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

Chapter 119 Is this an arrest?

"Woo-woo-woo-woo," just as Leon and his men had subdued the group of well-dressed high-end people at the second-floor gambling den, the mournful sound of police sirens outside the window finally grew louder and louder, echoing along the entire 12th Avenue. Judging from the noise, at least four or five patrol cars had arrived.

This is the backup Lyon just called for with bulldozers.

However, this time it wasn't the familiar good-natured Danfoss who came. This is 12th Street, which belongs to a different patrol area, which is why Leon didn't bring Danfoss along earlier.

"Harrison, the job's in your hands now. Don't let these fat sheep run wild, and don't let them collude with each other, especially that idiot who took a picture of me with his phone. Keep an eye on him."

"Don't worry, boss. If anyone dares to move, I'll set their bones."

Lyon gave a brief explanation, then waved to the bulldozer and another burly crew member.

"Let's put this fat pig on the shelf and go."

The two men immediately stepped forward, one on each side, supporting the bruised and swollen-faced, groaning fat boy Z, and followed Leon down the stairs.

The dance floor on the first floor was now mostly empty.

The savvy ordinary customers had already taken advantage of the chaos and disappeared, leaving behind scattered high heels, overturned bottles, and hairpieces dropped by who knows who.

What remained were only a dozen or twenty addicts who were so high that their minds had completely gone blank.

Even after the music stopped and the police arrived, these people continued to sway their bodies to the rhythm in their heads, their eyes unfocused, drooling, and some even grinning at the air, completely unaware that they were about to be handcuffed.

Near the bar at the edge of the dance floor, there were seven or eight men dressed in matching black suits.

This included the foreman, who was wearing a flashy suit and had just been arguing with the low-level thugs downstairs.

They didn't run away.

It wasn't because they were particularly loyal or bold.

As mid-level cadres who have benefited from gang-related activities, their faces are already on the police station's gang list; they may run away, but they can't hide.

Moreover, if they run away when the police checkpoints and abandon the boss's cousin, then once this matter is over, their careers in the underworld will be over.

When the big bosses come down and settle scores, chopping them up and feeding them to the dogs will be the least of their worries; they'll resort to all sorts of twisted family discipline.

So they had no choice but to stay here, even if it was difficult.

But they didn't dare to go up.

And so, this awkward scene unfolded.

Leon, with his men, dragged the fat boy Z, who was beaten so badly his own mother wouldn't recognize him, and swaggered down the stairs.

The manager and the remaining thugs stood stiffly at the edge of the dance floor, their faces even paler than the powdered faces from before, their eyes darting around, not daring to meet Leon's gaze.

Fatty Z was being supported, his face swollen like a pig's head, and one of his eyes was so closed that only a slit remained.

He strained to tilt his head, staring intently at the foreman with the only eye he could still see.

Although he didn't say anything, the meaning in his eyes was clear: "What are you looking at?! Attack! Help me! What have I been feeding you all for?!"

His lips twitched twice, as if he wanted to curse or order them to do it.

But just as he was about to make a sound, Leon, who was walking in front, suddenly stopped, turned his head, and gave him a cold glance.

Fatty Z shuddered, the fear of being trampled underfoot and crushed instantly flooding his mind.

He was afraid that Lyon would use this as an excuse to beat him up again in the hall in front of everyone, so he swallowed the swear words that were about to come out and let out a painful sob.

The foreman, who was being watched by the boss, was extremely embarrassed.

Looking at Fatty Z's miserable state, his Adam's apple bobbed, but he ultimately turned his head to the side with utmost reluctance, pretending to look at the neon sign on the wall, as if a flower had suddenly sprouted there.

The remaining thugs followed suit, some looking down at their shoes, some turning to look at the wall, and others pretending to wipe the wine stains on the bar, as if they wanted to bury their heads in their crotches.

No one dared to look Fatty Z in the eye, let alone try to snatch him away.

"Oh."

Lyon watched this scene and let out a short, mocking laugh.

He ignored the bunch of cowards and led his men straight out of the nightclub.

Outside the door, the street was brightly lit by police lights.

Four or five patrol cars were parked haphazardly on the roadside, and more than a dozen uniformed police officers had already set up a cordon and were dispersing the crowd of onlookers.

When a police sergeant who was directing the scene saw Lyon and his men dragging out the fat man covered in blood, he was stunned for a moment.

Although he had been notified before he arrived that the ACU was handling a case here and needed his help with the cleanup.

But it was also the first time he had ever seen firsthand how these legendary mad dogs from ACU actually worked.

Is this an arrest?

The suspect was beaten so badly—if it had been any worse, it probably would have been sent straight to the morgue for the news.

The moment the sergeant saw the suspect's face, his expression became somewhat subtle.

There was shock, disgust, and a hint of hidden heartache and panic.

Although the majority of the money in the envelopes that the nightclub slipped to certain people in the precinct went to their superiors, he, as the sergeant in charge of the area, also got a share.

He usually turns a blind eye to this store, and sometimes he will even give advance notice if he needs to inspect it.

Today, without any warning, those mad dogs from ACU slaughtered this goose that lays golden eggs?

Where will he collect that extra allowance in the future?

And if this matter blows up, what if Fatty Z starts making baseless accusations?

The sergeant took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his unease, and quickly put on a serious, businesslike expression before striding toward Lyon.

"I am Sergeant Williams, the patrol officer in charge of this area."

This was a white police sergeant who looked young and somewhat capable.

He walked up to Leon, his gaze lingering on Leon's face for a couple of seconds. He clearly recognized him as the superhero who had recently been making headlines, and his tone became somewhat polite: "Commander Vance, what's the situation here—?"

Lyon didn't know this Williams. The Seattle Police Department's West Precinct was too big; it was impossible for him to know every minor officer in every precinct.

But since they're here to take over, things will be easier.

"This person is a core member of the 12th Street Boys gang. We found large-scale gambling activities, as well as evidence of suspected human trafficking and forced prostitution on his premises."

Lyon pointed to Fatty Z behind him, who was lying there like a dead pig: "This guy is not only in charge, but he also tried to violently resist arrest, seize a police gun, and incite people present to attack the police."

"We had to take the necessary coercive measures to subdue him."

"He's in your hands now. Handle him quickly and take him straight back to the precinct for detention. Don't let him contact a lawyer. The ACU will take over the interrogation."

"Resisting arrest—grabbing a gun—"

Sergeant Williams glanced at the fat man who had been beaten so badly that even his own mother probably wouldn't recognize him, and his lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

Given his current condition, forget about grabbing a gun; it would be a medical miracle if he could even stand up on his own.

But none of that matters.

Since the ACU bigwigs say it's resisting arrest, then it's resisting arrest.

"Understood, sir."

Williams nodded, waved his hand, and two patrol officers behind him immediately stepped forward, took the unfortunate fat guy Z from the bulldozer, and shoved him into the back seat of the patrol car.

"There are dozens of people upstairs suspected of prostitution and gambling, as well as a group of victims. We need you to go up and help control them and collect evidence."

Lyon added.

"No problem, I'll arrange for someone to go up."

Williams readily agreed.

Actually, he wanted to sound out Lyon to see how big the fire would get and whether it would affect him.

But at the last minute, he changed his mind and agreed directly.

Lyon's gaze was fixed on him, making him feel uneasy and cold sweat was about to break out on his back. He dared not ask, for fear of directly arousing the man's vigilance and making things worse.

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