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

We wholeheartedly recommend this book to you: "Why Are You, a US Police Officer, Always Thinking About Going Back to the East?" Read it here.

Just as Darrell and his group finalized their plan for the "Feast at Hongmen" the following night, the atmosphere in the secret room eased slightly because they now had a clear objective.

"Buzzing—"

Another black encrypted phone, which had been tossed in the corner of the round table, suddenly vibrated, emitting a dull thud.

Darrell frowned and reached for his phone.

The name displayed on the screen is "Bulldog".

This is the fourth die-hard underling to be absent, "Bulldog" Tyrone.

Tyrone is the powerful head of the Blood Gang, in charge of underground car modification shops and the distribution channels for stolen goods. He not only has a large number of skilled car modifiers under his command, but also employs a group of ruthless thugs who specialize in snatch-and-grab robberies.

He was a muscular man with a bad temper, and he was always accompanied by a dozen thugs with shotguns when he went out. He was definitely one of Marcus's toughest and most heavily armed henchmen.

The night before last, after confirming Marcus's death, Darrell immediately and secretly informed Tyrone, and they arranged to meet here this afternoon. He was supposed to be the first to arrive.

"Talon? Where the hell have you been?!"

Darrell answered the phone, his suppressed anger instantly flaring up, and he roared into the receiver:

"Everyone's waiting for you! We're discussing how to divide the territory and how to deal with that little bastard Lamar. How could you be late for such a crucial meeting?"

"Were you asleep under the car chassis?!"

The usual gruff and swearing from Tyrone didn't come through the phone immediately.

Conversely, the background sounds were very empty, with the faint sounds of heavy iron gates clattering and sticks striking metal railings.

"Darrell..."

Tyrone's voice sounded like he was starting to doubt his life, and there was even a hint of barely perceptible grievance.

He lowered his voice and said:

"I...I'm fucking in a detention cell at the West District Police Station right now, and they even took my shoelaces!"

Upon hearing this, Darrell's hand trembled violently.

Jimmy the old fox and Fat Mike, who were standing around the table, were also stunned and stood up in unison.

"What's going on?!"

Darrell's eyes widened, and he quickly turned the phone volume up a bit, holding it close to his ear:

"How did you get arrested?! Did that mad dog Lamar send someone to frame you? Or did the FBI suddenly raid your garage with a search warrant?!"

"Neither!"

Tyrone broke down on the phone, lowering his voice and cursing furiously in a low voice:

"This afternoon I drove my heavily modified Cadillac Escalade, without even bringing my henchmen, and was on my way to a strip club to have a meeting with you guys."

"After driving just two blocks, a patrol car pulled up behind me, siren blaring, and forced me to stop!"

Darrell frowned: "Why did you stop? Did you put flour in your car?"

"What a load of crap! That damn cop said one of my left taillight bulbs is broken, and that my exhaust pipe is too loud and my emissions are over the limit!"

Darrell and Jimmy looked at each other in bewilderment.

Is the exhaust pipe too loud? Are the taillights not working?

How could such a trivial matter, which is considered a waste of paper even to issue a ticket, lead to the arrest of a gang leader?

"I didn't take it seriously at all!"

Tyrone desperately explained the absurd scene over the phone:

"Because those two cops who got out of the patrol car are the old foxes who usually patrol our street, the old foxes who collect our $2,000 envelopes every month!"

"One of them lost five hundred dollars at my casino last week!"

"I figured they were just looking for trouble and asking for some pocket money."

"Just like usual, I rolled down the window, handed over my driver's license, and casually tucked two $100 bills underneath it."

"I told them, 'Brothers, you've worked hard. Take this and buy some nice coffee to warm yourselves up.'"

"And then?" Darrell pressed.

"And then? Then those two damn cops went crazy!!!"

"They saw the Franklin notes I handed them as if I were holding a hand grenade with the pin pulled!"

"That old cop, who's usually greedy for money, turned pale with fright on the spot, and cold sweat poured down his forehead!"

"The old man took two steps back, pulled out a stun gun from his waist, and pointed the muzzle directly at my head!"

Tyrone became more and more excited as he spoke, his voice trembling:

"What did this guy say again? Oh right, 'You dare bribe a public official! Hands behind your head! On the steering wheel!'"

"I was completely stunned!"

"Before I could even ask him if he'd taken the wrong medication, another cop opened my car door, dragged me out of the driver's seat, handcuffed me, and before I could even say a word, they shoved me into the back seat of the police car!"

But this absurd plot isn't over yet.

"After I was handcuffed, I was pulled so hard that the cigarette butt I was smoking fell to the ground."

"Guess what?"

Tyrone sniffed: "That young cop actually pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket and put that cigarette butt in it."

"He added a charge against me in front of everyone: damaging the city's environmental sanitation and littering with toxic and hazardous waste!"

"Later, they called a tow truck on the spot and seized my Cadillac for illegal modification. Now they are deliberately stalling the process and delaying my lawyer's bail period. That damn cop even threatened me to investigate whether I evaded taxes ten years ago."

Tyrone completely broke down on the other end: "What the hell is wrong with these cops?! I've been freezing in this cell for an hour!"

In the underground chamber, a deathly silence descended once more.

Darrell held his phone, his hands shaking as if he had Parkinson's disease.

Just now, Williams was also shouting at the crossroads that he was a good cop.

Now, even seasoned patrol officers are willing to use stun guns to arrest people for a $200 bribe, not even sparing a cigarette butt that has fallen to the ground.

All of this connected, and Darrell's mind exploded with a "buzz".

Case solved.

The Blood Gang's expensive protective umbrella within the police station is not just gone.

The Seattle Police Department has now turned into a bunch of ruthless, vicious dogs who won't let go of anyone, even if they kill you!

The arrest of Fatty Z was likely a bombshell, and now they're using gangsters to boost their performance and prove to their superiors that they're clean!

"I understand... Tyrone."

Darrell swallowed hard, his voice hoarse:

"Something major has happened on the cops' side. Williams is now helping an old lady cross the street. They're in trouble themselves."

"Listen, don't get into a conflict with them inside. Let the lawyers proceed with the process slowly."

Darrell gritted his teeth and made his decision:

"You stay inside for now. It might be safer inside than outside. The three of us will handle Lamar."

After saying that, Darrell didn't give Tyrone a chance to continue complaining and hung up the call immediately.

He threw his phone on the table, and as if all his strength had been drained, he slumped into his chair.

Jimmy and Fat Mike were also ashen-faced, and had lost all interest in even the most basic scheming and arguing.

In the dark corner of the secret room, Trey, who was slumped on a single sofa, became excited again.

It's just perfect!

Tyrone the Bulldog, Marcus's most capable fighter with the most cash and weapons, was actually locked up in a detention center by a group of crazed patrolmen just because of a broken taillight and a cigarette butt!

Darrell's core armed forces have been wiped out by at least a quarter!

Trey laughed wildly to himself.

He was initially worried about the trap set by the Mexican gunmen at the banquet the following night. He feared that if Tyrone and his biker gang were waiting outside, there might be trouble if they launched a surprise attack.

it's good now.

Darrell not only lost an arm, but also lost all the police informants and protection he had.

Taking over the entire Bloods gang with the help of the Mexican Sinaloa Cartel was incredibly easy.

……

3 PM. South Seattle, auto repair shop.

The office blinds were half-drawn, and Maria was sprawled unceremoniously in the worn-out leather swivel chair.

Her long legs were propped up on the edge of the desk piled with invoices, and her work boots were still covered with two patches of dried mud.

She still had that Marlboro cigarette dangling from her mouth, a cigarette that seemed destined never to be lit, swaying up and down with her breath.

He was holding a pair of nail clippers, "snip snip snip," trimming the oil and dirt under his nails.

Young mechanic Pablo sat idly in a folding chair, sorting through a pile of crumpled car repair bills by date.

"Buzz—Buzz—"

The black, encrypted phone lying on the corner of the table suddenly vibrated.

Maria blew the crumbs off her nails, lazily reached out a hand to pick up her phone, and swiped the screen with her thumb.

It was a long, encrypted text message from Trey.

As early as last night, Trey had already reported Darrell's plan to support him as a puppet leader.

But now, the smugness in this text message is practically overflowing.

Maria squinted and quickly scanned the long string of dense letters on the screen.

In a text message, Trey excitedly reported that Darrell's gang had decided to set up a trap for Lamar at the "Pink Swan" strip club the following night.

Moreover, Tyrone, the Blood Gang's top henchman, was actually arrested and detained by the police because a car taillight broke!

Darrell's side is currently practically empty inside.

At the end of the message, Trey made an inflated request:

He hoped that Maria would send the group's armed gunmen to infiltrate the club tomorrow night and wipe out Darrell, Lamar, and all the threatening leaders, putting him directly into the position of Blood Gang's West District leader.

After reading the message, Maria stopped what she was doing completely.

She froze for two seconds, and a row of question marks seemed to materialize on her forehead.

"ha?"

"Idiot?"

Maria let out a sneer, nearly dropping the Marlboro cigarette she was holding to the ground.

Did this kid get a concussion from being hit on the head by a rock, and did it also damage his IQ?

Maria pressed the reply button without hesitation, her thumb flying across the keyboard as she launched into a tirade:

Is your brain filled with shit?

What makes you think we'd send gunmen to fight this kind of lousy war for you? Do you think the Sinaloa Corporation is your personal bodyguard company that you've hired?

[You'd better find a way to save your life at tomorrow night's banquet. Make good use of their internal conflicts and let those idiots fight like dogs.]

[I'm warning you, only when you truly sit in the boss's seat and gain control of the Bloods' West Division, even if all of Seattle knows you're a puppet, will the group secretly step in and provide the resources to eliminate political enemies.]

Don't even dream about it until then. The corporation won't lend you a single bullet.

After sending the message, Maria tossed the phone back onto the table like trash.

"What's wrong, big sister?"

Pablo, who was standing next to him, stopped sorting out the bills and leaned over with a puzzled look: "What's wrong with that kid this time?"

"That idiot Trey wants us to send a few Sicarios (drug lord assassins) to a strip club tomorrow night to kill off all the Blood Gang's top brass for him."

Maria rolled her eyes and picked up the nail clippers again.

After listening, Pablo picked up his phone, glanced at it, scratched his head, and seemed somewhat puzzled:

"Big sister, I actually think this suggestion is pretty good."

Pablo began to analyze the situation seriously:

"The Blood Gang is now leaderless. Marcus is dead, and Tyrone, their strongest fighter, has been arrested by the cops."

"Isn't this a perfect opportunity for us to take over the West Side? Send a few good guys over there, and they can clean up all that street scum in ten minutes. Why not give Trey a hand while we're at it?"

Hearing her subordinate's naive remarks, Maria stopped cutting her nails.

She put her feet off the table, sat up straight, and looked at Pablo with a disappointed expression.

"Pablo, how long have you been in Seattle?"

"It's been almost two years, eldest sister."

"It's been two years, and you're still stuck on the old ways of fighting back in your hometown."

Maria sighed and spoke again in her languid tone:

"Back in our hometown in Mexico, the group actually dared to drive armored vehicles welded with steel plates, mounted with 50-caliber heavy machine guns, and engage in direct firefights with government troops on the streets."

"If they're unhappy, they can even strip the mayor's body naked and hang it on the overpass."

"But you better understand, this is the fucking continental United States!"

Maria tapped the table with one finger while yawning:

"If tomorrow night, a few Mexican gunmen armed with fully automatic rifles were to commit a massacre in a strip club in a Seattle neighborhood, leaving the bodies of a dozen or so local gang leaders lying on the ground..."

"What do you think this is called in America?"

"A major transnational terrorist attack."

Pablo was stunned, his mouth slightly agape.

"Once this happens, the Seattle Police Department has no say in it."

"The DEA, FBI, Department of Homeland Security, and military will all be mobilized. Washington politicians, in order to win votes, will immediately go on television and rant about the Mexican government, putting pressure on it."

"and then?"

Maria spread her hands, making an explosion gesture:

"Then, our president, who is far away in Mexico City, will definitely send his most elite Marines in Black Hawk helicopters provided by the Americans to his home state of Sinaloa to carry out a large-scale arrest operation in order to quell the anger of the Americans."

Maria, looking at Pablo who was already sweating profusely, concluded:

"If we're in Seattle and mess things up to get that good-for-nothing Trey into power, we might cause a massacre."

"Then the group's top executives who are drinking top-quality tequila and sunbathing in their hometown estates are about to face the messy situation of being caught in the crossfire."

"The big boss will be sleeping in bed the next morning when soldiers break down the door, put a black hood over his head, and send him straight to the highest level of prison for serious criminals."

"Although even in prison, a big shot can pull strings and still live a life of luxury, it's still much worse than being out in a manor with a woman by the sea."

"If the big boss goes in, do you think he'll order how he'll deal with us troublemakers before he leaves?"

Pablo's face turned pale, and he swallowed hard.

"So, do you understand?"

Maria leaned back in her swivel chair and put her legs back on the table.

"That's why we have to use local gangs as proxies."

"They are a buffer zone. Local gangs fight amongst themselves, and no matter how many people die, the Seattle police will only treat it as a public order incident."

"If Trey gets shot to death at the party tomorrow night, he'll be a piece of trash with no value whatsoever."

"At worst, the group can just spend some more money and find another compliant agent."

"If he survives on his own merits and actually gets that position, then the group will acknowledge him as a 'good partner' who is qualified to use our resources."

"I understand, I understand."

After hearing this, Pablo suddenly understood.

He felt a chill run down his back, nodded repeatedly, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a rag.