American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 155 The Long Road Home

Queens, New York.

In the shadows of the nightclub's back alley, Stansfield grabbed the nightclub manager by the collar and slammed him against the mottled brick wall.

“Listen,” Stansfield said in a low voice.

He opened the passenger door with one hand and shoved the brick-like object wrapped in the New York Post under the seat.

“This shipment must be distributed completely by next week.” His knuckles tapped the roof of the car, making a dull sound. “New shipments are arriving from the border soon, in large quantities.”

The nightclub manager's back was pressed against the cold brick wall, his Adam's apple bobbing under Stansfield's gaze: "No problem. I'll handle it."

Stansfield released his grip, took out a pack of wet wipes from his suit pocket, and slowly wiped each of his fingers.

Stansfield ignored the trembling manager and climbed into the driver's seat. The dull thud of the door closing was particularly clear in the narrow alley, followed by the engine starting up and the black sedan merging into the traffic on the main road.

Stansfield held the steering wheel with one hand and turned the radio knob with the other.

The melody of jazz music flowed out, only to be interrupted by the sweet voice of the female anchor: "Now for a traffic update: there is another major traffic jam at the intersection of 5th Avenue and 34th Street. A pickup truck carrying furniture has overturned, paralyzing the entire eastbound lane."

Stansfield frowned, his index finger tapping on the steering wheel. Fifth Avenue was his only way home, and he didn't want to be stuck in traffic, so he signaled right and turned the car onto another road.

Just as I was about to cross the stop line, the traffic light unexpectedly turned red.

Stansfield slammed on the brakes, the tires skidding half a meter on the wet road before finally coming to a stop. Through the windshield, he saw a police car with its roof lights flashing parked across the intersection, and the police officers inside were drinking coffee.

Running a red light? Too risky. The bag of cash wrapped in newspaper under the passenger seat wouldn't stand up to any inspection. Stansfield quickly scanned his surroundings; turning right was the only option.

He jerked the steering wheel, and the car turned into the narrow road on the right, the tires screeching as they rubbed against the ground.

Stansfield wasn't unfamiliar with this quiet alley called "Oak Lane," though he didn't walk it often.

However, at that moment his speed was obviously too fast, and when the orange construction sign came into view, it was too late to brake.

"Bang! Bang!"

The car crashed into several traffic cones, causing it to lurch and veer to the left.

Stansfield gripped the steering wheel tightly, the tires screeching on the wet road, and finally came to a stop crookedly in the middle of the road.

"Fuck!" He slammed his fist on the steering wheel, the horn beeping sharply. He got out of the car and saw that the front bumper was badly dented and the headlight glass was shattered.

Stansfield loosened his tie in frustration, his gaze sweeping over the roadblocks that had been knocked away.

Strangely, the fenced-off area was completely empty, with no construction equipment or signs of excavation.

"Fuck!" Stansfield cursed as he kicked away the roadblock blocking his car, the metal frame scraping against the asphalt with a screeching sound.

He tugged at his tie in frustration. What the hell were those useless people at the municipal council up to?

Stansfield climbed back into the driver's seat, which creaked slightly. He turned the key and started the engine. Raindrops began to fall softly onto the windshield.

"Turn left at the next intersection, then turn left again," Stansfield muttered to himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to plan the route. Once on the expressway, he could be home in twenty minutes.

Stansfield's car slowly drove toward the intersection when a strange "clunking" sound suddenly came from the right rear wheel, the rhythm of which increased with the car's speed.

“Shit,” he stopped the car.

Pushing open the car door, the night wind, carrying a drizzle, rushed towards him. Stansfield looked at the right rear tire; it was half flat, the rubber edge curled up, clearly punctured by fragments of the roadblock earlier.

"FUCK!" Stansfield's roar echoed through the empty streets.

He clenched his fists. Tonight felt like a curse: first that incompetent manager dragged his feet, then there were inexplicable construction roadblocks, and now a flat tire. He was still a twenty-minute drive from home.

The rain was getting heavier, and water droplets slid down his suit collar and into his shirt.

Stansfield wiped the rain off his face. In the distance, a Ford Interceptor with flashing red and blue police lights was driving towards them.

His heart started racing instantly.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, quickly bending down to pull the stack of cash from under the passenger seat.

The newspaper, already limp from the rain, was flung aside with a forceful flick and thrown into the green trash can on the street.

The metal barrel made a muffled "clang".

He took a deep breath, straightened his suit collar, and forced himself to put on a calm expression.

As the police car drew closer, through the rain, Stansfield vaguely recognized the two officers inside – weren't they the same two who had been waiting at the intersection for the red light?
The police car slowly stopped five meters away from him, and its siren sounded twice in short bursts.

The alternating red and blue flashing lights stained the raindrops purple, illuminating Stansfield's stiff face. He touched his empty waist, only then remembering that his service weapon was still locked in his office drawer.

Two police officers got out of the police car.

The officer wearing the police hat was expressionless, while the other, bald officer, seemed rather nervous. He kept rubbing his fingers together, his eyes darting around rapidly in their sockets.

The bald policeman swaggered up to Stansfield, first shining his flashlight on the dented front of the car, then grinned, revealing his uneven teeth.

He casually pulled out a ticket book from his breast pocket, wrote a ticket, and slapped it on Stansfield's chest: "Broken headlights, $500 fine!"

Stansfield looked down at the wet ticket in his hand: "What the fuck?"

The bald policeman leaned closer, his heavy breath hitting Stansfield's face: "Yeah, what the fuck!"

He repeated nervously, his bloodshot eyes wide and bulging: "Absolutely correct!"

He snatched the ticket, drew a crooked smiley face on it with a ballpoint pen, and then handed it to Stansfield.

Stansfield took a step back: "Which precinct are you from? What's your badge number?"

The officer in the hat stepped forward and pulled out his badge from his chest: "Officer Jack, at your service."

Stansfield squinted. The ID photo clearly showed a blond, blue-eyed young man, completely unrelated to the middle-aged man in front of him.

"Is that you, fucking?"

Officer Jack retrieved his badge and glanced at it casually: "It's not."

He shrugged. "But who cares?"

Before he could finish speaking, Stansfield felt a chill on the back of his neck.

"Crack!"

The bald police officer had somehow gotten behind him and pressed the stun gun hard against his neck.

A high-voltage current instantly coursed through his body, and Stansfield's vision was engulfed by a blinding white light. He fell heavily into the puddle like a log, splashing water that soaked the trouser legs of the two "police officers."

“What the fuck~” the bald police officer hummed a little tune, then bent down and delivered another electric shock.

(End of this chapter)