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

Chapter 118 This place is sealed off.

"Boss, look at that."

Harrison leaned close to Leon's ear and whispered, "That guy's name is Fatty Z."

"He's the cousin of the 12th Street Boys' gang leader, or some distant nephew or something."

"You know what these black gangs are like."

Harrison explained, "Once someone gets rich and becomes the boss, all those distant relatives back home will send all sorts of people who don't want to work but just want to make money to come and join them."

"These kinds of people usually don't have much ability, but they are family members after all."

"So the boss usually entrusts these lucrative places, which don't require much brainpower and only require supervision, to them, as a way of giving their families an explanation."

"In other words, this guy is the actual controller of this store and a member of the gang's inner circle."

Lyon nodded after listening.

It turns out he was a big fish with connections.

Just right.

He pushed aside a croupier blocking his way, stepped onto the thick carpet, and walked straight to the gambling table.

Fatty Z stared at the plainclothes officer who walked straight toward him, his mind clearly still reeling from the card game they had just played.

Here on 12th Street, he's always the one causing trouble for others; no police officer would dare to barge right up to his gambling table.

He slammed the deck of cards on the table, about to open his greasy mouth and intimidate people by mentioning his ruthless cousin's name: "You fucking know I am—"

The word "who" hadn't even been uttered yet.

"Bang!"

A strong, large hand gripped his thick neck tightly.

Leon had no intention of wasting words with him.

Looking at that face full of flesh, etched with greed and cruelty, all that flashed through Leon's mind were the girls in the next room, their bodies covered in needle marks, their eyes vacant.

Damn it.

This beast deserves to breathe air for even a second longer; it's an insult to the world.

If they were in an empty alley, Lyon would definitely not hesitate to twist that fat pig's head off and kick it like a ball.

But now it's happening in public, with dozens of eyes watching.

We must not kill them.

But that doesn't mean I can't make him pay a price first, and he'll get what's coming to him later.

"Get up!"

Leon's arm muscles tensed instantly, and his 15 points of strength attribute erupted at that moment.

The fat black man, who weighed at least 250 pounds, was lifted off the chair by Leon with one hand, his feet off the ground, and he could only kick helplessly in the air.

Followed by.

With a thrust of his waist, Lyon slammed him to the ground as if throwing a bag of garbage.

"boom!"

The solid wood floorboards even trembled.

Fatty Z crashed heavily to the ground, his internal organs seemingly displaced, and let out a scream like a balloon being stomped on.

"ah-!!"

But it's not over yet.

Before he could catch his breath, a gleaming leather shoe stomped hard on his face.

"Resisting arrest, is that it?"

Lyon looked down at the fat man at his feet, his voice as cold as ice, and pressed down hard: "Attempted to assault a police officer? Seized a police gun? Threatened the life of law enforcement officers?"

"You've got guts, you fatso!"

With each charge, Leon would stomp his foot down hard, or deliver a heavy kick to that mass of fat.

Although Fatty Z was desperately protecting his face with both hands and hadn't actually tried to take Leon's gun, that didn't stop Leon from pinning the blame on him first.

"Bang! Bang!"

"Officer! Stop—stop hitting me! I didn't move! I didn't move!"

Fatty Z's face was covered in blood, his nose was broken, and he was crawling on the ground like a maggot, begging for mercy.

"You actually dare to resist?!"

Lyon completely ignored his explanations and simply beat him and vented his anger.

The surrounding gamblers were stunned by the sudden violence.

They'd seen police arrest people before, but they'd never seen police officers like this who would come up and beat someone to death without saying a word.

Just then, a white man in an expensive suit, who looked like an executive of some tech company, realized what was happening.

His eyes flashed, and he stealthily reached into his pocket, pulling out the latest iPhone, pointing the camera at Leon who was committing violence.

If this video is recorded, it will be irrefutable evidence of police brutality, and it might even be used to blackmail the police into dropping charges against those present.

However, his finger hadn't yet pressed the record button.

Suddenly, a rough, large hand reached out from the side, grabbed his wrist, and then pressed down hard.

"Ouch!"

The executive cried out in pain, and before he could react, a tremendous force pressed his head down, slamming him onto the gambling table covered with chips.

Colorful chips flew everywhere.

Harrison pressed the guy's head down with one hand, making his well-maintained face come into close contact with the hard tabletop, and with his other hand, he smoothly snatched the phone from the guy's hand and threw it into the ice bucket next to him without even glancing at it.

"Zilayi" 6

The phone made two bubbles when it was submerged in ice water, and then the screen went black.

"What do you want, sir?"

Harrison, a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a menacing expression, spoke loud enough for the entire room to hear: "Illegal gambling, and you even attempted to attack police officers with an electronic device that appears to be a weapon? You want to resist arrest too?!"

'

"No! That's a cell phone, I didn't attack anyone! I'm a taxpayer! I want to see a lawyer!"

The executive struggled desperately, his face contorted from being pressed down.

"Behave yourself, you're a suspect now!"

Harrison thrust his knee into the man's lower back, instantly rendering him unable to resist. He then expertly pulled out handcuffs and, with a "click," cuffed the man behind his back to a table leg.

Having done all this, Harrison straightened up, his bloodshot eyes coldly sweeping over the restless gamblers around him.

He patted the holster on his hip, revealing a sinister grin: "Anyone else trying to resist arrest? Or trying to attack a police officer with electronic devices?"

"Everyone put your hands on the table! Anyone who moves an inch shouldn't blame us for treating them as accomplices!"

Dead silence.

The previously somewhat agitated crowd instantly fell silent, even lowering their breathing.

Everyone obediently placed their hands on the table or covered their heads; no one dared to look at it again, let alone touch their phones.

These plainclothes officers are ruthless.

Leon punched Fatty Z twice more, and only stopped when he was sure that the guy had completely lost his ability to move and could only lie on the ground groaning.

He stood up, straightened his slightly disheveled tie, and took out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood from his hands.

"take away."

Leon pointed at the fat man on the ground, his tone cold: "And those girls, take them all back for questioning."

"This place is sealed off."

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