You're just a locksmith! What are you doing catching swindlers at the start?

Chapter 24 Police Chief: "This is absolutely top-tier talent!"

Inside the municipal bureau's office building.

Old Zhou carried his enamel mug through the corridor.

He went into the office and took the notebook out of the drawer.

I opened it and checked it over.

Lin Zhou's signature is in the bottom right corner of the last page.

The handwriting wasn't particularly beautiful, but each stroke was written very clearly.

He closed the notebook and walked toward the archives.

The archives are at the end of the corridor.

Old Zhou pushed open the door, and the fluorescent light was on, revealing rows of iron-gray filing cabinets that stretched from the floor to the ceiling.

There was a smell in the air of old paper and mothballs mixed together.

He inserted Lin Zhou's transcript into a folder labeled "Recent Investigation - Civil Cases".

He ran his finger along the back of the file folder.

Press down the sticking-out label.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

"Xiao Zhou."

Old Zhou turned around.

The bureau chief stood at the door of the archives room.

He was in his fifties, his hair was shaved very short, and most of his temples were white, but he stood very straight.

He was wearing a dark blue jacket, zipped up to his chest, over which was a gray shirt, the collar buttoned up neatly.

He went into the archives.

My gaze shifted from Old Zhou's face to the filing cabinet.

It moved back to Old Zhou's face.

"Quite a few cases these past few days?"

The director said the sound wasn't loud, but it could be heard clearly in the quiet archives room.

"I've seen you run in and out several times."

Old Zhou placed the enamel mug on the edge of the filing cabinet.

"There have been quite a few lately. They're all civil cases."

The bureau chief nodded.

He walked to the filing cabinet and reached out to flip through the folder labeled "Recent Investigations - Civil Cases".

The paper rustled under his fingers.

"It's normal to have a lot of civil cases. But you've been changing your statement notebook more frequently these past few days."

He turned to look at Lao Zhou.

"In just these three days, you've sent it to the archives four times."

Old Zhou didn't say anything.

The director closed the file folder.

Tell me about it.

Old Zhou remained silent for a moment, then began to speak.

"Recently, only one person has sent me three."

The bureau chief's eyebrows twitched.

His eyes were full of curiosity.

"One person? Who can commit three offenses and still be out in jail?"

"It's not a crime."

Old Zhou leaned against the filing cabinet, the iron-gray cabinet swaying slightly from the weight of his shoulder.

"Three times. Once, he unlocked the door during a group sex incident and called the police. Another time, he was repairing a safe at a brothel during a raid and happened to be caught. Yet another time, he reported someone for drug use and went to change the lock cylinder, only to find them injecting drugs."

The bureau chief looked at him.

"And this one today too."

Old Zhou placed the enamel mug on the filing cabinet, and the bottom of the mug made a soft sound as it touched the metal.

"Illegal locking of my car, extortion. They locked my car."

The bureau chief's eyebrows twitched again.

This time the movement was a little larger than before.

He reached out and pulled the top notebook from the file folder.

Today's cover has the date and number written on it.

Old Zhou's handwriting.

He opened it.

The archives were quiet.

The fluorescent light hummed with electricity.

Occasionally, a car horn could be heard from outside the window, but it was muffled by the wall.

The director turned to the second page, his gaze moving across the paper.

Turn to page three. Turn to page four.

He stopped.

He looked up at Old Zhou.

I glanced at it for about two seconds.

"You said you took him to the club this afternoon, and then someone locked your car?"

Old Zhou lifted his back from the filing cabinet and straightened up a little.

"I'm not taking him to the club. I'm taking him to change the lock cylinder. The lock cylinder on the safe at that club is broken, and he's going to change it. I'm giving him a ride on my way."

The bureau chief looked at him.

"Don't misunderstand."

Old Zhou said.

The bureau chief reached out and interrupted his explanation.

It wasn't an impatient interruption, but a knowing "you don't need to say anything."

Then the corner of his mouth twitched, curving into a very faint smile.

"I know."

He said.

"How long have we been together?"

Old Zhou opened his mouth.

But I don't know what to say.

The bureau chief reached out and patted Old Zhou on the shoulder. The pressure was neither too light nor too heavy.

After taking the picture, he withdrew his hand and gave a look.

His eyebrows didn't move, his mouth didn't move, only the things in his eyes moved slightly.

That look in his eyes could be roughly translated as: "Still got the hang of it."

Old Zhou's face turned from white to green.

The bureau chief didn't look at him again.

He lowered his head and continued flipping through the notebook.

My gaze lingered on the part where Lin Zhou was hammering the lock.

Old Zhou's handwriting was written on the paper.

"Lin Zhou used the small hammer he carried with him to strike the side of the lock body once, the bolt popped out, and the lock opened. It took less than a second."

The bureau chief's gaze lingered on that line of text.

Then he flipped back to the cover and looked at the witness's name.

I turned back to that page and looked at that line of text again.

He closed the notebook.

"Go and get those files."

Old Zhou placed the enamel mug on the filing cabinet.

Walk up to the folder labeled "Recent Investigations - Civil Cases".

My fingers traced the spine of the file folder, row by row.

I took out three books.

The first book is from the afternoon before yesterday, about a group of people engaging in sexual misconduct, with three black foreign teachers teaching English.

The second book was published in the early morning; it featured a scene of a crackdown on prostitution, a hidden door, and a safe.

The third book was from this morning; it's about drugs, insulin, and syringes.

He stacked the three notebooks together, adding the one in the bureau chief's hand, making a total of four.

It was placed on the metal countertop of the filing cabinet.

The four notebooks stacked together are about the thickness of two fingers.

The bureau chief picked up the top book—the one from the day before yesterday.

Open the book. Living room, silk robes, three Black men, learning English.

He closed it.

I picked up the second book—the one from yesterday.

A crescent moon, a hidden door, a safe, and a dark green velvet dress.

He closed it.

I picked up the third book—the one from this morning.

Old residential area, security door, syringe, insulin injection.

He closed it.

I picked up the fourth book—the one I just read.

At the entrance of the clubhouse, there's a tan crab-shaped lock, a small hammer, and a second.

He arranged the four notebooks one by one on the metal countertop of the filing cabinet.

The fluorescent light shone on the covers; the four books were arranged side by side, like four playing cards turned over one after another.

The bureau chief looked at the four notebooks.

Then I looked at Lao Zhou again.

"This lock pick. It can open a Class C door lock in three seconds using just a wire."

He pointed to the first book.

"Open the crab lock in a second with a small hammer."

He pointed to the fourth book.

The bureau chief gathered the four notebooks together and stacked them. The pages pressed together, making a slight rustling sound.

He looked up at Old Zhou.

"This lock-picking ability is absolutely at a human level."

The archives room fell silent.

Old Zhou stood next to the filing cabinet.

He watched as the bureau chief stacked the four notebooks together—slowly and steadily, as if he were organizing an important file.

The bureau chief tucked four notebooks under his arm.

When Lao Zhou came out of the archives, the tea in his enamel cup had gone completely cold.

He carried the cup through the corridor, the fluorescent lights moving overhead one after another, stretching and shortening his shadow on the ground.

The director's last words were still echoing in my ears.

"Next time you come, remember to ask if they'd like to work for us. If they do, we'll give them an auxiliary police officer position first, and then we'll definitely make them a full-fledged officer later."

That's no small matter.

Auxiliary police officers are easy to find, it's just a matter of one position.

But the words "definitely promoted" carry a different weight when they come from the bureau chief's mouth.

The positions at the municipal bureau are so competitive that countless people would fight tooth and nail to get in.

The bureau chief rarely makes such promises.

If you agree, it means you've really taken a liking to someone.

Old Zhou brought the enamel cup to his lips and took a sip of the cold tea.

His Adam's apple moved slightly.

He was quite happy to tell the kid the good news.

Although we've only known each other for a few days, we already know each other quite well.