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

Chapter 87 Sanctions (3k)

A dozen minutes later, a Ford Transit van with a closed cargo box screeched to a halt in front of the apartment building, nearly crashing into a lamppost.

Before the car had even come to a complete stop, the driver's side door was suddenly pushed open.

Reverend Anderson didn't even bother to open an umbrella before jumping down in the icy rain.

He was wearing a coat that he had obviously grabbed at random, with the buttons on his suit shirt and the tie fastened one position incorrectly, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, and he was even wearing a leather shoe and a slipper on his feet.

"Officer Vance! Officer Vance!"

The nearly sixty-year-old man looked around anxiously in the rain, wiping the rain off his face as he ran towards the entrance of the apartment building, his face full of undisguised panic.

Lyon stood in the shadows of the porch, looking at the community spiritual leader who usually held the air of a priest and spouted righteousness in such a disheveled state, and suddenly found it somewhat laughable.

"I'm here."

He emerged from the shadows and looked at him expressionlessly.

"Oh! Thank God! Thank you for still being here!"

Anderson leaned closer, and a strong smell of bourbon whiskey wafted over him.

He spoke rapidly, gesturing wildly in the air, trying to explain his foolish statement: "Officer Vance, please believe me, it was a misunderstanding on the phone just now. I was drunk; that wasn't my intention!"

"That's the alcohol talking, the whispers of Satan! Yes, that's it! My mind is clouded, I have no idea what nonsense I'm spouting!"

"My love for the community is pure; how could I possibly abandon those starving children! Absolutely not!"

"Alright, shut your mouth and save your excuses for God."

Why did you go early?

Do they only learn to speak properly when a knife is held to their throat?

Leon impatiently interrupted him, gesturing with his chin towards the Ford van: "I don't care if you're really drunk or faking it, and I don't want to hear your confession."

"What did you bring? Open it and let me see."

"Of course! Right away!"

Anderson jogged over, shakily pulled out his keys, and yanked open the double doors of the truck's rear compartment.

Lyon walked over, peered inside in the light of the streetlamp, and raised an eyebrow.

The carriage was packed to the brim.

Dozens of large Pizza Hut pizzas, still warm in the boxes; several large tubs of steaming cream soup; boxes of canned milk and juice; and even a number of roasted chickens wrapped in tin foil and those energy bars that looked very expensive.

In the corner, there were several stacks of brand-new wool blankets and moisture-proof mats.

This is far superior to the hard, sturdy whole-wheat bread and nearly expired canned beans that were handed out in the square this afternoon.

It's more than enough to celebrate a holiday for the residents of this building, or even to host a buffet.

"Where did you get all this so quickly? Don't tell me God conjured it up for you."

Lyon casually picked up a box of pizza, looked at it, then threw it back and turned to look at Anderson.

Anderson swallowed hard and rubbed his hands together as he replied, "Part of it—part of it was just bought by someone from a nearby fast food restaurant."

"The rest is mostly stock from the church's storeroom."

"The church's inventory?"

Lyon's eyes instantly turned cold.

"Since you have so much stock, why didn't you take it out when you distributed relief this afternoon? Why did you have to wait for me to call you?"

"If I hadn't called you, would these things have just been sitting in the warehouse getting moldy?"

Anderson's expression stiffened for a moment.

His eyes darted around, and he stammered for a long time. Seeing Leon's increasingly unfriendly expression, he finally had no choice but to tell the truth: "Officer Vance—there was nothing we could do about it."

"These high-grade supplies are intended for use on New Year's Day."

"As you know, around New Year's Day, TV reporters will come to do annual charity interviews, and several city council members will also visit the community."

"Big shots like the mayor go to the cathedral in the city center, but we also have to host a few mid-level leaders here. They come to our community church to put on a show—I mean, to inspect it."

"At that point, we must release these good things so that the photos will look good, the reporters will have material for their reports, and we can get more funding from the foundation next year —"

"Oh.

""

"So, you're just going to watch these people starve to death?"

Lyon was furious.

really.

Political grandstanding, a vanity project.

In order to appear on camera a few months later, they would rather lock supplies in the warehouse to mold than give a single bite to the living people who are currently starving.

After confirming that there was nothing wrong with the contents of the car, enough for the poor neighbors upstairs to have a good meal, Leon suddenly reached out and grabbed Anderson by the back of his suit collar.

"Hey! Officer! What are you doing?! I've already delivered the items!"

Leon completely ignored his struggles and dragged him like a dead dog from the bright taillights into the shadow of a trash can on the side of the apartment building, where there were no security cameras.

"Bang!"

With a flick of his wrist, Leon slammed Anderson hard against the slippery red brick wall.

Before the old man could react, Leon clenched his left fist and slammed it hard into his stomach.

"Uh ah yi"

""

Anderson's mouth gaped open, the air in his lungs completely emptied by the punch, and he was in so much pain that he couldn't even scream, only dry heaving repeatedly.

Immediately afterwards, the cold metallic touch pressed against his chin.

Leon drew his Glock from his waist, pulled the slide, and pressed the muzzle directly against it.

"Click".

Anderson was completely terrified.

Ignoring the churning in his stomach, he held his hands tightly in the air, his legs trembling like a leaf, and his teeth chattering wildly.

He didn't understand.

He genuinely didn't expect Leon to pull out a gun.

In his view, even if they had a falling out on the phone before, it was only at the level of exchanging benefits or threats and intimidation.

After all, everyone is just trying to make a living within this system. Leon is a ruthless corrupt cop who kills without blinking an eye, and he's a charlatan who makes money. Who doesn't have some selfish motives?

But he never expected that this policeman would actually have murderous intent towards him for the sake of a few insignificant, hungry paupers!

What kind of bizarre values ​​are these?!

"No—don't shoot—I was wrong—I was really wrong, Officer Vance—"

Anderson's tears mingled with the rain as he pleaded in a hoarse voice.

"I really did want to shoot you on the phone just now."

Leon used the muzzle of his gun to lift Anderson's chin, forcing him to look into his eyes, his voice low and terrifying: "But then I thought about it, and I dialed the church office landline and your personal cell phone. The call records are with the telecom company."

"You're a pastor with some reputation, not some homeless person who dies and nobody cares. If you die downstairs at my apartment building tonight, I'll have so much trouble tomorrow that I won't have time to eat breakfast."

Upon hearing this, Anderson finally understood.

As long as there's trouble, as long as there are communication records, he won't die!

His nerves, which were taut with extreme fear, involuntarily relaxed for a fraction of a second, and he even wanted to let out a long breath.

"Bang!"

Before he could even catch his breath, Leon threw another punch.

This time, the blow hit his ribs, and the pain almost made Anderson faint.

"but!"

Leon holstered his gun, grabbed him by the collar, lifted him half a foot off the ground, and pressed his face against his: "Don't think I won't touch you."

"Openly, I can have the tax authorities investigate your bad debts. Secretly, I can also find a few gangsters looking to make some extra money, strip you naked, and throw you into Puget Sound to feed the fish."

"You're lucky today. These two phone calls saved your life. I don't want to make a big deal out of this."

"But this is the last time."

"If I find out again that you've hidden life-saving supplies in the basement where they're infested with maggots, or if I hear you suggesting that someone sell their ass for bread—"

"Then you can just wait for me to come knocking on your door in the middle of the night."

"Or, you can try to get revenge on me afterwards, hire a lawyer, hire a congressman, whatever you want."

"I'll fight you to the end. Let's see who dies first, you or me."

"No—I wouldn't dare—I absolutely wouldn't dare—"

Anderson shook his head frantically, having no doubt that the mad dog in front of him would keep his word.

"very good."

Leon released his grip, letting Anderson slump down beside the pile of garbage.

He slowly holstered the Glock, then looked down at the filthy priest and suddenly sniffed.

"By the way, Reverend Anderson."

"I remember you seemed to have drunk quite a bit on the phone just now?"

"Now you reek of alcohol—tsk tsk."

"As an honest police officer, I have to remind you that you are now suspected of driving under the influence of alcohol."

"Therefore, for public safety reasons, this vehicle has been impounded."

"You, now, immediately, get out of here."

"Walk back to your church on your own two legs. Come back tomorrow when you're sober and drive the car away."

Anderson clutched his stomach, struggled to lift his head, and looked utterly bewildered.

"Me—I'll walk back?"

He glanced at the truck parked outside: "But—I haven't distributed anything yet—I still need to send the supplies to them—"

He had originally thought that since he had already been beaten up and the items had been taken, he should at least show his face in front of the residents, salvage his image, and perhaps reap some gratitude.

This can be considered cutting losses!

"You want to send it?"

Leon scoffed as if he'd heard a joke: "Is this something you wanted to post?"

"I forced you to vomit this out at gunpoint!"

"At a time like this, you still want to use this pile of stuff to boost your image? Trying to build a facade of virtue for yourself?"

"You don't deserve to show your face in this matter. What right do you have to do that?"

Lyon pointed to the alleyway entrance: "Get out of here! Don't make me change my mind!"

Anderson was startled by the shout, took one last look at the truck of supplies, gritted his teeth, limped into the rain, and disappeared dejectedly at the end of the street.

Leon watched his retreating figure and spat.

"What kind of behavior is this?"