted gears, and accelerated in one fluid motion, sending the car speeding away.

......

Inside a converted red shipping container in the northwest corner of San Pedro Bay.

Jackson was bruised and battered, his vest stained with blood, his hands were tied, his legs were dangling in the air, and he was hanging in the shipping container.

Feeling the stinging pain in his abdomen and chest, Jackson guessed that he probably had several broken ribs.

Jackson struggled to maintain his balance, trying to avoid the broken bone spurs piercing his internal organs, but his eyes scanned his surroundings as his brain raced, searching for a way to escape.

His gaze then swept over two naked, dark figures folded together on a mattress not far away.

Jackson looked at Queenie Ward, who was tortured to the point of having no energy in her eyes, and who was completely immobile and at the mercy of Darian Weaver, and a hint of pity flashed in his eyes.

It's not that the two developed feelings for each other after their one-night stand. This reluctance is purely the natural emotion that comes from a kind-hearted person seeing a living, breathing person being humiliated and tortured.

Moreover, "It seems she didn't tell Darian Weaver my police identity..."

Jackson closed his eyes slightly. "I wonder how much time has passed. I didn't show up for work on time today. They can't reach me, they should realize I'm missing by now..."

As Jackson pondered this, he noticed the seductive sounds around him gradually fading away.

He opened his eyes and looked at Darian Weaver walking towards him, sighing inwardly, "Here we go again."

But this time, Darian Weaver ignored Jackson and walked to a corner not far from the mattress.

He reached into his black backpack and soon pulled out a sealed bag containing an unknown white powder.

He then walked to the portable table at the entrance of the container and started using it by himself.

Darian Weaver glanced at Jackson, who was dangling in mid-air, and grinned. "Want some?"

"...FUCK!"