The Extraordinary Life of a Certain American Comic...

When Locke arrived at the safe house, the police car was still at the door.

even……

What was originally one vehicle Jack mentioned over the phone has now become four.

Moreover, patrol officers have already arrived at the scene and have begun setting up a cordon.

What's going on?

Locke frowned and got out of the car.

A police officer who was setting up a cordon saw Locke approaching and quickly stopped him.

"stand……"

"SSS!"

Before the patrolman could finish speaking, Locke flashed his right hand and showed his law enforcement credentials.

The patrol officer was slightly taken aback when he saw the name and SSS mark on the ID.

"Sentinel...Secret Service?"

"Who's in charge here?"

"Well……"

The patrol officer snapped out of his daze, turned his head, and subconsciously looked at the male detective who was talking to a woman in plainclothes next to a police car not far away.

"It's Inspector George Stacy."

"Thanks."

Locke thanked the patrolman who answered his question, patted him on the shoulder, and then walked toward Detective Chief Inspector George Stacy, who was standing a short distance away.

George Stacy?

Gwen Stacy's father?

He's alright, not too old, and actually quite handsome.

Locke was thinking this as he walked toward Detective Chief Inspector George Stacy.

George Stacy, who was discussing with Kate Beckett whether to force their way in, noticed Locke walking towards him.

George and Beckett exchanged a glance, and the latter naturally turned his gaze to Locke, who was walking over.

Locke spoke first.

"Detective Chief Inspector George Stacy?"

"I am, you are..."

"Lock Underwood, Sentinel Services, Senior Agent."

Locke walked up to George, introduced himself, handed him his identification, and then pointed to the safe house in front of them: "This is our department's safe house. My man is inside. Didn't he tell you?"

"He said it."

"..."

It wasn't George who spoke, but the female detective next to him.

Locke looked at the female detective who had spoken.

"Who are you……"

Kate Beckett.

The female detective introduced herself: "NYPD, 12th Precinct, Homicide Unit."

Locke listened to the name and took a serious look at the female detective.

Kate Beckett, isn't she from the American TV series Castle?

Locke remained calm, smiled slightly, and shook hands with Beckett: "Now that my men have identified themselves, what about the NYPD...?"

George, who was standing next to Locke, looked up at Locke and interrupted him, explaining the reason.

"We asked him to show his ID, but he said he forgot it. And when we asked him to come out, he wouldn't."

"..."

Locke listened to George's explanation and fell silent. Then, he yelled towards the safe house, "Damn it, I forgot my ID! Why didn't you call me?"

The words fell.

Jack's voice came from inside the safe house, tinged with a hint of surprise: "Boss! You're finally here. My phone died, and I asked them to throw it in, but they wouldn't let me; they insisted I leave."

George and Beckett exchanged a glance, then looked at Locke without saying a word.

Locke's lips twitched.

He didn't even need to look at their expressions to know what they wanted to say.

It all boils down to this: See, this isn't our fault, it's your problem.

Not only did he not have identification, but when we asked him to come out, he refused and even demanded that we throw our phones inside.

Isn't this going against the natural order of the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches?

Locke closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He said that on his way here, he was wondering why Jack hadn't called him back.

Good guy.

It turns out the phone ran out of battery.

Luckily, he arrived just in time. If he had been any later, the NYPD would probably have already broken down the door.

Locke's thoughts raced. He reopened his eyes, gave a wry smile, looked at George and Beckett, took out his business card case from his pocket, and handed one to each of them: "Sorry to trouble you tonight."

George and Beckett took the business card, glanced at it, and said, "It's nothing. We just came to take a look. Now that we know this is your place, we'll be leaving."

Actually, there was nothing wrong at all.

Now that it's confirmed that this is friendly territory, there's nothing more to worry about.

Locke thanked them again, then shook hands with George and Beckett respectively, and apologized once more.

no way.

Since they were indeed at fault first.

soon.

George and Beckett put away their business cards and didn't linger. After directing the arriving patrol officers to remove the cordon, they said goodbye to Locke and then drove away one after another.

In no time at all.

The NYPD's withdrawal from the scene has ended.

Locke turned his gaze away from the receding police lights, walked expressionlessly to the door of the safe house, and knocked: "It's me, open the door."

Jack quickly opened the door and peeked behind Locke.

"Boss, they're gone?"

"Um."

Locke nodded, said nothing more, and went straight into the house.

He did not blame Jack for what had just happened.

Although Jack is big and burly, and even looks a bit fierce, he is honest and kind-hearted.

The most important thing.

Jack was very loyal to him; otherwise, Locke wouldn't have arranged for Jack to capture Quen, the vampire driver who escaped from the abandoned hangar, and then place him here.

Anyway, nothing serious happened, so why scold your own people over such a trivial matter?

It's unnecessary.

After Jack closed the door, Locke turned his gaze to Quinn, the vampire driver who was sitting on the sofa, his body covered in holy water bombs.

Quinn looked rather miserable at that moment.

His right arm was cut off.

Even his right leg was visibly bent.

and……

The exposed skin still bears burn marks.

At this moment, it looks exactly like a disabled vampire who has just been rescued from a fire.

"Hiss, what's going on?"

"This guy's not honest, boss."

Jack, who was following behind, complained and then said, "This guy was trying to run away while I went upstairs to find a charging cable. He's the one who brought the NYPD here."

Jack complained, while Quinn, sitting on the sofa, seemed like a wooden doll.

Motionless and silent.

Locke walked to the sofa with his hands in his pockets, looking at Quinn who was hanging his head as if he were playing dead.

Jack brought over a chair from behind: "Boss, have a seat."

Locke didn't say anything. He sat down in the chair, crossed his legs, took out a cigarette from his pocket, handed one to Jack, lit it for himself, and blew a smoke ring towards Quinn on the sofa.

The smoke ring went straight forward and hit Quinn in the face.

Quinn looked up and stared at Locke expressionlessly.

……