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

Chapter 82 Halloween (4k)

Leaving behind the hustle and bustle of City Hall, the taxi drove through Seattle's wet streets, the windshield wipers swishing tirelessly.

Leon sat in the back seat and only realized what was happening when he saw the pumpkin stickers in the shop windows outside the car window and a few oddly dressed kids running by on the street.

Today is Halloween.

As a time traveler, and having spent the last few days in the midst of gunfire, he had no real connection to these Western holidays, so he completely forgot about them.

"Sir, please stop here on the side of the road."

Although he didn't know if any unlucky kid would come knocking on his apartment door in this freezing, rainy weather, Lyon still had the driver stop the car in front of a convenience store.

He went in and grabbed two large bags of discounted Snickers and some gummy candies that looked like they were full of artificial coloring.

If a neighbor's kid comes knocking on the door, you can't exactly hand them a 9mm bullet, can you?

Back in the car, the taxi continued south, passing through several more blocks, and the surrounding scenery changed dramatically.

In the United States, the boundaries between communities are very clear.

One minute, Lyon was looking out the car window at the neatly trimmed lawns, the detached houses with exquisite pumpkin lanterns, and the Teslas and Volvos parked in the driveway, and the air seemed to be filled with the aroma of organic coffee.

But after the car passed an intersection...

The art style instantly turned gray and gloomy.

Half of the streetlights are broken, and no one is fixing them.

The roadside was piled high with soaking wet garbage bags, and the walls were covered with gang graffiti.

The smell in the air changed from coffee to marijuana, urine, and a sour, rotten odor of unknown origin.

Lyon is now located near Fourth Avenue, which is T's territory.

He had been resting with his eyes closed, thinking about how to extort more money from Raymond for the renovations, when the car suddenly slowed down.

"What's going on up ahead? Is there a traffic jam?"

Lyon opened his eyes, somewhat surprised.

The streets of these slums are rarely congested except for police cars arresting people and ambulances taking people away.

He rolled down the car window and peered out.

A long queue had formed in front of Ray's Barbershop, owned by Big T.

The queue was very long, stretching from the store entrance all the way to the street.

The people in line were a diverse bunch: a tired single Black mother with her child, an elderly Black man in a tattered jacket, and even many of the drug addicts Lyon had seen wandering the streets before.

Although it was raining, everyone lined up obediently, no one dared to cut in line, and no one made a fuss.

"Um?"

Lyon frowned.

In this awful weather, why are so many people queuing up on this usually deserted street?

If they're queuing up to buy drugs, that's incredibly arrogant. Are they trying to provoke the police's intelligence?

If it were a gang gathering, there would be too many people, and it's clear that many of them aren't gang members.

"Whether there are dates or not, we'll hit three targets."

Leon stroked his chin, and based on the principle of never missing an opportunity to earn points, even a small amount, he decided to go down and see what was going on.

"Stop the car, get off here."

Lyon paid the fare, stuffed the two packets of candy into his pocket, pulled up his hood, and disappeared into the damp, cold rainy night.

Instead of walking directly over, he habitually stayed close to the wall, his hands in his pockets holding the Glock, and cautiously made his way towards the barbershop entrance.

However, when he got closer and saw what was in front of him, he was completely stunned.

A huge rain shelter was erected in front of the barbershop, with piles of cardboard boxes like small mountains underneath, containing frozen turkeys or canned goods.

They even set up two barbecue grills, the charcoal fire burning brightly, and the aroma of grilled ribs and chicken legs mixed with cumin strongly overpowered the smell of urine on the street.

Big T, the gang leader who was usually fierce and wore a gold chain around his neck, was now wearing a rather comical pink apron and holding a large pair of clips.

"Come on, come on, don't push, there's enough for everyone!"

Big T, covered in sweat but with a big smile on his face, was stuffing pieces of sizzling grilled meat and a handful of candy into the hands of an elderly African American woman in line.

"Happy Halloween, Mrs. Martin. This is for little Mike. Tell him to study hard and not pick up bad habits from the street thugs!"

"Next! Who's next?"

While distributing the items, Big T also took the time to pat the head of the child next to him, even though the child was so frightened that he shrank back.

Leon stood in the shadows, watching this scene, and couldn't help but twitch his lips.

"Holy shit—"

Is this some kind of charity event?

A gang leader who employs a group of thugs is distributing roasted meat and candy to the poor on a rainy night?

"Since we're already here..."

Leon muttered to himself, tucked the two packets of candy into his pocket, and strolled over.

Why not join in the fun? Who knows if Big T is up to any underhanded tricks?

Just as he reached the side of the line, before he could even get close to Big T, a young man wearing a loose hoodie and with a head full of dreadlocks blocked his way.

"Yo, slow down, you white guy."

The thug tilted his head, not looking directly at Leon, but instead reached out and pushed Leon's chest, his tone full of impatience: "Are you blind? Can't you see there are people in line behind you?"

He clearly mistook Lyon for some drug addict or homeless person who had come from a poorer neighborhood to freeload: "This is a place to provide welfare for the community, not for white people like you who just come here to take advantage—"

Before he could finish speaking, Leon grabbed his wrist.

With his five fingers empowered by 15 points of strength, Leon gripped his opponent's wrist like a hydraulic clamp, and began to gradually and steadily increase the force.

"Ouch! You fucking let go! It's broken! It's going to break!"

With a slight cracking sound from the pressure on his bones, the thug's arrogant expression was instantly twisted by excruciating pain.

His face flushed red, and he tried to pull his hand back forcefully, but found that the other person's hand was as if it were welded to his wrist and wouldn't budge.

Leon had already recognized the owner of the hand.

The tattoo on the back of his hand, and that smug look of him.

Isn't this the same red hoodie that was sold for free at a convenience store a few days ago, chased by the person for several blocks, and eventually vomited from exhaustion?

Leon slightly raised his head, casually flipping his hood back with his other hand to reveal his angular face.

"Who are you calling someone who's here to take advantage?"

He looked at the thug in front of him with a half-smile: "If I remember correctly, last week you were the one I stuffed into the back seat of the police car for stealing a case of beer from a convenience store, right?"

"What? You paid your bail pretty quickly, and now you're out?"

"Wh-what?"

The thug was stunned for a moment, ignoring the excruciating pain in his wrist. The voice sounded so familiar, and it sent chills down his spine.

"Well----"

He stared intently at Leon, and upon recognizing the face, his body, which had been struggling desperately, froze on the spot, as if someone had pressed the pause button.

Then, he instinctively shrank back, not even caring about the risk of his wrist being crushed, and looked in horror at Big T who was grilling meat not far away, his eyes clearly saying: Boss! The devil is here!

Although Big T was still waving the clips, he had actually noticed the commotion the moment Leon approached. A white man in a black community was just too conspicuous.

He squinted and, through the grill, made out Lyon's face.

Then, the fatherly smile on his face froze instantly, and his brows furrowed into a deep frown.

What's this guy doing here?

Are they trying to cause trouble? Or are they here to arrest people again?

At this moment, the residents queuing in line also noticed the commotion.

Dozens of eyes turned to look at them.

There was no kindness in those eyes; rather, there was rejection, wariness, and disdain.

Although Lyon is currently making headlines everywhere, it's none of their business, and they haven't paid any attention to it at all.

Even if someone happens to see the news, they would never associate that glamorous Seattle hero with this person now.

In their eyes, he was just a down-on-his-luck white man who had wandered into the Black community to mooch free turkey and barbecue.

"Look at that guy, dressed all high and mighty, can't even afford a turkey?"

"Even white pigs are coming to collect relief?"

Whispers spread through the ranks. Although no one dared to shout, feelings of offense were already building in the air.

Lyon completely ignored the disdainful or hostile looks he received.

He acted as if he were strolling through his own backyard, releasing the thug he had been holding down, putting his hands in his pockets, and walking straight toward Big T.

Big T watched as Lyon approached, and finally sighed helplessly, tossing the large pair of clips in his hand into the iron tray beside him.

"Hey! Tony! Where have you been?!"

Big T yelled back, "Get over here and watch the stove! Don't burn the meat! If my neighbors get any burnt meat, I'll shove you in the stove!"

"Also, keep distributing the contents of the boxes, don't let people grab them. Everyone should get some!"

After giving instructions to his subordinates, Big T wiped the oil off his hands haphazardly on his apron, turned around with a gloomy expression, and instead of speaking directly to Leon, pointed with his chin to the door of the barbershop behind him.

Then, he turned around, pushed open the door, and walked into the shop with the neon sign.

Lyon understood immediately, and without stopping, he walked straight through the crowd of people staring at him and followed Big T into the store.

The glass door of the barbershop closed behind Lyon, blocking the view from the outside.

Outside the door, people in the long queue looked at each other in bewilderment.

That scene just now was so strange.

A white man walked over without queuing or getting any meat, and even pinched the guy guarding the place. In the end, he was personally invited inside by Big T.

"So they weren't here to steal welfare after all."

A plump middle-aged woman muttered something.

"Know Big T? Who's that white guy? He doesn't look like he's from around here."

Someone craned their neck and shouted at Tony, the gangster who was flipping the grilled ribs.

Tony took the tongs, brushed a layer of sauce onto the meat, and seemed a little hesitant.

But then he thought about it again and realized it wasn't really a secret. So he pursed his lips and said, "That's a cop from the West Precinct named Leon Vance."

"A cop?!"

A low gasp rippled through the crowd, and a few timid individuals even instinctively took a step back.

"What are you afraid of? We're not here to arrest you." Jack rolled his eyes.

"The other day, a few of us brothers got arrested because of that—cough, little misunderstanding, right? It was this kid who got us arrested."

"Back then, rumors were circulating in the underworld that this guy was a ruthless killer who killed five bank robbers with submachine guns all by himself with just a pistol. It scared us half to death and made us look foolish quite a bit."

At this point, Tony chuckled and flipped the ribs over.

"Later, our Brother T inquired a bit and found out, hey, it wasn't that mysterious. That guy just got lucky and killed a drug-addicted lunatic."

"Big T has figured him out now. If he thinks he can come here and show off today, he's dreaming."

Tony tossed a piece of grilled meat into the box and added confidently.

"Of course, Brother T is a reasonable businessman. Although we're not friends, there's no need for us to be enemies. We'll just go in for a cup of tea and chat about the future of this area."

Upon hearing this explanation, the surrounding crowd exclaimed in sudden realization, "Oh—!"

It turned out to be the case.

He's just an ordinary cop who's been overhyped; there's nothing to be afraid of.

"Exactly, what kind of situation hasn't Big T seen?"

"Just a patrolman."

Just as everyone was nodding in agreement, a young Black man at the back of the line, who was looking down at his phone with a broken screen, suddenly looked up, his face full of confusion.

"Wait a minute—Leon Vance? Is that the Vance from the news?"

Everyone around was stunned.

"What news? Who the hell has time to read that stuff?" Tony rolled his eyes dismissively.

"It's the biggest news today, everyone on the internet is pushing it!"

The young man pushed his way through the crowd and shoved his phone screen right in front of Tony's face: "Look, West Side Heroes, Industrial Zone Gunfight!"

Tony impatiently wiped his hands haphazardly on his apron, took the phone, and looked down at it.

I only glanced at it.

The confidence on his face vanished instantly, followed by a pale complexion as if he had been constipated for a week.

"This—this is—"

His eyes widened as he stared intently at the face on the screen.

That's right.

That's the man who just pulled up his hood.

"A dozen or so armed rioters killed?"

"Solo kill on the sniper?"

"He even insulted the FBI?"

Tony felt his head buzzing.

He glanced again at the horrific photos on his phone, then slowly raised his head and looked at the tightly closed glass door of the barbershop.

It’s over.

Is it too late for me to push open the door and remind Big T now?

Well, Brother T is lucky and has a long life, he should be—not dead, right?