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

Chapter 201 The Tide of the Vagrants (4k)

Lyon looked at the two Wellington steaks that were served and skillfully picked up his knife and fork.

"After you finish this meal, go back and dump all those damn firefight reports on those two unlucky bastards."

Mia cut a small piece of beef wrapped in puff pastry and put it in her mouth, chewing it carefully a couple of times.

"The taste is indeed very good."

She swallowed the beef, stared at the small, palm-sized piece of delicate dish on the plate, garnished with a few drops of unknown sauce, and pursed her lips.

"But this little bit of food isn't even enough to fill a tooth gap."

"To be honest, this is not as good as the super tortillas sold by that Mexican lady across from the police station. At least those can keep you full until you get off work."

"Feel the same."

Lyon nodded in agreement and popped a piece of cut beef into his mouth.

"These kinds of places are all about creating an atmosphere and how the food is presented."

"If we really live on that meager fixed salary, eating here once means we'll have to line up for food relief for the next two weeks."

Amidst the elegant background music of a Michelin three-star restaurant, the two devoured the expensive ingredients on the table in a down-to-earth manner.

"Seriously, Mia, if you didn't have to work so hard typing away for that little bit of overtime pay, what would you most want to do?"

Lyon swirled the red wine in his glass and asked casually.

"I'll buy scratch-off lottery tickets," Mia answered without hesitation, without even lifting her eyelids.

"and then?"

"And then win a jackpot, preferably the kind that's five million US dollars."

Mia swallowed a mouthful of truffle foie gras, wiped her mouth with a silk napkin, and a rare glint of light flashed in her eyes.

"After deducting taxes, the remaining money is all deposited in the bank to buy the safest financial products or earn interest."

"Then I immediately threw my resignation letter in the face of the branch office's personnel officer."

She leaned back in her chair and let out a long sigh, as if she had already lived that kind of life.

"I'll buy a small house with a yard in the suburbs, and sleep in until I naturally wake up every day."

"No need to be woken up by emergency assembly calls at 3 a.m., no need to put up with the bastards in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, and no need to fabricate those firefight reports that killed dozens of people."

"My only task every day is to lie on the sofa and watch boring soap operas."

Lyon couldn't help but laugh after hearing this.

He had initially thought that after witnessing the money of the mafia and the privileges of ACU, this woman would develop some inflated ambitions, but it turned out that her ultimate dream remained as simple and unpretentious as lying down.

"That's a very practical plan. I'm even a little envious of your clear goals."

Lyon raised his hand and snapped his fingers to call the waiter to settle the bill.

Stepping out of the restaurant, the afternoon sun shines on the streets of the upscale downtown shopping district.

This is one of the most secure and cleanest areas in Seattle, with streets lined with gleaming luxury shop windows and glass-walled office buildings.

Leon and Mia walked side by side on the wide sidewalk. He naturally reached out and took Mia's hand. Mia's fingers stiffened slightly, but she did not pull away. She simply turned her gaze to the shop window on the other side.

Just as they were about to reach the Ford Explorer parked on the side of the road, Leon suddenly stopped in his tracks.

A pungent smell wafted through the air.

It was a foul stench, a mixture of fermented urine, cheap alcohol, and the sour smell of someone who hadn't bathed in a long time, completely out of place with the faint scent of expensive perfume wafting through this upscale shopping district.

Lyon glanced down and saw a large puddle of yellowish-green vomit under the spotless floor-to-ceiling windows of a Hermès boutique.

Before Mia could react, a homeless man pushing a tattered supermarket shopping cart suddenly emerged from between two parked Porsches.

The homeless man had tangled hair and his clothes were covered in black grime.

However, he was in a state of heightened agitation, clearly not quite right in the head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Mia, who was wearing an off-the-shoulder dress.

"Twenty dollars! Give me twenty dollars to buy a sandwich! Hurry up!"

He howled incoherently and shoved the filthy takeout cup, its original color unrecognizable, directly at Mia's face.

Mia held her breath, overwhelmed by the stench. Instinctively, she grabbed Leon's hand and took a half-step back in her high heels to avoid the dirty paper cup that was almost touching her nose.

Lyon moved the instant the homeless man rushed out.

He wouldn't directly reach for the pistol at his waist because the other person was just a crazy man begging for money, but he still used his abnormal speed to release Mia, step forward, and stand in front of Mia.

Leon reached out his right hand and grabbed the edge of the rusty shopping cart's metal basket. Using the momentum of the forward movement, he tensed his arm muscles and forcibly pushed the homeless man, along with the cart, backward half a meter.

"Get lost." Leon's voice was as cold as ice.

The homeless man was pushed so hard by the force that he stumbled and dropped the paper cup in his hand.

He stared blankly at the burly man in front of him, whose eyes were extremely intimidating, as if he hadn't even noticed that this person existed.

His instincts, honed from years of surviving on the streets, made him immediately realize that the man in front of him could easily snap his neck.

"Sprint! Charge!"

The homeless man suddenly burst into a frenzied howl. He turned around abruptly, pushed the rusty shopping cart, and ran wildly along the sidewalk. With a screeching sound, he quickly disappeared around the corner.

Leon ignored the runaway madman. He stood there, his steel-gray eyes slightly narrowed, his gaze sweeping across both sides of the street.

As a former patrolman, Lyon knew the homeless population in these neighborhoods of the West End like the back of his hand.

But that madman was definitely a complete stranger.

Looking down the street, Lyon's gaze lingered on several intersections and bus stops in the distance.

In upscale areas where homeless people were strictly prohibited from staying, several groups carrying tattered tents and dragging black woven bags have appeared one after another.

They were walking in groups of three or five along the main road, like migrating ants, heading towards the residential area deep in the western district.

Logically speaking, the city hall's outreach department and social workers should have already driven these people out of the business district in vans.

But now, apart from a few bewildered private security guards, there isn't a single social worker to be seen on the entire street.

Recalling the danger perception suddenly triggered by the pre-meal system, Leon instantly understood what the brewing storm was.

The tide of homeless people.

Someone drove all the homeless people from other districts to the West District and used connections to remove the municipal forces responsible for the cleanup.

"Something's not right."

Leon pointed to a homeless man urinating under a streetlamp in the distance, then turned to Mia and said.

"The number of homeless people on the streets is completely excessive, and they are all unfamiliar faces that I have never seen before. They are moving into the residential areas of the west side in an organized manner."

Mia followed Leon's finger and looked over, her expression immediately turning rather unpleasant.

She had worked in the police force for a while and knew all too well what this meant.

"If you let these people pitch tents in the middle-class neighborhoods and parks of the West Side—"

Mia bit her lip. "The police hotline at the precinct will be overwhelmed. It'll be full of reports of theft, public urination and defecation, and drug overdoses."

She glanced down at her carefully chosen dress, then looked up at Lyon, a clear look of disappointment flashing in her eyes.

"so----"

Mia hesitated for a moment, her voice a little stiff.

"Is our—well—let's call it a date for now—ending early? If you're in a hurry to get back to the station to deal with this mess, then go ahead."

Leon couldn't help but chuckle as he watched Mia trying to suppress her displeasure while maintaining a sensible, overly-compulsive demeanor.

"What's the rush?"

Lyon reached out and opened the passenger door of the Ford Explorer, gesturing for it to proceed.

"It's just an afternoon. Even if ten thousand homeless people came out, they couldn't possibly blow up the West End in a few hours."

As Leon watched Mia get into the passenger seat, he rested one hand on the car door and glanced one last time at the ragged figures that were continuously pouring into the street in the distance.

With a "bang," he slammed the car door shut, walked around the front of the car, and got into the driver's seat.

Late at night, on Fourth Avenue in the West Side, at Ray's Hair Salon.

Big T sat on a worn-out vintage barber chair, impatiently chewing on a cigarette filter.

He had long since shut down the neon sign of the barbershop. Big T, a cigarette dangling from his lips, stared intently at the street outside through the gaps in the blinds.

The situation outside made him feel like the world was about to end.

At this time, there should only be a few of his "CornerBoys" standing on the corner of Fourth Avenue, responsible for delivering the drugs to regular customers who drive up in beat-up cars to buy loose hallucinogens.

But now, the entire street has been taken over by a group of homeless people who appeared out of nowhere.

The makeshift tents, made from black plastic garbage bags, torn cardboard, and rusty supermarket shopping carts, densely filled every sheltered alleyway and under the eaves.

Even the vacant lot in front of the barbershop, which was originally used for parking, was occupied by three or four people wrapped in dirty blankets.

The stench of feces, urine, and cheap alcohol emanating from this group could be smelled even through the glass door.

"Damn it, did these beggars hatch from the sewers?"

Big T exhaled a smoke ring and turned to complain to his men who were wiping baseball bats.

"Look outside! That old lunatic with the tinfoil hat on his head is leaning against that red fire hydrant on the street corner, fast asleep!"

"That's where we usually hide our small packets of cocaine!"

Big T got angrier and angrier as she talked, and grabbed a handful of her hair.

"I had already made arrangements with the people on 23rd Street. These past few days, the Blood Gang has been wiped out, and the cops have gone crazy. We'll keep a low profile and only do business with our regular customers."

Big T pointed out the window, "Now look what's happened! These beggars, reeking of dead rats, have completely blocked the street. Those white college students who came to buy goods in their Honda Civics didn't even dare to roll down their windows; they were scared away!"

One of the henchmen, whose face was covered in acne, stopped what he was doing and tentatively asked, "Boss, how about we go out and fire a couple of shots to drive them away?"

"Is your brain filled with shit?"

Big T smashed the lighter in his hand onto his subordinate's head.

"Have you fucking forgotten about that strip club on the former Eighth Street a few nights ago?"

"After being tricked a few times by that cop named Leon, I now watch the news every day!"

"Those Blood Gang bosses who were always so arrogant were slaughtered by Leon and his men, not even a single piece of flesh was left!"

Big T lowered his voice, as if he was afraid that the name would attract something dirty.

"The cops in the West District are all rabid dogs that have caught the smell of blood."

"If you dare to fire a shot in the street, I bet within five minutes, that guy named Leon will drive his Ford Explorer straight through the windows of our barbershop, completely disregarding our past friendship, and then shove our heads down into this shampoo tub!"

Big T pointed to the shampoo tub in the corner of the barbershop and sternly warned the thugs in the shop.

"Listen up, all of you. When you're out chasing people away, grab a stick, an iron pipe, or just kick them. If anyone dares to pull out a gun and provoke those crazy cops, I'll shoot them dead first."

Just then, the glass door of the barbershop was suddenly pushed open.

The brass bell on the door emitted a piercing, chaotic sound.

A street corner boy, probably only fifteen or sixteen years old and wearing a hoodie, rushed in, panting heavily.

"Boss! Something's happened outside!" The boy clutched his arm, his expression terrified.

Big T immediately jumped up from the barber chair. "What's going on? The cops are here?"

"They weren't cops, they were those homeless people from the South District!"

The boy quickly pointed to the dark alley next to the barbershop, which was usually used for transactions.

"A few new homeless people insisted on setting up camp at the alley entrance with a shopping cart full of junk and two tattered mattresses. A few of us went over and chased them away—"

The boy swallowed hard, his voice filled with lingering fear.

"It turned out that among the homeless group was a black man with a tumor who looked strong and crazy. They wouldn't leave, and instead called on a dozen or so other homeless people to surround us."

"Just now, some lunatic who was spouting nonsense suddenly appeared out of nowhere and stabbed Martin in the thigh with a used syringe syringe!"

The boy pointed outside the door, "They're still locked in a standoff in the alley. More and more homeless people are gathering, and our men can't hold them off any longer."

Upon hearing this, Big T's face instantly darkened to an extreme.

He felt his blood pressure skyrocketing. This was absolutely absurd.

He's a big T, after all, the designated area manager for the 23rd Street Kings gang on Fourth Avenue.

He had been beaten to a pulp by that policeman named Leon a while ago, and he accepted it. After all, Leon was a ruthless character who could single-handedly kill mercenaries and wipe out the Blood Gang's top brass. He couldn't afford to mess with him.

But now, even a bunch of homeless beggars dare to ride on his neck and poop, not only taking over his territory, but also daring to prick his people with dirty needles?

If he can't even handle these beggars tonight, by tomorrow morning the whole Fourth Avenue will be buzzing with the news that he, Big T, is a coward.

At that point, not only will he be unable to control the street boys under his command, but the mad dog Aug on 23rd Street will also think he's a good-for-nothing who can't even keep his territory in check, and might directly replace him with someone else to take over the barbershop.

Big T gritted his teeth, slammed the cigarette butt in his hand onto the wooden floor, and crushed it with the sole of his leather shoe.

"Damn it, do they really think I run a charity?"

He strode to the drawer of the barber's station and pulled it open.

Inside were several stacks of loose banknotes and a black Glock pistol.

Big T grabbed the pistol, stuffed it into the waistband of his loose jeans, and then pulled over a large sports jacket to cover it.

He turned around and glared fiercely at the few thugs in the shop who were somewhat stunned.

"What are you all standing there for? Grab all those baseball bats and pipes!"

Big T grumbled as he pushed open the glass door of the barbershop and strode into the stinking, chaotic street in the dead of night, heading towards a dark alley on the side.