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

Good books are never stopped being updated, waiting for you to appreciate them.

Fatty Z's body suddenly stiffened.

"What if you were on your way to the precinct tonight, trying to jump out of the car and I had to shoot you... or you accidentally smashed your head through the car window and severed your carotid artery...?"

"Would your cousin, or those cops who took your money, fight me to the death for a dead man?"

"Do you think they'd rather you shut up, or they'd rather you live?"

Fatty Z's pupils contracted sharply, and his entire body of fat trembled.

If an ordinary patrol officer had said these things to him, he would have just taken it as a joke.

But the person in front of me...

This is the madman who just stormed into his territory with his men and almost trampled him to death in front of dozens of people!

He had no doubt that Lyon was capable of such a thing!

Moreover, he was well aware that he knew too many secrets, and if Williams and his group considered him a threat, they might actually have him killed.

"No...no..."

Fatty Z's mental defenses completely collapsed, and his teeth chattered.

"I'm not going to see a lawyer... I want to live... Please don't kill me..."

"very good."

Lyon nodded in satisfaction, took a step back, and increased the distance between them.

"Now, let's play a question-and-answer game."

"If you answer correctly, you can go to the detention center safely, have a single cell, and wait to go to court."

"You answered incorrectly, or you're trying to lie..."

Lyon pointed to the car window. "I'll take that as you trying to jump out of the car."

"Ask...you ask..."

Fatty Z nodded vigorously.

Lyon took his phone out of his pocket and turned on the recording function. The bright screen was particularly glaring in the dimly lit carriage.

"The first question."

Lyon stared into his eyes and got straight to the point:

"That patrol officer who led the team just now, Sergeant Williams."

Does he know you?

"To know...to recognize".

Fatty Z dared not hesitate for a moment.

"Is there any financial exchange between you? I mean, protection money."

"have!"

"On the first of every month, I would have someone deliver an envelope to the donut shop he frequents, and leave it behind the toilet tank. Inside was $50,000 in cash."

"fifty thousand?"

Lyon raised an eyebrow, clearly expressing skepticism about the figure:

"Fatty, are you insulting my intelligence, or are you insulting Seattle's prices?"

"That brothel downstairs that can hold hundreds of people, those gambling tables upstairs with turnovers of hundreds of thousands, and those girls you control... You think you can buy peace of mind by paying only 50,000 yuan a month to run a den of iniquity of this scale?"

"Do you think I've never seen money before?"

Fatty Z felt uneasy under Leon's gaze and quickly shook his head, adding:

"No...more than that! Fifty thousand is just the base salary! It's fixed!"

"Besides that, they take an extra 5% cut from each month's revenue! That's the real cut! Sometimes it can be 80,000 or even 100,000!"

"and……"

Fatty Z swallowed hard, eager to prove his sincerity and also to drag more people into the mess:

"This money certainly wasn't pocketed by Williams alone. He doesn't have the guts or the appetite for it."

"He was just a gofer. As far as I know, after he took a portion of the money, he had to hand over the rest to his superiors. I really don't know which police inspector or which big shot in the precinct he gave it to."

"This is their... uh, it's the internal rules for dividing the spoils in your police department, they never let us ask about it."

Lyon nodded.

That makes much more sense.

No wonder Sergeant Williams looked like he'd lost his father the moment he saw him arresting someone.

Cutting off someone's livelihood is like killing their parents.

If this money is cut off, many people in the West District branch will probably be unable to pay their mortgages and luxury car installments.

"Okay, this issue is resolved."

Lyon didn't dwell on the number for long, instead steer the conversation toward the most crucial issue of the evening:

"Next question."

"The little girl who was abducted this afternoon on Fourth Avenue."

"Did you do that?"

Although Leon was already 80-90% certain based on the photos on the dead kidnapper's phone, there were some things he had to pry out of the fat man himself and record on his phone—that would be irrefutable evidence.

Fatty Z visibly flinched.

He knew this was a serious matter; admitting it would be a federal felony.

But under the menacing gaze of Lyon, he dared not lie.

"Yes...yes."

Fat Boy Z lowered his head, his voice barely audible:

"That's...that's an order."

"We don't just do local business; sometimes we also take on custom orders. If a customer needs products for a specific age or skin color, we'll find temporary workers to do it."

"But I swear! I really don't know who the buyer is!"

Seeing Leon's unfriendly gaze, Fatty Z quickly rushed to explain:

"I'm just a bouncer! These high-end import/export deals never go through me!"

"Those were all lines that my cousin personally managed. He only had me responsible for receiving them, locking the people in the basement, and sending them away at the designated time."

"As for where it's sent and who it's sold to, that's a secret within the family's inner circle; I, as a distant relative, have absolutely no access to that information!"