…who!"
"Evans."
Lake kicked the door open and spoke directly to Evans, the African-American federal with dreadlocks who stood up behind the counter: "I want your shipping records for EA A."
Evans's expression suddenly changed.
Bang!
The Glock XVII smashed against the counter, instantly creating spider-web-like cracks on the glass counter.
Lake chuckled, then looked at Evans expressionlessly: "I know you have it. I want the shipping list of the last few months. If you don't give it to me?"
"Oh."
"Bang!"
"ah!"
"I will kill you."
Lake tilted his head and looked at Evans who fell to the ground holding his thigh after a gunshot. Then, without looking back, he shot directly at the door of the store.
Bang!
The little black men immediately scattered like birds and beasts.
Lake wasn't worried at all that they would call the police, because they never would.
This Hell's Kitchen area has its own unique rules of survival. Here, they will only seek help from illegal organizations instead of asking for help from the local police station.
Even the police station here turns a blind eye to many things happening in the Hell's Kitchen area.
If there is any precinct in the New York Police Department that is generally recognized as corrupt, then the 36th Precinct, which is responsible for the Hell's Kitchen area, is the most corrupted precinct.
Of course.
There is no evidence on the surface.
"Fuck!"
Falling to the floor, clutching his thigh and enduring the pain, Evans looked up and glared at Lake: "Damn it, I haven't sold a single EAA in the past few months. Who would want a woman's pistol?"
Lake tilted his head: "That makes sense."
but.
After Lake nodded in agreement with Evans' words, he raised his gun and pointed it at Evans' chest expressionlessly: "Shipping list."
Evans: "…"
Ten minutes later.
Lake walked out of the second-hand store and recycling shop behind him, ignoring Evans's painful and low groans inside, and stared expressionlessly at the dozen or so gang members who had surrounded his car.
More than a dozen gang members also had their own weapons in their hands.
Lake lowered his head and laughed, then took a step forward.
Wow.
The dozen or so gang members took a step back.
Lake enters again.
The gang members retreated again.
"Oh."
"…"
Lake chuckled, put away the Homeland Security ID in his hand, opened his car door, and drove away directly towards the 36th Precinct.
In the afternoon.
Lake, who was stationed in the New York Police Department's Major Crimes Division, received news from the 36th Precinct.
Six second-hand EAA pistols with labels and still very exquisite appearance were poured into the evidence box. All six EAA pistols sold by Evans in the past few months were here.
These were all confiscated from Hell's Kitchen.
This is the 999 incident.
The 36th Precinct knew the meaning of the code number 999, and so did Hell's Kitchen. As long as they didn't want the New York Police Department to completely overrun them, they would always be able to give the police department a satisfactory explanation when faced with matters involving the code number 999, once it involved Hell's Kitchen.
or...
This is probably why Hell's Kitchen has survived to this day.
"Take it to the forensic department for ballistics testing."
"good."
"Where's George?"
"Not back yet."
Lake nodded and said, "There should be good news from George."
All six EAAs sold in Hell's Kitchen are here, which means that it is unlikely that someone from Hell's Kitchen did this. Of course, it is also possible that the buyer from Hell's Kitchen bought a new EAA and handed it in.
However, this possibility is very low.
Putting aside whether he can afford a brand new EAA pistol, just to put it simply, he dared to shoot law enforcement officers. Could he be that smart?
It's getting dark.
George is back.
George came back with a drug addict.
"Hardy Burton, a drug addict. He bought an EAA pistol two months ago. He wasn't found in the room. When we found him, he was already high."
George looked at the drug addict lying in the observation room, still enjoying himself, and shook his head. "Only three were sold over there. The other two have been sent to the forensic department for ballistics testing."
Lake stroked his chin, staring at the poisonous insects in the observation room without saying a word.
A stoner shooting a law enforcer?
That makes sense.
but...
I always feel something is weird.
It's impossible to get anything out of this drug addict in his current state. We can only wait until he comes out of his high before we can interrogate him.
But having clues is a good thing.
Lake turned his gaze away from the poisonous insect, said hello to George, Beckett and others, and then prepared to leave.
"Lake."
"Joe."
At the door of the police station, Lake looked at Joe who came out from behind and called out to him, smiling and saying, "What's going on?"
Joe shrugged and said, "My car broke down. Do you mind taking me home?"
Lake said, "Of course not."
When Lake was in the New York Police Department, he was resistant to Joe's partnership, but if Joe was like Beckett and George, Lake wouldn't mind being friends with Joe.
Just don't team up with me.
at the moment?
That question no longer exists, Lake is in Homeland Security and Joe is in the NYPD.
Brooklyn.
Lake got out of the car, looked up at the apartment building in front of him, and looked at Joe: "Moved?"
Qiao nodded and said, "Yes."
The previous home was a sad place with a story about it, so Joe sold the original house and moved into this apartment building.
After all, people always have to look forward.
This is a good thing.
Lake thought so in his heart, smiled at Joe and said, "Okay, see you tomorrow."
Qiao smiled and turned to walk towards the apartment building: "See you tomorrow."
There is no story of going up for a cup of coffee.
Just a story of friendship between colleagues and friends.
Lake got in the car and started it.
"Bang!"
"…"
Lake's eyes narrowed as he looked at the apartment building where gunshots suddenly rang out.
get off.
After entering the apartment, Joe was lying on the ground at the stairs, covering his chest, with blood gushing out.
Fuck!
Lake hurried to Joe's side, picked him up, and kicked open the apartment door.
Get in the car.
start up.
The car is driving at a hundred miles per hour.
Fortunately, the nearest hospital to Joe's apartment building was only two blocks away.
Half an hour later.
George, Beckett and others rushed to the hospital.
"How about it?"
"We are still trying to save them."
Lake's face was gloomy. This was a provocation right under his nose.
soon.
The emergency doctor came out.
Several people hurriedly surrounded him.
The emergency doctor nodded, and George and Beckett breathed a sigh of relief.
Nod YES.
Shake head NO.
A nod means that the person has been rescued.
The doctor said, "However, the patient has lost too much blood and needs to be observed in the hospital for a few days."
Finished.
The doctor returned to the emergency room.
Just then.
George's phone rang.
Hang up the phone.
George said to Beckett and Lake, "A reporter from the Daily Bugle just called and said someone called and claimed to have just killed a law enforcer."
In fact.
The call came when the second law enforcer was killed, but the reporter at the time did not take it seriously. Moreover, his boss prevented him from informing the police after hearing the news.
Because it would be their exclusive report.
Until just now, the phone call came again, saying that this time he shot a female law enforcement officer in the chest. The reporter, who was having dinner with his wife and daughter at home, realized that something was wrong, so he quickly contacted 911.
The reporter was quickly taken back to the New York Police Department.
His phone was also taken away and sent to the laboratory for identification.
The New York Police Department is brightly lit.
In fact.
Since the first shooting of a law enforcement officer, the lights in the New York Police Department office have never been dimmed, and all police officers' leave has been canceled.
In the words of the director, when we catch this son of a bitch, that will be the end.
No matter life or death!
A team of police officers has also gone to the Bugle Newspaper Office to seal it off. After the shooting, the New York Police Department began to inform all citizens that if they have any clues, they can contact the police in time.
What do you mean by the Bugle Newspaper?
Exclusive news?
If you want it so badly, I'll give you an exclusive news. I'll even take out a screw from your newspaper as evidence. Does that count as an exclusive news?
soon.
The sources of the two calls have been identified. They were both public telephones near the crime scene. The police station is urgently reviewing the surveillance footage near the public telephones there.
There's no need to look at the public telephone surveillance in Queens, and the New York Police Department doesn't have much hope. For now, we can only pin our hopes on the surveillance in Brooklyn.
but...
There is still no news from the surveillance, but George, who is urgently interrogating the drug addict, has a clue.
This guy sold his ID for a hundred dollars.
Who is it?
have no idea.
Where to live.
The drug addict was clueless. He was so addicted that he didn't even bother with his ID card. If he had a wife, he would have sold her without hesitation in exchange for what he wanted.
The black marketeer from Queens was also brought here directly.
The black market dealer was also wronged. Buying and selling illegal guns was something that should not be allowed to appear in public. They had agreed that if he gave their name, they would not bring him back. But in the end, they still brought him here.
Who would dare to do business with him after this?
The black market businessman felt a little miserable and wanted to call his lawyer over.
Lake said expressionlessly, "You can call a lawyer, but if you do, I'll spread the information you provided tomorrow. Go to hell with your business."
Black market merchant: "…"
Do you have to be so domineering?
The black marketeer opened his mouth, wanting to accuse Lake of intimidation. However, looking at the large area of blood stains on Lake's suit, he finally became dejected and said, "I've told you everything I know."
"Think about it, think about it. Who did you sell the third pistol to? Don't say you don't know. You just participated in the Memory Master Competition held by New York TV last month. You remember everything from six months ago, but you can't remember anything from two months ago?"
"…"