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

Don't miss out: Chapter 120, "I Want to Talk to the Suspect Alone," is available in its entirety. Click here.

"He took over 12th Street today. If he's in a bad mood tomorrow, or if another cat goes missing in your area, he can just take over your area too!"

"The ACU enforces the law throughout the entire district; its reach extends to every corner of the West Side!"

"Now that he's started, he'll dig into the entire West End! Let's see if you'll still be laughing when he gets to your side!"

"Ha! You're investigating me?"

Old Dave curled his lip in disdain, stood up, and rammed his belly back at them.

"I've done things uprightly and honestly... at least more uprightly than you! Even if I'm the one who suffers misfortune in the future, that's a matter for the future."

"At least for now, seeing you guys who are usually so arrogant get yourselves screwed up makes me want to laugh, hahaha!"

"Fuck you... I'll tear your lousy mouth apart!"

Connor completely lost his temper, grabbed the crushed paper cup from the table, and threw it at the cup.

"Snapped!"

The paper cup hit old Dave on the forehead; it didn't hurt, but it was extremely humiliating.

"You dare to lay a hand on me?!"

Old Dave wasn't one to be trifled with either; he grabbed Connor's tie, and the two instantly started wrestling.

Although they were all middle-aged people in their forties and fifties, when they fought, they were no different from little kids in kindergarten fighting over toys. They grabbed each other's collars, bumped into each other with their stomachs, and even tried to step on each other's shoes.

"Stop hitting! All of you, stop!"

Just as the scene was about to spiral out of control and turn into a wrestling match between middle-aged, greasy men, an old man's roar stunned everyone.

Old Harry, the senior police inspector who had been sitting at the head of the table and had been resting with his eyes closed, suddenly slammed his hand on the table.

"Look at the state of you all!"

Old Harry stood up, looking at the two idiots wrestling together with a mixture of disappointment and anger:

"What time is it? Still fighting amongst yourselves?"

"You two have such a mess, everyone knows what's going on. We've been eating from the same pot for twenty years, everyone has their own little secrets."

"Instead of wasting your energy fighting, you should be thinking about what to do next!"

"That Leon Vance has a knife to our throats. If we don't find a way to subdue him or clean up this mess soon..."

Old Harry gave everyone a sinister look:

"We're all just waiting to be cellmates with that fat Z!"

The room fell silent once again.

Only the increasingly thick smoke, like a lingering haze, loomed over the heads of these policemen, each with their own ulterior motives.

……

In the darkness, the flashing police lights illuminated the flooded road with a striking red and blue hue.

Lyon stood by the roadside, a cigarette dangling from his hand, watching coldly as more and more uniformed police officers poured into the Psychedelic Cat nightclub.

Everything seemed to be proceeding according to procedure and in good order, but at a certain moment, Leon's hand holding the cigarette suddenly stopped.

There's something off about it.

Not right.

Was I just being too presumptuous?

He subconsciously mistook the patrol officers here for his old colleagues from Danfoss's time—a group who, while not particularly capable and prone to slacking off, were at least fundamentally honest.

But this is 12th Street.

A red-light district where the profits are far greater than those in the T area.

That Fatty Z's gang has been operating here for so many years, not only running casinos on a grand scale, but also openly engaging in heinous businesses such as forcing women into prostitution and human trafficking.

Why?

Just because they're ruthless?

Give me a break.

In the United States, without the Blue Wall backing it up and without the local police chiefs turning a blind eye, a criminal den of this size would have been wiped out eight hundred times over.

Sergeant Williams, who had just been so obsequious and readily agreed to my request…

Was he really just a local police officer who came to clear his name?

If he's in cahoots with the gang, what's the difference between handing Fatty Z over to him and releasing him?

Even worse, what if this fat man colluded with Williams in the police car, or Williams gave him some information? How could the investigation continue?

"Damn, we almost capsized in the gutter."

Lyon's eyes narrowed, and he instantly slammed the cigarette to the ground.

He abruptly stopped in his tracks, which was about to turn back into the nightclub to check on the progress of the search, and then turned and rushed toward the patrol car on the side of the road that was about to close.

"etc!"

Lyon strode over and grabbed the rear door that was about to close.

The patrolman sitting in the driver's seat and the one who was about to close the door was startled. He turned around and saw that it was the ACU team leader who looked menacing. He quickly took his hand off the holster at his waist.

"Sir? What are your orders?" one of the patrol officers asked cautiously.

"get off."

Lyon pointed expressionlessly out of the car:

"Turn off the dashcam. Go over there and help maintain order, have a smoke, have a coffee, do whatever you want. Give me two minutes, I need to talk to the suspect alone."

The two patrol officers looked at each other and exchanged glances.

Although it was against the rules, looking into Leon's eyes and seeing how he had just beaten Fatty Z half to death, no one dared to provoke him at this critical juncture.