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

Darrell forcefully swallowed back the urge to kill.

He looked at O'Connor, straightened his back as if trying to appear calm, and spoke in a stiff tone:

"We're just here to see someone off, Mr. O'Connor. We don't mean any trouble."

On the steps, Leon's fingers, which had been tightly gripping the MP7's handle, slowly loosened.

The faint sense of danger in his mind gradually subsided.

These black people are smart enough to know their place.

Since the other party had no intention of firing, he had no need to go on a killing spree here.

The ghost's sister was still lying on that stainless steel table inside. To leave a mess of brains and corpses in the courtyard of this old man who was fairly particular about his work was going too far and was really inappropriate. Leon was willing to give him that face.

Leon pulled his hands out of his jacket and casually put them in his pockets. He then stepped aside to make way for the gangsters carrying the corpse.

Darrell waved his hand, and his three henchmen huffed and puffed as they lifted the heavy black waterproof sleeping bag and climbed up the narrow concrete steps.

As he passed Lyon, Darrell deliberately slowed his pace.

He did not back down, and his tall body stopped against Leon's shoulder.

Darrell turned his head, and the scar running across his left cheek looked exceptionally grotesque under the streetlight.

He glared fiercely at Leon and Alex, who was already huddled against the wall in fear, and issued a warning in the tone of a street gangster:

"You didn't see anything tonight, understand?"

"Keep your mouths shut. If a single careless word escapes your lips, I'll personally come and cut your tongues out."

Faced with Darrell's extremely intimidating gang threat, Alex nodded repeatedly in fear, wishing he could embed himself into a brick wall.

But Leon remained standing there, not even blinking.

He looked at Darrell expressionlessly, his eyes even carrying a hint of condescending pity and undisguised mockery.

Then, his gaze passed over Darrell's shoulder and landed on the black sleeping bag that his underlings were carrying into the embalming room.

"Tsk tsk."

Lyon shook his head dismissively and let out a sigh:

"Did this guy in the sleeping bag get run over by a dump truck right across his chest? He's flattened like this."

"The safety situation in the South Side of Seattle is really terrible."

Upon hearing this, Darrell's pupils contracted sharply, and the veins on his temples throbbed.

Grass!

This guy clearly knows who's inside! He's deliberately trying to disgust himself!

Darrell's chest heaved violently, his anger almost breaking through his rational defenses.

He stared intently at Lyon, trying to intimidate the cop with his fierce gaze.

Their eyes met within half a meter of each other.

Darrell stared with bloodshot eyes, refusing to back down.

But what he faced was a pair of steel-gray eyes, as still as a stagnant pool, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

Time passed second by second.

Darrell's breathing became heavier and heavier, and he even felt a pang of heart palpitation.

Damn.

How many people has this guy killed to have that kind of look in his eyes?

Darrell's back was quickly soaked with cold sweat, his clothes underneath becoming completely wet.

In this silent confrontation, Darrell's momentum was eventually defeated inch by inch.

He abruptly averted his gaze, gritting his teeth and remaining silent.

Lyon looked at his forced composure and forced a smile.

He reached out and patted Darrell's taut, rock-like shoulders twice.

"It's not easy to walk at night, my friend."

Lyon leaned closer, and through his mask, uttered a meaningful warning:

"Drive slowly on your way back, and pay attention to the traffic lights when crossing the street."

"Be careful not to end up like your boss, getting into a car accident late at night."

After saying that, Leon shoved Darrell's shoulder aside, didn't even glance at the group of livid gangsters, and calmly walked down the steps with Alex, who was still pressed against the wall, back to his car.

The vehicle starts.

The roar of the engine echoed in the backyard as the Dodge Challenger sped out of the O'Connor Funeral Home and disappeared into the dark end of the street.

Darrell stood on the steps, staring intently at the red taillights of Leon as he drove away.

Only after the car disappeared completely did his tense body relax abruptly, and he gasped for breath as if he had collapsed.

This cop is an absolutely incomprehensible devil.

Darrell cursed inwardly.

He glanced at the sleeping bag containing Marcus, gritted his teeth, and a complex emotion flashed in his eyes.

The boss's revenge must be taken.

But definitely not now.

The Blood Gang cannot afford to clash head-on with this mad dog cop right now. If a full-scale war breaks out now, the Blood Gang's West District branch will definitely fall apart immediately and be swallowed up by other districts, leaving not even a bone fragment.

Trey, that seriously injured guy, is still lying in the underground clinic. Right now, the most important thing is to reorganize the small bosses in each block and stabilize the gang's power.

Trey, that seriously injured guy, is still lying in the underground clinic. Right now, the most important thing is to reorganize the small bosses in each block and stabilize the gang's power.

The Blood Gang will need to lie low for at least a long time.

……

The next day, during the day.

In a premium double room in the inpatient ward of Seattle Harborview Medical Center.

This VIP ward, which should have been a quiet place for rest and recuperation, was now as noisy as a zoo having a party.

The two unfortunate fellows, Bulldozer and Jacob, were lying side by side on two hospital beds.

Under the screeching of shrapnel from the anti-materiel sniper rifle, their chests and ribs were wrapped in thick, high-pressure bandages, making them look like two oversized white mummies, with even turning over difficult.

But these two burly men, whose muscles seem to have grown into their brains, are never idle.

A young and pretty nurse holding a dressing tray stood beside the bulldozer's bed.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Even with his chest wrapped up like a dumpling, the bulldozer still shamelessly winked at the nurse and spouted nonsense:

"Once I remove these bandages, you'll see the glorious scars I bear for defending Seattle."

"How about I take you out for a drink in my pickup truck after I get discharged? I promise I'm much stronger than those office-sitting cowards."

The nurse rolled her eyes, completely ignoring the burly man whose head was full of nonsense, and expressionlessly reached out to tear off a piece of old tape from his ribs.

"Ouch!"

The bulldozer gasped, but in order to maintain his tough guy image in front of the girl, he forced out what he thought was a handsome smile.

"Ha...haha!" The bulldozer laughed twice, trying to cover up its embarrassment.

The laughter was so loud that it became excessive.

"Click."

The broken ribs that had just been set inside the chest cavity were suddenly pulled by the muscles.

"Ah—! Fuck! Fuck! My ribs!"

The bulldozer, who had just been acting tough, suddenly broke down, screaming in agony on the hospital bed like a fat pig that had been stabbed, tears mixed with cold sweat streaming down its face.

Seeing this, Jacob, lying on the hospital bed next to him, showed no sympathy for his injured brother. Instead, he burst into a deafening burst of laughter.

"Hahaha! You idiot! This is what happens when you try to show off! You can't even withstand a piece of duct tape, yet you're trying to pick up girls—"

Jacob laughed so hard he almost fell over, but his joy turned to sorrow.

The violent heaving of his abdomen and chest instantly aggravated his broken ribs.

"Crunch."

"Ouch—! Damn! That hurts!"

Jacob's maniacal laughter abruptly stopped, instantly turning into a hissing sound of gasping for air, as he writhed in pain on the hospital bed along with the bulldozer.

Two muscular men, each weighing over 200 pounds, lay on the hospital bed, groaning in pain like two deflated balloons.

"Bang."

Just then, the door to the ward was kicked open.

Lyon walked in wearing a casual jacket.

He was carrying a plastic bag with a gas station convenience store logo on it, which was filled with beef jerky, potato chips, and a lot of high-calorie energy bars.

Look at these rough guys, buying a fruit basket is a complete waste of money, they just love eating this junk food.

Upon seeing their boss walk in, Bulldozer and Jacob instinctively straightened up to greet him.

"Boss—"

The two had just exerted their strength.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

Another chorus of screams erupted as the two of them crashed heavily back onto their pillows.

"Alright, stop fussing around and just lie there like cripples."

Lyon walked over with a dark expression and threw the plastic bag he was carrying onto the cabinet between the two hospital beds.

Taking advantage of the situation, the female nurse pushed the dressing cart and hurried out of the noisy ward as if she were fleeing a disaster.

Lyon pulled up a chair and sat down between the two hospital beds.

Seeing that the nurse had left and there was no one else in the ward, Bulldozer, enduring the excruciating pain in his chest, glanced at the door and asked in a low voice:

"Boss, what's the situation outside?"

Jacob also pricked up his ears, his face full of apprehension.

They may not be the brightest, but they're not stupid either.

The night before last, it was a real war scene: anti-materiel sniper rifles, stray bullets flying everywhere, and a six-story building that was flattened by dozens of kilograms of C4.

They turned a neighborhood into an Afghan war zone. If this is investigated, how many pages of shooting reports would they have to write?

Will those suit-wearing vampires in the Ministry of the Interior pin them down in interrogation chairs and torture them?

"That's exactly what I was going to tell you."

Leon leaned back in his chair, watching the two nervous, unlucky fellows, and dropped a bombshell:

"You don't need to write a report. The Ministry of Internal Affairs won't bother you."

"What?" The bulldozer was stunned.

"Last night we killed a group of extremist terrorists who were attempting to detonate explosives in Seattle."

Lyon looked at them and shrugged:

"You are now the city heroes of Seattle for thwarting a terrorist attack."

"The mayor and police chief will not only stop bothering you now, but they will also treat you as role models, and the whole city's news is praising you."

The bulldozer and Jacob were completely dumbfounded.

The two looked at each other in bewilderment.

Holy crap?! Is this even possible?! Someone blew up a building, and not only do they not have to write a report, they become an anti-terrorism hero?!

But what shocked them even more was yet to come.

"Besides reputation, there's something substantial about it."

Lyon raised a finger and began to tally up the spoils he had extorted from Sterling:

"The branch office will fully reimburse all the high medical expenses you incurred at the hospital this time; you won't have to pay a single penny."

"Everyone will receive an additional top-level anti-terrorism hazard allowance in their salary this month, plus a generous bonus. The figures will definitely satisfy you."

"In addition, Chief Sterling has already made a statement."

"On the day your ribs have healed and you are discharged from the hospital and return to the bureau, she will personally award you the City Hero Medal in the main conference room in front of everyone."

The ward was deathly silent.

The bulldozer and Jacob stared wide-eyed, their mouths agape enough to fit an apple.

It took more than ten seconds for the two rough men to finally react.

Their eyes instantly turned red, not from sadness, but from the shock of this sudden, overwhelming wealth.

When these guys were working in patrol teams or low-level plainclothes units, they had never seen anything like this before.

Even if you work yourself to the bone all year, you only get a meager fixed salary, and if you get injured, you have to deal with the insurance company yourself.

Now that I've pulled off a big heist with Lyon, I'm not only making tons of money, but I've also earned the Medal of Honor, something I never even dared to dream of before!

"Boss!"

The bulldozer was so excited he was incoherent. He wanted to pat his chest to express his loyalty, but as soon as he raised his hand, he remembered his broken ribs and stopped abruptly in mid-air.

His eyes were red and swollen as he looked at Leon and roared at the top of his lungs:

"Just for the money! Just for the treatment! If there's another good deal like this in the future, I'd be more than willing to take another 50 cents for you! I'll take it with my teeth!"

"Me too! Boss! From now on, I'll go wherever you tell me to go! I'd even follow you to bomb City Hall!"

Jacob, too, writhed on the bed like a maggot, eagerly displaying his loyalty.

"Ouch—that hurts..."

Just after they finished yelling, the two of them aggravated their wounds due to the excessive movement, and once again let out hissing and groaning sounds of pain.

Leon rolled his eyes dramatically at the two money-grubbing idiots.

"You'd better have nine lives to catch bullets."

Leon stood up, straightened his jacket, and coldly warned:

"This money is what you risked your lives for. After you're discharged, don't you dare turn around and throw all that money at a stripper's ass or use it as a down payment on a sports car."

"At least I should keep some money in my bank account for future medical treatment and physical therapy."

"I don't want to see you again next time, and you don't even have money to buy painkillers."

Leon waved his hand, too lazy to listen to the two of them howling anymore, and turned to leave the ward.

Once in the hallway, he closed the door behind him, completely shutting out the bulldozers and Jacob's excited, crude praise from inside.

The corridor was filled with the smell of disinfectant.

Lyon stood outside the door, his thoughts quickly drifting away from the two wounded men.

Since we're already at the hospital today, we might as well take care of something else.

That kid Carlos is lying in the orthopedic ward downstairs in the inpatient department right now.

The night before last, I had just crushed Marcus, the Blood Gang leader, in the chest of that secluded safe house on the outskirts of Tacoma.

Now a whole day has passed.

The Blood Gang's West District branch has lost two leaders in a row, and it's now in complete chaos.

Meanwhile, the Sinaloa Cartel in Mexico acted as the mastermind behind the scenes, and the source of intelligence that provided them with precise coordinates.

What exactly is their reaction right now?

After Marcus's death, what new plans do Mexicans have for the future of the West Side underworld?

Leon put his hands in his jacket pockets and strode toward the elevator at the end of the corridor.

He wanted to go straight downstairs to Carlos's hospital room to find out what the double agent was up to and confirm the Sinaloa Group's next move.