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

Chapter 242 The Movements of the Mexicans (8k)

Lyon pushed open the door to the ACU office area.

As soon as he pushed the door open halfway, a golden figure crashed into him, carrying the scent of strawberry chewing gum. Two arms wrapped around his right arm, lifting up his entire weight.

"The great hero is back!"

Chloe was a head shorter than him, her long, golden curls brushing against his elbows, her black-stockinged legs under her miniskirt standing on tiptoe, her deep blue eyes looking up at him, and her lips painted with a glossy lip gloss.

"You're a Level 3 Constable, you know? I was just cleaning your gun. There was a spot on your CQBR that kept getting carbon stuck in it, and it took me half an hour to clean it."

She rubbed her face against Lyon's sleeve.

"Am I super thoughtful?"

"You cleaned the rifling inside the barrel so thoroughly that the bullet went off course after ten meters when I pulled the trigger last time." Leon pulled his hand away from her.

"That's a problem with the bullets, not with me."

"I personally retrieved the bullets from the ammunition depot."

"That's a problem with the ammunition depot."

Chloe blinked and put her hand back on his arm. "Anyway, I don't care. You got promoted, so you're treating tonight."

The others in the office area were already laughing.

Harrison slumped in a folding chair in the corner, with several open patrol logs and an empty coffee cup in front of him.

He raised a hand and beckoned to Leon, speaking with the air of someone who had been working overtime, even though he had been on vacation for some time.

"Can you guys stop messing around? I'm filling out a form."

His phone vibrated a few times. He picked it up, looked at the screen, and sighed. "It's my ex-wife again. She wants money and also told me that the kids need me to attend a parent-teacher conference."

"Everyone, can I pay for today's coffee on credit?"

"You still haven't paid back the two drinks you owed Simon last time," Chloe said irritably.

"Then let's have another drink, since I already owe it until next year anyway."

When Jacob stood up from behind the table, he covered a large portion of the whiteboard in the entire conference room.

The two-meter-tall black man was wearing a gray T-shirt that was at least XXXXL size. He had been hit by shrapnel from an anti-materiel sniper rifle during the last operation on the unfinished building, breaking his ribs and spending several weeks in the hospital.

He walked over, but before he could speak, a bulldozer squeezed in from the other corner. The bulldozer was a little shorter than Jacob, but about the same width.

The bulldozer, on the other hand, was wearing a sweater.

His sweater had shrunk to the wrong size, clinging to his body and accentuating the roundness of his chest and stomach. The cuffs were tightly wrapped around his arms, looking like they were about to burst at any moment.

Lyon glanced at him.

"Bulldozer, did you put the clothes in the dryer again?"

"It's a little damp after washing, so I thought drying it would be faster."

The bulldozer said honestly, then tugged at his collar, "It seems a little too small again."

"That's wool," Ward said expressionlessly, standing up from the other corner.

"The suit you threw in the dryer last time has shrunk to the size of a child's size, and this one you say you just bought last week."

"I was wondering why they were a little tight."

Jacob scratched the back of his head, then forced a serious expression. "Boss, you got promoted, you have to treat us."

At the same time, Ward walked from the corner table to Leon, extended his hand, and silently touched it with Leon's.

Then, Ward took a half step back, stood next to Jacob, and gestured with his chin toward the other end of the office.

"Carlos is behind us. He said he has information from an informant and will tell you when you get back."

Lyon glanced in that direction following his own light.

Carlos sat at his workstation, with several traffic reports and a half-open drawer in front of him.

He was wearing a leather jacket, and his mustache was still as flamboyant as ever, but his left leg was sticking out from under the table, resting straight on the ground, with his ankle slightly turned outwards.

As Lyon walked that way, Chloe's arm was still draped over his.

She followed his movements and walked forward. Just as she reached the end of the second set of desks, a slender arm reached out from the side and grabbed Chloe's wrist, forcibly separating her from Leon.

Mia Torres emerged from the break room at some point.

With short black hair and dead fish eyes, he held an iced Americano in his hand, the straw still in his mouth, sipping his coffee, while his hand pulled Chloe away and dragged her to the side.

"You're in my way," Mia said.

Chloe glared at her, but didn't react; she just snorted and left Leon's side.

"You always pop up at times like this."

"I just happen to be standing here."

The two glanced at each other, then simultaneously looked away.

Lyon walked up to Carlos's workstation.

Carlos didn't stand up; he simply closed a binder beside him and looked up at Leon. His mustache still had that same flamboyant look.

"Boss," he said, "congratulations on your promotion."

Lyon looked down at his legs.

The knee of the work pants on the left leg was abnormally stretched, suggesting there was a steel plate underneath.

"Can you walk?"

"able."

Carlos placed his hands on the table and slowly stood up. When he stood up straight, his right shoulder was slightly higher than his left shoulder. When he took his first step, his left leg was slightly lame.

The knee should have recovered properly, and it can walk on flat ground without crutches, but it tilts slightly to the left with each step.

This isn't actually a very serious disability, but it's far less impressive than the image of the Latino driver who wore a leather jacket, drifted around corners in a police car, and climbed onto the windowsill to get into the back seat of a robber.

He took a few steps, turned around and looked at Lyon. "The doctor said I'd rust if I stayed in bed for another two days. Anyway, they won't let me drive around chasing people anymore."

"Does it hurt?"

It will swell on rainy days.

"Can you still drive?"

'

"Automatic police cars are fine, but manual ones won't work. My knees can't hold the clutch properly, and it'll be half a second slower when shifting gears."

He paused, then added, "It won't catch up with drug dealers, but it's enough to pick up and drop off the kids from school."

Lyon nodded and didn't continue the topic. He patted Carlos on the shoulder.

Carlos raised his hand, gesturing for Leon to stand to the side with him, then lowered his voice.

"Boss, someone from Mexico messaged me asking if I could look up someone for them."

Lyon slightly raised his eyes.

"Who?"

"They noticed a lamb stall near the 10th Street Mosque that was giving away free lamb soup and bread, and it was very eye-catching."

"There were also patrol officers helping to set up roadblocks around, and the gangs, big and small, on the street didn't dare to go and cause trouble. They looked at the recent situation in the West District and felt that there must be someone behind this stall."

Carlos licked his lips.

"The stall owner is a tall white man, and the name he registered under is RayFong."

Lyon listened.

"The Mexicans want to know which line RayFong is connected to within the department."

"They think that the gangs in the West District are either gone or scared out of their wits and hiding. And the corrupt cops are acting like they're on steroids. Now, suddenly there's an organization leader with ties to the police on the streets. This is not simple, because logically, someone with such great power backing them shouldn't be someone they don't know."

He paused again.

"Boss, my temporary explanation to them is that I'm just a gofer, and there are some things I have no access to at all."

"But they still insisted that I find out who in the department was supporting RayFong and whether it had anything to do with you."

Lyon looked into Carlos's eyes.

The message he read in those eyes was clear: Carlos was not lying to him.

The Latino double agent's wife and daughters were in the hands of the Mexicans. He dared not completely refuse the Mexicans, but he also dared not hide the truth from those who knew his background.

Leon patted him on the shoulder.

"Do you think they sent you to sound out the police station, or is it out of pure curiosity, or are they planning to contact Ray Fong?" Leon began.

""

Carlos didn't speak. He leaned against the wall and looked at the office lights.

"They are already reassessing the drug supply chain in the West End."

He pulled out an anonymous spare phone, pressed the screen, and a preview of messages lit up—several text messages the Mexican had sent him.

"Since the Pink Swan incident, they have cut off supplies to the West End."

"But they currently lack trustworthy local distributors."

"The Blood Gang is crippled. Most of the other factions are now hiding their heads. Those who dare to show their faces are mostly small fry. Only Ray Fong still has the police protecting him and is recruiting."

He turned off his phone screen and put it back in his pocket.

"I think once they confirm Ray Fong's connection to the police, they'll send someone to make formal contact," Carlos said. "At the latest, within a week."

Lyon nodded.

Everything makes sense.

What the Mexicans want to do is simply find a new front man to take over the drug distribution chain, restart the drug operation, and then restore the scale of the previous large gangs distributing drugs layer by layer when the gangs re-establish themselves.

RayFong is the perfect white glove right now.

They have land, manpower, and police protection, and they don't seem to be the kind of gang with deep connections in Seattle.

Leon didn't answer immediately; he looked out the window and spoke after a while.

"Just tell them that RayFong does indeed have connections with certain people in the department."

"But tell them you can't find any specific information about this person; their identity is well-hidden. Just say—"

He nudged Carlos lightly with his elbow. "You've done your best. The rest is not for a little fish like you to know."

"Just convey this concept; there's no need to say anything else. Let them make their own judgments."

Lyon pulled himself out of his wall-leaning position and glanced at Carlos's legs.

"Regarding your knees—don't put too much pressure on yourself."

Lyon's gaze briefly swept across his eyes. "About your wife and children—I'll find a way to handle this while we have the chance."

Carlos took a deep breath and put his hands back on the table. "Got it, boss. I'll get back to them in a bit."

Then, dragging his leg, he took a step forward and walked back to his workstation, his movements appearing slightly smoother than before.

The clouds hung low over Seattle in the evening, and the streetlights near the South Side auto repair shop were not yet on, casting the whole street in a gray-blue shadow.

Maria sat in the basement of the back alley of the auto repair shop, with an old swivel chair with half of its springs broken under her, and her feet on an unsealed carton of engine oil.

Her gray hooded sweatshirt sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, revealing her two strong forearms. She wore a pair of blue nitrile gloves stained with oil on her left hand, but not on her right, with a Marlboro cigarette between her fingers.

She finally lit her cigarette.

.

The cigarette butt glowed with an orange-red light in the dimly lit basement before she took it from her mouth, exhaling the smoke through her nostrils.

On the iron table in front of her were several printed sheets of paper, all maps of the various districts of the West District, with the locations of several districts circled in red pen. Next to her was an encrypted mobile phone with its screen off.

Her brows were furrowed, and she looked quite impatient.

Pablo stood across the iron table, his hands hanging down in front of him, not daring to sit down.

"We only know that RayFong has a background, but we can't find out the specifics of his background," Pablo said, his voice a little dry.

"Carlos said he tried his best, but the other party's identity was well hidden, and he, a small fish—"

"He doesn't deserve to know." Maria finished his sentence for him, then lit her cigarette in the ashtray next to her. "How dare he send such a message?"

"He said that his ACU team members didn't know either, and he didn't dare to ask directly. So he secretly went to the archives to look for something, but he didn't find anything."

Maria put the cigarette back in her mouth, bit the filter, and mumbled something.

"A white man can set up a stall selling mutton soup in front of a mosque in the West End, with patrol officers acting as his security guards. No one in the department cares about him, and you can't find his information in the archives."

"What level of relationship do you think he has with the police?"

Pablo opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

Maria didn't expect him to take it; she held the cigarette between her fingers and continued talking.

"Those idiots from the Bloods messed with us. We originally wanted to take care of their boss and then take over, but Terry messed it up. The 12th Street Boys are gone now, and the Kings are cowering on 23rd Street, too scared to move."

"There's a vacuum in the West End right now. I'm not sending anyone in to fill it because I don't want to clean up that good-for-nothing Trey's mess, and I don't want the police to notice my actions."

Maria had just finished speaking when there was a knock on the iron door to the basement.

There was a very soft knock, then a pause, then a second, then a third.

Pablo turned to look at Maria.

Maria glanced at him, then rolled up the printed papers and stuffed them into her greasy pocket, putting the cigarette back in her mouth.

"Go open it."

Pablo walked over and unlatched the iron gate, which slid open halfway, and then he froze.

There was a person standing outside the door.

Her short, silver hair was a little messy from the wind, and her gray-blue eyes revealed no emotion in the dim basement light.

She had pale skin, a small face, and a pointed chin.

She was wearing a dark blue defensive jacket, zipped up to her neck, with her left hand hanging at her side and her right hand resting on her waist.

It's Eva.

Pablo froze for about half a second, then suddenly raised his hands and took a step back, his lower back slamming against the edge of the iron table.

Eva didn't even look at him.

Her gaze passed over Pablo's shoulder and landed on Maria, who was sitting in a swivel chair.

Maria opened her mouth, the cigarette dangling from her lips, then stood up from her chair, took her feet off the oil tank, and kicked the cardboard box aside with her right foot, making room in the basement.

Eva walked in, the hem of her protective jacket swaying slightly with her steps, revealing a bandage wrapped around her waist.

The edge of the bandage peeked out from the gap in the jacket, and a small patch of light yellow seeped into the gauze. It was probably the color of tissue fluid mixed with iodine, not fresh bleeding, but still far from being a suture.

Pablo stared wide-eyed at the bandage, then slowly lowered his raised hands slightly.

Eva walked to the iron table and stood still. She glanced down at the ashtray on the table, then at the Marlboro cigarette burning in Maria's mouth.

"You finally lit your cigarette."

Maria took the cigarette out of her mouth, pinched the filter between her thumb and forefinger, and poked the cigarette butt into the ashtray.

"What the hell are you doing here? I thought you died on the East Coast," Maria said. "I missed you." Eva looked up at Maria.

"The last time you came to Seattle," Maria said, "was three years ago. You were dealing with some German guy, and after you were done, you left. Before you left, you even took one of my sofa cushions."

Eva didn't respond to that, but simply tilted her head slightly.

"I'm not here to reminisce," Eva said.

She sat down in the chair in front of Pablo, moving very carefully. As she lowered herself, her waist remained almost still. Only when her buttocks were firmly in place did she release the hand that had been pressing on her side and place it on her knee.

Maria watched the process, holding the cigarette between her fingers.

Are you injured?

"Almost done."

Maria stared at her for three or four seconds, then turned around, picked up a clean glass from the iron table, poured half a glass of cola, and placed it in front of Eva.

"Old Tooth is gone," Eva said.

"Are you looking for Old Man Ya? To get a fake passport and leave the United States?" Maria asked.

Eva looked up at Maria.

"I went to the Pink Swan, the second servant's quarters," Eva said.

"I kicked the glass and climbed in, shot two men dead, and held the gun barrel to the chin of another man, but the old man I was looking for wasn't there."

Eva picked up the Coke, Zhao Zhao took a sip, and then put the cup back on the table.

"Darrell doesn't know as much as we do. He said Old Ya was just an accountant who falsified books and had been out of their sight for a long time."

She paused for a moment.

"I searched for several more days, from 12th Street to 6th Street, from the morgue to the junkyard, and finally found out that he probably took my deposit and ran away."

Maria stared at her for a few seconds, then shook her head. "So your evacuation plan fell through?" Maria said.

"right."

Eva tilted her head, as if she was thinking about something.

"You should already know about the Pink Swan incident that day. The Blood Gang was almost completely wiped out. After I left that day, the remaining heads were probably taken by a few very irritable police officers."

Maria held the Marlboro between two fingers and pointed at Eva.

"Did you steal their jobs?"

"I don't think so. Judging from their posture, they were going to kill everyone when they went in."

"I ran into them in the back alley of Pink Swan. The plainclothes policeman who was leading them was about the same height as your mechanic. He was very aggressive when he hit people."

Eva reached out and touched Kang Ji's left shoulder. Through his windbreaker, she gently pressed her fingers on the approximate location of the wound. "I almost dislocated my shoulder with a punch."

What kind of police are they?

"Leon Vance," Eva said.

"Over 1.8 meters tall, gray eyes, dressed in civilian clothes, but his movements resemble those of a military or intelligence officer."

"At first I thought he was sent from the East Coast, but after watching the local news these past few days I realized he's a policeman."

Maria's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You killed several of the gang leaders over there, escaped from the police, and then went to find someone?"

"Tang Desen, a former Marine Corps field medic, is an unlicensed doctor in the Southern District."

"I first heard about him because he was arrested and had his license revoked for trafficking fentanyl."

"I was stabbed and I've already received basic first aid, but without professional medical help and antibiotics, I'll still die; it's just a matter of time."

"Tang Desen." Maria repeated the name, then let out a nasal sound that was neither a laugh nor a smile.

"That old madman, you actually let him stitch up a dangerous person of unknown origin like you?"

"His expression was really smug, and he charged a lot of money."

"When I arrived, he was watering his money tree. I told him I needed stitches and antibiotics, but he said he was closed for the day. So I pressed him against the money tree and used the C4 from the clinic on his body."

Eva put the cup back on the table and traced a half-circle with her finger along the rim of the cup.

"And then he agreed."

Maria stared at her for a few seconds, then put the cigarette back in her mouth and shook her head.

"Did you know that Tang Desen's place was already a shared community hospital for all the gangs in the South District ten years ago? By blowing it up, you've offended everyone in the South District."

"But I didn't blow it up," Eva said.

"He stitched it up very well, and the wound healed smoothly. I thought the quality of the medical procedures was pretty good, so I released him."

"He didn't lose anything, except that I accidentally killed the money tree. But I think it was his fault. If he didn't try to take responsibility, I shouldn't have to hold him down on the money tree."

"In the end, he prescribed me a week's worth of antibiotics, and he was still cursing at me when I left." Eva paused for a moment. "I sold him for ten thousand dollars, in cash."

Maria looked at her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "You threatened him with C4, and he still dared to take your money?"

"Even assassins need to sell their wound healing services."

Eva blinked. "Besides, he served in the Marines, so he's not too afraid of C4. Let's discuss it together."

After saying this, Eva looked at Maria quietly.

Her expression finally showed a very subtle change; the corners of her mouth lifted slightly, less than half a centimeter, but that slight curve transformed her entire face from "nothing" to "somewhat smug."

Maria stared at that damned smile for a full three seconds.

"What are you so smug about?"

"I'm not smug."

Your lips are moving.

"I just had a muscle spasm," Eva said, her expression returning to blank.

Maria was silent for a few more seconds, then blew the smoke onto the light bulb on the ceiling.

The basement was briefly quiet, with only the humming of an old refrigerator compressor in the corner.

On top of the refrigerator sat a plastic cup and several unopened syringes. Pablo's gaze drifted over there for a moment before he quickly looked away.

"So what do you want from me?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you."

Maria looked at her without saying anything, waiting for her to continue.

"I need to leave Seattle," Eva said.

"Someone on the East Coast is looking for me, but I can't deal with them for the time being."

"I need a ferry ticket. The fastest way would be for you to arrange it for me, through the Mexican Group's route, departing from the west coast. I don't care whether it goes south or west. I can figure out my destination after leaving the United States."

"Also," she said, "I need you to help me cover up my existence."

"Your people know every street here, every addict, every parking fee collector."

"You can't let any assassins from the East Coast find me in this city. I'm not asking you to go to war with the East Coast Syndicate, but I need you to divert people's attention elsewhere when they ask about me."

Maria put the cigarette in her mouth, biting the filter with her teeth, and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Do you know where I am?"

"This is a repair shop, not some fucking international killer transfer station."

"Why should I arrange for someone to shove you into a cargo ship container and then shield you from assassins on the East Coast? Do I owe you something?"

"Besides, I can't afford to cause trouble right now."

Maria pushed the chair legs back two steps, creating some distance.

"There's a really scary guy in the West End right now, the one you just mentioned, Leon. Even our gang doesn't dare touch his territory. We've stopped all our supplies because we don't want to go against him."

"Now you've come to my turf, do you even know how many people are watching this place? You expect me to do your bidding?"

"I know." Eva nodded. "But if you don't help me, I'll be in even more danger. In a dangerous situation, I might accidentally send something out."

Maria squinted.

"What is that?"

Eva took out her phone, and when the screen lit up, Maria saw that it was the drafts interface of an encrypted email account.

Eva swiped down with her thumb, and then an address appeared on the screen.

The repair shop's basement, the Taco store in the South District, the port's warehouse, and the logistics transfer station in the city center with its fake signs.

Address of Forty-Seven Flavors

"This is the distribution of all your businesses in Seattle."

Eva turned the screen back and turned it off again.

"If my phone does not send a security signal to my designated server for more than 48 hours, this email will be sent to the Seattle Police Department's tip-off email address, and a copy will also be sent to the FBI."

Maria took the Marlboro from the corner of her mouth, held it between her fingers, and placed it on the table. Then she looked up, her azure eyes meeting Eva's grey-blue eyes, their gazes colliding silently in the air.

"When the hell did you find out?"

"It's a professional habit. I did it once three years ago when I was dealing with that German guy here. To find out if he had a safe house provided by Mexicans, I spent four days figuring out every one of your hideouts."

Eva calmly replied, "I didn't use it later, but I kept this information, and recently I updated it a bit more. It's my work habit."

"You mean you checked everything about me before you came here to meet me?"

"Of course, otherwise I wouldn't have come. What if you were a bad guy?"

Maria's lips twitched, she put the cigarette back in her mouth, and rubbed her temples hard with her fingers. "Eva, you're a fucking madwoman."

"Pipi." Eva tilted her head slightly.

"Don't worry, if you cooperate, I don't plan to send the email to anyone."

95

"But if you leak my information about Seattle to your superiors, or try to have Pablo's men come and get rid of me in the middle of the night—"

She looked up at Maria, then gave a slight smirk.

Pablo stopped breathing.

Maria took the cigarette out of her mouth and pressed it hard into the ashtray. Her fingers pressed down on the cigarette butt and rolled it around the bottom of the ashtray until it deformed.

"Eva".

"Um."

"You're just going to sit here in my spot, drink my Coke, and make me risk having my entire company taken over as your errand boy?"

"Yes."

Eva picked up the empty Coke cup, glanced inside, then gently pushed it back onto the table.

"And I'd also like to have a drink."

Pablo stood at the other end of the iron table, looking at Eva and then at Maria. He swallowed twice, but wisely remained silent.

He knew the only reason Kang Ji was still standing in the basement was that Eva hadn't thought to tell him to leave.

Maria stared at Eva for a full twenty seconds.

"Which day's ship do you want?"

Within three days.

"Impossible." Maria shook her head. "There's been a crackdown on irregular immigrants at sea recently, and the group's ships were previously less active. It will take at least two weeks."

"Acceptable."

Maria rubbed her temples.

Then she suddenly put her hand down and slammed it hard on the table.

"OK."

She didn't look at Eva when she said that word, but turned to stare at Pablo. Pablo felt very uncomfortable under her gaze, took a half step back against the wall, and bumped his butt against the refrigerator.

"You haven't said a single word since just now!" Maria pointed at him. "Aren't you usually the one who talks the most nonsense?"

Now you're mute?!

"I—" Pablo swallowed, "I thought you were telling me to shut up."

"I didn't tell you to shut up!" Maria paused, her voice heavy with suppressed emotion, before continuing, "Now, shut up."

Pablo nodded immediately.

Maria paused for a moment, then reached into her blouse and pulled out a set of keys.

She broke off a small piece and threw it at Eva.

Eva reached out and caught it; the key fell silently into her palm.

"On Fourth Street in the West District, there is an old apartment building called 'Second Servants 206'."

"It used to be a place for delivery drivers to sleep overnight, but now it's empty."

Maria pointed at Eva, "But listen to me carefully, don't kill anyone in that house, don't do anything in the three blocks around here, and don't let any neighbor remember seeing you."

"If you dare to bring the police here, your ticket will be void."

"And there's another point: since you want me to help you, you also have to help me when necessary, otherwise we might as well die together."

"6

Eva looked at her.

Maria sighed.

"You know what I just said. Leon Vance is riding high right now. If something goes wrong here and we end up against him, you'll have to cover for us before you leave Seattle."

"I'm not asking you to trade your life for his—you certainly wouldn't agree to that—but if the risks are manageable, you might have to fight him. Can you accept that?"

Eva tilted her head.

"Can."

>