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

Chapter 241 New Enemy (9k)

The office of the West District Police Station Chief, around 5 p.m.

When Lyon pushed open the door to the chief's office, a bitter smell of black coffee and the scent of some kind of light perfume wafted over him, like some ridiculously expensive hand cream with a hint of citrus, mixed with the smell of caffeine and paper.

Victoria Sterling was not sitting behind her desk.

She leaned against the guest sofa by the window, one leg crossed over the other, her knee turned to the right, the hem of her dark blue uniform skirt stopping just above her knee.

She took off her uniform jacket and draped it over the sofa armrest, revealing a white silk shirt tucked into her skirt, the waistline very cinched.

She was looking at her phone, the cold light from the screen reflecting on her azure eyes. Her blonde hair wasn't styled up today; it was loosely gathered at the back of her head, with a few stray strands falling beside her ears and clinging to a small patch of skin on the side of her neck.

She kicked her high heels into the corner under the table, and the toes of her left foot, encased in black stockings, lightly touched the floor.

Lyon closed the door and stood by it for a second.

"Chief," he said.

"Could you please learn to knock before coming in and wait for my response?"

"The door wasn't closed."

"Just because the door isn't closed doesn't mean you can come in. What if I'm changing clothes?"

"You lock the door when you change clothes."

"Is the door locked now?"

"Locked."

Victoria didn't look up. She swiped her finger across the screen, then flipped her phone over and placed it face down on the sofa armrest before looking up at him.

There were some bloodshot veins in her bright blue eyes, and a hint of blue under her eyes, suggesting she hadn't been sleeping well lately, but it was well covered up by foundation.

"Why are you standing so far away? Come and sit down."

Lyon walked over and sat down on the single sofa opposite her.

Victoria rested her elbows on the sofa armrests, propped her chin on her hand, and looked at him for several seconds before pulling her hands out from under her chin and starting to clap.

The movements were perfunctory.

"Cluck cluck cluck".

He clapped twice, but his palms didn't even come together; he just casually touched his palms together, making two muffled thuds.

"Congratulations, Constable Vance, oh wait, I should say you're now a Level 3 Constable. Your pay rise is ten percent, which means you'll get approximately—"

She paused for a moment, then leaned her head back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling as she thought.

"Forget it, I can't calculate it. Just look at your payslip. Anyway, it's not much compared to the salary increase I got when I brought you up to ACU."

"Chief, is this how you treat your top contributor?"

"The number one hero?"

Victoria lifted her head from the backrest, raised her eyebrows, and then coughed lightly twice.

"Ahem, Officer Leon Vance, following evaluation and approval by the West Precinct Promotion Committee, you have recently been officially promoted to Constable Level 3."

"Your hourly wage will be increased in the next financial cycle, your badge will not be replaced, your pension contribution base will be slightly higher, and you will have an extra bar on your uniform."

Then Sterling slumped back onto the sofa.

"Would you prefer this official tone?"

Before Lyon could respond, Sterling continued speaking.

"Speaking of which, I asked you a couple of days ago if you wanted to hold a small ceremony in the auditorium to celebrate your promotion."

"You know, it's one of those photos where everyone stands down listening to me read the commendation speech, and then you go up to receive a certificate and take a picture. Our PR team really likes those kinds of photos."

"What did you answer me back then?"

"I told you not to do it."

"Yes, you said don't do it."

She picked up a cup of now-cold black coffee from the side table next to the sofa, took a sip, frowned, and put the cup down again.

"Normally, a promotion from level two to level three would be announced by your direct supervisor at a roll call meeting, right? But your situation is a bit special."

She paused.

"I am your direct supervisor."

Lyon crossed his legs and leaned back into the sofa.

"So you have to do it yourself?"

"So I have to do it myself."

Victoria flicked the police badge on her chest with her finger.

Her movements were casual, but the fabric of the white silk shirt beneath the badge was tugged and trembled a few times.

Lyon's gaze lingered on the police badge for less than a second before shifting away.

"So, your reason for refusing the award in the auditorium was that it was too ostentatious?"

"Promotion from level two to level three is just a qualification badge; it's unnecessary."

Victoria tapped her knee lightly with her fingertips.

"You think it's safer to make a fortune quietly? Although you can't really keep quiet anymore."

"I just feel it's unnecessary; being too high-profile only attracts attention."

"That's normal. Every time you appear on TV as a counter-terrorism hero, someone will put a bounty on your head on the dark web the next day."

"I admire that you've learned to appreciate the blind spots of the cameras." Victoria crossed her legs.

"Chief, why do I feel like you're praising me in different ways?"

"I'm praising you because you've shielded me from so much criticism in front of the cabinet. If you keep a low profile, I'll have to write fewer reports, and the security data is right in front of me."

The two looked at each other for a second, then both laughed.

When she smiled, Victoria's brows and eyes relaxed a little, and the fatigue was diluted a bit by the smile, but only a little.

Her gesture of raising her hand still carried the restraint of a typical professional woman, as if she had long been accustomed to suppressing her fatigue under a joke.

"Chief, I think you should have someone look at the patrol officers' duty roster for you, so you can at least get a good night's sleep tonight."

"Alright, you're not my nutritionist, so you don't need to comment on my sleep."

"Now, whenever I close my eyes, I can imagine how many more homeless people the mayor will dump into my district next."

She lowered her voice a little, and then returned to normal volume for the second half of her sentence.

"It doesn't matter. Even if you think I'm not in good shape today, don't worry, my mind is still sharp. Let's talk business."

Victoria lowered her crossed legs, her toes, encased in black stockings, tapping against the sofa's foot.

"You did a good job with the things at the mosque," she said.

Leon raised an eyebrow but didn't reply.

"Don't play dumb."

Victoria picked up her phone and swiped it a couple of times. The cold light from the screen reflected in her azure eyes. "You've reassigned my patrol officers to set up checkpoints. I need to know how effective that is."

"The briefing just arrived this afternoon. In the past 48 hours, homeless complaints in the West Side middle-class neighborhoods have dropped by 40 percent, and the number of tents on 12th Street and 4th Avenue has been reduced by half."

She turned her phone over and placed it on her lap with the screen facing down.

"The homeless are now all gathered in front of the 10th Street Mosque because there is free mutton soup and flatbread."

"The order was maintained quite well; no one caused trouble, no one fought, and no one called the police."

"My patrol officers only need to stand on the main road and keep watch; they don't need to go into the alleys and fight with drug addicts."

She looked up at Lyon.

"So, well done."

"It's what I should do," Lyon said, his tone very insincere.

"Don't give me that. Every time you say something like that, you're either about to ask me for money or you're about to make me clean up your mess."

Victoria tapped the sofa armrest with her finger. "Tell me, who is this RayFong?"

Lyon's expression remained unchanged.

He knew this problem would come.

From the very first minute that he had Danfoss deploy police to set up a roadblock, Sterling would definitely send someone to investigate the lamb stand.

Hundreds of people line up at the mosque entrance every day. Ray, a 1.9-meter-tall veteran, stands next to the food cart to maintain order, while Hassan carries flatbread out from the side door. The patrol officers couldn't possibly miss these scenes. If they did, they would write them into a report, which would then be sent to Sterling's desk.

And the same name appears in all the reports: RayFong.

"A community leader," Lyon said.

Victoria didn't speak. She rested her chin on her hand and looked at him for a few seconds, then let out a short breath through her nose.

"Community leader?"

"Yes, like the ones printed on city council campaign posters."

Lyon spread his hands, "He cares about the hardships of the underprivileged, is enthusiastic about public welfare, and even pays out of his own pocket to cook mutton soup for the homeless."

"So what's your relationship with him?"

"I offered him some help."

"for example?"

"For example, having Danfoss's patrol officers set up checkpoints near the area where he set up his stall to help filter out some drug addicts who might cause trouble, or maintaining a flexible enforcement approach in certain gray areas."

"Flexible enforcement standards," Victoria repeated the phrase. "That sounds nice."

She reached for a paper briefing on the low table next to the sofa and flipped through a couple of pages.

The briefing was about four or five pages long, stapled in the upper left corner, and the edges of the pages were curled, clearly indicating that it had been flipped through more than once.

Her finger traced down a line.

"According to this briefing, RayFong is not only distributing mutton soup, he is also registering homeless people."

Lyon remained silent.

"Name, previous occupation, work preference. After registration, they are divided into three categories: those with skills and willing to work, those with skills but unable to work, and..."

The remaining group does nothing but line up to get food.

She turned to the second page.

"After registering them, that wasn't all. He picked a few people from that group and took them out. Am I right?"

"right."

"Where did you take it?"

"Psychedelic Cat".

Victoria stopped what she was doing.

She slowly placed the briefing back on the low table, then leaned back into the sofa, folded her hands on her knees, and looked at Leon for several seconds.

"Psychedelic Cat," she said. "That's the nightclub you personally shut down."

"It is now Ray Fong's community service center."

"Community service center." She repeated the word again, this time with a more relieved smile.

"Vance, do you think I'm so stupid that I wouldn't even notice there's an organization operating a house in my jurisdiction that's not in my records?"

"Or do you really think these fabricated stories can fool me?"

“I’m not trying to lie to you,” Lyon said. “I’m supporting a community leader right under your nose.”

"You're supporting a gang right under my nose."

"It's not quite right, but if you insist on thinking about it that way, you can understand it that way, because it would indeed be defined as a gang."

Leon leaned forward half a body length and rested his elbows on his knees.

"But you want to solve the problem of homeless people, right? You've tried setting up roadblocks to persuade them to turn back, but it didn't work. You even took money from your savings to ask the sanitation workers to clear out the tents, but they were all put up again the next day."

"The mayor is dumping homeless people into your jurisdiction. You either need to keep sending out patrol officers to check their IDs one by one, or find someone to help you manage this group from within."

"RayFong can take homeless people who are still able to work to Psychedelic Cat, with room and board provided, and a daily wage of one hundred."

"Once these people have jobs and places to live, they won't go back to the streets. As for those who are unwilling to work, he and I have discussed some unconventional methods to deal with them."

"The patrol officers only need to continue setting up checkpoints on the main roads, cooperating with Ray Fong's perimeter control, and then cooperating with Ray Fong's unconventional methods at specific times."

"If all goes well, the homeless crisis in the West End will end soon. It won't be long."

Victoria did not respond immediately.

She sat there, resting her chin on her hand, her bright blue eyes fixed on Leon. Her gaze moved down his face to his chest, then down to his knees, and back to his eyes, a process that lasted for about ten seconds.

She was thinking.

Psychedelic Cat.

RayFong registers homeless people, selects them, and takes them to designated locations.

Police officers set up checkpoints to coordinate and control the perimeter.

Homeless people take care of homeless people.

She didn't need to spend too much time understanding this arrangement. Essentially, it meant that Lyon was raising a new organization right under her nose, using this organization to absorb the homeless population and keep the streets clean.

If successful, the homeless people dumped by the mayor will be sifted into the psychedelic cat like sand falling through a funnel, the streets will be empty, complaints will decrease, wealthy and middle-class neighborhoods will be satisfied, and his own district will avoid a bad rating.

Looking at Lyon's face, she suddenly thought of an even more important question.

Gangs that were active in the West Side, such as the Bloods, the 12th Street Boys, and various branches of the Kings, are all recorded in the police department's records.

Who is the ringleader, who is in charge of which street, and who is responsible for money laundering—all of this is recorded in the files.

RayFong is not listed in any file.

He appeared out of nowhere.

An organization leader who appears out of nowhere is personally supported by Leon, the anti-terrorism hero who almost wiped out the Bloods, and runs a homeless community in the psychedelic cat nightclub that he himself shut down.

How likely is it that this leader came from somewhere else in Seattle?

She tapped her fingers lightly twice on the sofa armrest.

Then she made a judgment.

But she didn't say it aloud; she just exhaled through her nose and beckoned to Leon with her finger.

"come over."

Leon stood up and walked over to her. She was still leaning back on the sofa, needing to look up at him.

“Just now,” Victoria raised her hand, lightly tapped his chest with her index finger, and then poked him hard, “you admitted to me that you were going to support a gang.”

She moved her hand up and grabbed his tie.

The knot of the tie was already a little loose, and when she squeezed it, it was squeezed even more towards the center.

She didn't pull hard; she simply tightened the fabric in her palm and then slowly pulled it down.

Leon was pulled down by her, one hand on the armrest of the sofa and the other on the back of the sofa next to her shoulder.

The two faces were now very close, so close that Lyon could see the blue in Sterling's eyes and smell the citrus scent of her perfume mixed with the bitterness of black coffee in her hair.

"Leon Vance," she said softly, "do you think I can't do anything with you?"

"I didn't think that way."

"That's what you think. You're betting that I really can't do anything about you."

She tugged at her tie again, not with much force, but downwards, forcing Leon to shrug down by half a head.

Now his face was almost directly above hers, with only about half a palm's width between their noses.

"This isn't the first time you've used my protection to do unnecessary things. Last time you blew up a building, I covered for you. Now you've massacred the club, and I'll cover for you again."

"Every time I tell myself, even though this kid is crazy, he can help me keep the area under my control."

She pulled her tie down even further.

"Now you might as well stop pretending and just tell me right in front of me that you're going to support a gang at Psychedelic Cat."

"He's a community leader," Lyon corrected.

"Shut up."

Victoria raised her other hand and gently patted his face.

Her hand paused on his face, her thumb resting under his eyes.

Do you know how much of a headache you are?

She looked into his eyes, those steel-gray pupils appearing exceptionally cold and hard at such close range. But when Leon slightly curled the corners of his mouth, that coldness and hardness would be enveloped by a layer of irreverent teasing, making her not know where to direct her anger.

"Do you know what I'm thinking every time I cover for you?" she said.

Leon didn't speak; he looked into her eyes and smiled gently.

"You're thinking, this kid may be crazy, but he can help me stabilize the area."

"----right."

Sterling's fingers slid down Leon's face, gripping his tie again, this time pulling harder, his fingers almost touching Leon's Adam's apple. "So you better not let me lose the bet."

After she finished speaking, she suddenly let go of her hand.

Lyon's tie was full of wrinkles from her clenching and lay askew to one side.

He stepped back and stood up straight again.

"Go get it done," she said. "Get that so-called 'RayFong' up and running your community project."

She bent down, picked up a high heel from the foot of the sofa, put on her left foot, and then her right.

She glanced at Lyon again as she stood up.

"But let me make this clear first: I can give you special treatment, but I won't and can't possibly issue you a formal document approving your use of Psychedelic Cat, understand?"

"clear."

Lyon nodded.

He knew what Sterling meant.

The psychedelic cat is a seized asset, and the police have the right to temporarily hold it in custody, but they do not have the authority to "authorize" it to be used by private organizations.

Victoria straightened the wrinkles on her shirt cuffs, then looked up and patted Lyon's wrinkled tie.

"If you let your community leaders cause a murder or a large-scale riot, and the media comes to me, Chief Sterling, asking if I approved the operation of that psychedelic cat gang," guess what I'll say?

You might say, "I didn't know, that's illegal occupation."

"right."

Victoria leaned back, and the tone of her next sentence was no longer as tense as when she was tugging at her tie.

"So I don't need to provide you with documents. Sometimes, pretending not to see something is a form of support."

Lyon nodded. "That's enough."

Then he turned and took two steps toward the door, when Victoria called out to him from behind.

"Vans".

He stopped and turned around.

Victoria had already sat back down on the sofa, legs crossed, the tips of her high heels dangling slightly in the air.

A few strands of her blonde hair fell down from her ears, and the collar of her white shirt had been unbuttoned a little more during the previous rounds of movements, revealing a small patch of skin below her collarbone.

"Nothing is allowed to happen."

"No, it won't." Leon turned and walked back towards the door, but turned back halfway there.

Don't drink coffee if it's cold.

"Get lost, or I'll make you buy me a new one."

After the door closed, the office was quiet for about three or four seconds.

Victoria remained seated on the sofa in the same position, then slowly raised her hand and looked at her fingertips.

The warmth of his fingertips from grabbing the tie and patting Leon's face still lingered.

She stared at her palms for a few more seconds, then curled her hands up, put them down, leaned heavily against the back of the sofa, and closed her eyes.

"This is terrible," she said to the air.

After leaving the director's office, Lyon walked along a long corridor toward the ACU office area.

His tie was still crooked, the creases Sterling had made were still there, but he ignored them, simply loosening the tie and rolling up his sleeves.

On the left side of the corridor is a row of detention areas, and on the right side are the finance department and the archives.

At this time, the finance department was already locked, with only the release procedure window at the end of the corridor still lit up.

-

As he reached the corner of the corridor, he heard a sound.

"What did you say?!"

The sound came from the direction of the entrance to the detention area; it's just around the corner.

Leon stopped and glanced around the corner. There were three people in the detention area.

The first person was Tyrone, and he was standing there.

This tough Blood Gang henchman, nicknamed "Bulldog," wore a wrinkled plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his two thick forearms.

He spent more than ten days in the detention cell. His chin was covered in stubble, his hair was greasy and stuck to his scalp, and his skin had become a shade lighter due to prolonged lack of sunlight.

He looks like he just woke up from a nightmare.

A man in a dark blue suit was standing in front of him, and he was grabbing the man's arm.

The man was around forty years old, wearing glasses and carrying a black briefcase—a typical Seattle professional lawyer's attire: well-dressed but not ostentatious, with impeccably controlled facial expressions.

The third person was a police officer on duty, sitting behind bulletproof glass, watching the scene expressionlessly through the glass, with a half-cold cup of coffee beside him, seemingly having no intention of interfering at all.

The lawyer was speaking in a restrained tone, his voice very low.

"Tyrone, I just told you, don't get excited after you come out!"

"Explain yourself!"

The lawyer tightened his briefcase under his arm, trying to keep his neck as far away from Tyrone's fist as possible.

I have made myself very clear.

99

He licked his lips.

"First, the Pink Swan Club was sealed off by the West District Police Station a week ago. The property is currently under police custody, and the ownership is pending a court ruling."

"Secondly, Darrell Miller, Lamar Walker, James 'Jimmy' Carter, and Michael 'Fat Mike' Warren died in the armed conflict that night."

"Third, the additional charge of damaging public sanitation against you has been dropped, but you still need to appear in court next Wednesday for the charges of assaulting a police officer and obstructing official duties."

Tyrone's mouth was agape, his eyes wide open.

"Darrell is dead?"

"Yes."

"Lamar is dead?"

"Lamar was obviously among the four people I just mentioned."

"Jimmy and Fat Mike are dead too?"

"I'm pretty sure I've already said those two names."

Tyrone waved his hand slightly in the air. "Darrell was still plotting a trap before I went in! I was locked up for over ten days because of a stupid taillight! Over ten days! And you're telling me the Pink Swan is gone?! Isn't that our territory?!"

"It's already been raided." The lawyer finally broke free from Tyrone's grasp, took a half step back, and straightened his tie. "There were probably thirty-odd corpses inside when they raided it. You were arrested because of a taillight malfunction, so you missed—uh, the whole shootout."

"Also, Tyrone, keep your voice down, this is still a police station."

Tyrone opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He looked into the lawyer's eyes, and for the first time didn't shout. He just lowered his hand, patted his trouser leg, then turned to look at the officer on duty behind the bulletproof glass, before turning back.

"You mean," he lowered his voice, "that while I was locked in the detention cell waiting for my trial, all my brothers outside were fucking dead?"

"This statement is accurate in a literal sense."

"And it took you more than ten days to get me out?!"

"The prosecutor raised your bail to $120,000, citing your violent tendencies and high risk of flight."

""

The lawyer switched the briefcase to the other side, pulled a small notebook from his pocket, and flipped through it. "Do you need me to explain how much of this bail is the original amount, and how much was added because you hit that officer on duty in the nose?"

"That policeman on duty bumped his nose into my fist!"

Tyrone slammed his hand on the counter at the reception window, making the coffee cup of the officer on duty jump and spill a few drops of coffee. The officer glanced at the spilled coffee, remained silent for a moment, and then continued drinking.

The lawyer looked around the corridor to make sure no police officers were too close.

"Boss Marcus is long gone, you should know that. Then, on the night of the 'Trap at Hongmen,' Lamar launched a full-scale attack on Pink Swan, while Darrell and his men defended on the second floor. The two sides exchanged fire with automatic weapons for roughly—"

He paused, carefully considering his words.

"—About forty minutes. Then ACU broke in."

"ACU?"

Tyrone's eye twitched.

He lowered his hand and placed it beside him.

"Anti-crime Special Task Force. Led by Leon Vance."

The lawyer reported in a businesslike tone, "They cleared out the entire building. The media reported it at the time, saying it was some kind of gang fight, but in reality—you know what I mean."

Tyrone stared at the lawyer for a few seconds, then slowly turned his head away, staring at the gleaming wall in front of him.

"It's all because of a faulty taillight."

"Then I was pinned to the ground and beaten by the crazed cops. I was also charged with attempted bribery and vandalism. I was detained here for more than ten days."

He raised his hands and made a "look" gesture; the handcuff marks still left a faint red ring on his wrists.

"More than ten days. Everything outside is gone."

The lawyer sighed.

Tyrone was silent for a few seconds, then rubbed his face vigorously with his hands, the stubble rustling as it brushed against his palms.

"Hold."

"Fuck your mother."

"Fuck your mother."

The lawyer didn't speak, but stood there quietly, waiting for his client to process the information.

Leon leaned against the wall at the corner and overheard most of the conversation.

He hadn't originally planned to get involved.

He recognized the name Tyrone; he had mentioned it briefly when Harrison reported on the Blood Gang's survivors.

A hapless fellow was caught before the Feast at Hongmen. Even fortune tellers couldn't have predicted such incredible luck. He escaped the massacre of his entire family while in detention.

It's only a matter of time before he's released on bail. Cases like taillight malfunction and attempted bribery are of a certain magnitude; once he pays enough bail, he'll be out.

Corrupt police officers frantically trying to meet their KPIs will only prolong detention time; they can't fundamentally bring people to justice.

Besides, this case was initially a miscarriage of justice orchestrated by corrupt police officers to protect themselves and boost their political achievements. If it were to go to court, the judge would laugh at the arrest report.

Lyon decided to continue walking towards the ACU office area.

He emerged from around the corner, hands in his pockets, tie askew, looking like a patrol officer who had just finished his night shift.

The lawyer noticed Leon first; his pupils contracted slightly, then he turned his head and brought his mouth close to Tyrone's ear.

"That guy coming from over there," he said in a voice only the two of them could hear, "that's him."

Tyrone shifted his gaze from the wall and followed the lawyer's eyes.

Leon Vance was walking down the corridor, his steps relaxed, his expression calm, and he even looked a little tired.

He didn't deliberately avoid looking at Tyrone, but he didn't provoke him either. He just glanced at him like he would any other suspect released on bail, and then continued walking in the other direction.

Tyrone stared intently at Lyon.

His hand stopped on the outside of his thigh, unconsciously clenching into a fist, then relaxing.

The lawyer whispered from the side, "Don't cause a scene here."

Tyrone did not reply.

Lyon slowed down when he was about two meters away from them.

He sensed it.

Tyrone's gaze fell on him like you're standing outside the glass wall of a zoo looking at a venomous snake. You know it can't bite you through the glass, but its eyes let you know it has memorized you.

Lyon eventually stopped about a meter and a half away from them.

"What's up?" Leon asked.

Tyrone frowned.

His eyebrows were thick, and when they were furrowed, a fierce look emanated from his face.

He stared at Lyon for a few more seconds, his gaze lingering on the crooked tie and open collar, then took a deep breath.

"It's nothing," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "You look familiar, I've mistaken you for someone else."

Leon hummed in agreement, shifting his gaze from Tyrone to the lawyer.

When the lawyer saw Lyon looking at him, he immediately adjusted his posture, took a white business card from his briefcase, and handed it to him with both hands.

"Officer Vance, it's an honor to meet you." His voice was calm and professional. "I am Alan Crawford, Mr. Tyrone's attorney."

Lyon took the business card and glanced at it.

The business card reads "Alan Crawford, J.D., Criminal Defense and Civil Rights Litigation," with gold lettering and a substantial feel to the paper.

He turned the business card over; the back was blank.

"A gangster lawyer?" Leon looked up.

"I am an independent professional lawyer."

Allen adjusted his glasses. "I take on any client's case; I don't have a fixed business preference. Police officers, gangsters, the wronged, or the wrongly accusing others. Every citizen has the right to legal representation. That's my professional ethic."

Lyon twirled the business card between his fingers, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"So you mean you'll take any job as long as it's profitable?"

Alan Crawford paused for a second, then nodded slightly.

"Officer Vance, lawyers need to charge fees for their work. This is the labor that lawyers put in, and I think that's only natural."

""

Lyon tucked the business card into the inside pocket of his jacket and patted the edge of the pocket.

His gaze swept over Tyrone one last time.

Tyrone stood there, his hands hanging at his sides, without saying a word.

His lips still held that apologetic smile that said "I mistook you for someone else," but his eyes hadn't kept up with the change; they remained as fierce as before.

Lyon saw something in that look.

It's not that Tyrone wanted to make a move here; he wasn't stupid enough to do that. But this guy still didn't intend to let this matter end completely.

Darrell, Lamar, Pink Swan.

Lyon wasn't sure exactly what had touched a nerve with Tyrone, nor was he sure what Tyrone would do next, who he would go to, who he would seek refuge with, or whether he would seek refuge with no one and rely on himself alone.

But to be honest, Leon didn't care much. As a gangster, even if Tyrone had his reasons and a brotherhood with his underlings, gangsters wouldn't be immune to abusing ordinary people. And since he was a policeman, he had to intervene when he saw them committing crimes.

If he comes seeking revenge, then I'll kill him too.

"Bulldog," Leon called him by his nickname, "He was locked up for over ten days because of a taillight malfunction. He was lucky."

Tyrone snorted.

What Leon said was true, but it sounded worse than an insult.

He missed the massacre of the Pink Swan family, missed Darrell being shot through the forehead by Leon's bullet, missed his brothers being packaged up by the forensic doctor in the morgue, and based on his understanding of the police, this kind of work would most likely be outsourced to a body-collecting company, and then his brothers would be packaged up and sold off.

Although he did survive, it was by fate that he survived next to the toilet in the detention cell.

"I was pretty lucky," Tyrone said, his voice much lower than when he was arguing with the lawyer. "The officer is right, I'll go back and fix that lousy car's taillight."

"Have you paid the ticket yet?"

"It's been submitted."

"Take care," Lyon said.

Then he turned around and continued walking towards the ACU office area.

Tyrone stood there, watching Leon's back turn as he walked down the corridor into another side road.

"Tyron," the lawyer whispered beside him, "let's go."

Tyrone ignored the lawyer, stared at the corner where Leon disappeared for a while, then put his hands in his pockets and walked towards the main entrance of the precinct.

"Walk."

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