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

Chapter 107 The Ecosystem of Fast Food Restaurants

Time flies, and a few days have passed in the blink of an eye.

The ACU (Anti-Crime Special Task Force) of the West District Police Station has completely emerged from the shadow of that bloody battle in the rainy night and has officially resumed full operations.

As the team leader, Leon sent his group of energetic, muscular men like a net to raid several nightclubs on 12th Avenue in the West Side.

While it was called a sweep of the area, it was really just a show of force to let the gangs guarding the place know that ACU was back and that they should remember to pay their dues. Leon himself, along with Mia and Carlos, stopped in front of a street food stall.

This is a Mexican fast food restaurant called "Hernandez Brothers," which is quite famous in these neighborhoods.

Although it's called a fast food restaurant, the store is actually very small. Most of the cooking is done on the teppanyaki grill facing the street, and the air is filled with a strong aroma of grilled meat oil, cumin, lime, and super spicy sauce.

It was lunchtime, and a large crowd had gathered in front of the shop.

"Hey! Hernandez!"

With his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, Leon skipped the queue and walked straight to the side of the window, knocking on the aluminum counter covered in stickers.

"Three large AIPastor tacos, double cheese, extra jalapeno peppers. And three cans of ice-cold Coke."

The shop owner, Hernandez, who was wielding a shovel in front of the griddle, looked up and saw Lyon. His oily face instantly broke into a warm smile, as if he had seen a brother.

"Madre de Dios (Oh my God!)!"

"Coming right away, my old friend!"

He strode past the other two customers in line, slammed his spatula on the hot plate, yelled a few words in Spanish at the kitchen, then turned to Leon and winked: "Officer Vance! Oh no, now I should call you the Seattle hero! This meal's on me, and I'll definitely give you the biggest piece of meat!"

In this amazing land of America, the ecosystem of street-side shops is actually quite hardcore.

Street vendors like Hernandez, who do cash business on the street, are risking their lives every day they set up their stalls.

Who knows, some high-spirited black guy or desperate white thug might pull out a rusty revolver while he's doing business, point it at his head, and rob him of all the few hundred dollars he's just earned.

Moreover, these people not only robbed us of our money, but sometimes they would also smash up our stalls.

Call the police? By the time 911 connects, it'll be too late.

Therefore, the police officers who come to eat are their guardian angels.

The stall owners are happy to be visited by the police even if they don't receive any money.

Although the police can't be on guard 24/7, those lowlifes who are planning to rob someone still have brains.

Nobody wants to run into a few grumpy cops who are eating burritos and have pistols on their belts while committing a robbery.

Therefore, when the police arrive, the stall owners usually go to great lengths to curry favor with them, offering free meals, extra meat, and free drinks—these are all standard practice.

Trading a few tacos costing a dozen dollars for an invisible protective umbrella—this protection fee is an absolute steal.

Moreover, Lyon is not only a policeman, but also a regular customer of Hernandez.

"When I saw you coming over in civilian clothes, I thought I had mistaken you for someone else! What, I heard you got promoted? You don't have to drive that black and white patrol car anymore?"

"Whether you get promoted or not doesn't really matter; it just means you don't have to wear a uniform anymore."

"This meal's on me today! To celebrate your promotion!"

When Leon first transmigrated to this world, his pockets were emptier than his face, and he was starving every day during patrols.

At that time, Hernandez didn't even have a storefront; he just sold tacos on a street corner, pushing a broken tricycle.

The food made from those Mexican handcarts, I don't know what kind of technology and savory practices were added to it, the hygiene can only be described as primitive, with flies and grilled meat flying around.

But it was really cheap, and the taste was surprisingly good.

If it were a middle-class American with a sensitive stomach, eating one of these would probably cause them to have diarrhea for three days straight.

But thanks to the abnormal physique enhanced by the system, Leon managed to make this thing his main energy source. Not only did he not die from eating it, but he also developed a friendship with it.

Now that Hernandez has taken over a shop, he no longer has to be chased around by the police like before, and the hygiene conditions are slightly better, but Lyon still doesn't dare to peek into the kitchen to see if the cutting board is actually clean.

Some things are better left unseen.

"Thanks, Hernandez, best of luck with your business."

Lyon smiled and bumped fists with the boss, not refusing the free meal, but casually slipped a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar.

You don't have to pay for the meal; that's to save face for the other person. But you must give a tip; that's considered proper etiquette.

He turned around, holding three cans of Coke still dripping with water, and sat down at a plastic table by the roadside.

"Bang."

Leon placed the Coke on the table and glanced at the two people sitting opposite him.

He actually preferred to team up with Mia, because teamwork makes the dream work.

But he still habitually brought Carlos with him.

After all, this guy was still marked as a "traitor in reserve" in his mind, so keeping him under his nose and watching him was better than letting him go out and cause trouble.

But at this moment, Carlos seemed a bit off.

This guy was wearing oversized sunglasses and his signature leather jacket, but the collar was wide open, revealing a wrinkled floral shirt underneath. His hair was covered in who-knows-how-much hairspray, and he reeked of a strange mixture of expensive perfume and hangover alcohol.

He sat on a plastic chair, his body swaying from side to side as if he had no bones, his eyes glazed over, and a ridiculously smirking smile on his lips, giving the impression that he was walking on cotton and might float away at any moment.

Clearly, Carlos had made connections with those rich young men at the charity gala that day.

During these few days of rest, this guy probably spent a lot of time with those people going to private yachts or underground casinos to party. That kind of decadent lifestyle has almost stolen his soul.

"Hey, Carlos."

Leon touched Carlos's hand with the cold Coke can: "Have you fallen into some rich woman's bathtub these past few days? You're practically staggering. If you ran into drug dealers in this state, were you planning to spray them with your hairspray?"

Carlos shivered from the cold, then chuckled, showing no embarrassment whatsoever. Instead, he leaned closer, a smug look on his face: "Hehe—boss, you wouldn't understand—"

"That's the aura of high society."

Carlos pushed up his sunglasses, revealing a weak but extremely wistful and smug smile: "Those young masters were playing...so fancy. I feel like my entire life's knowledge has been refreshed in these three days. If I didn't have fieldwork today, I'd still be on the yacht enjoying the sea breeze right now—"

At this point, Carlos suddenly dropped his playful grin.

He sat up straight, placed his hands on the table, and looked at Leon with a genuine, unfeigned gratitude in his eyes: "Honestly, boss. I, Carlos, have never submitted to anyone in my life, but right now I truly submit to you."

"If you hadn't insisted on dragging us country bumpkins to that kind of banquet, giving me a hand in that respect—"

"With my mouth alone, no matter how eloquent I am, I wouldn't even be able to get through the hotel's doors, let alone connect with those wealthy patrons."

"Boss, you're like a second parent to me!"

Carlos spoke with such sincerity that he almost wanted to kowtow to Leon on the spot.

"6

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