It was obvious that the young sheriff wasn't the type to rely on authority to run the station. Hearing this,
he couldn't help but smile wryly. "Okay, okay, but don't be too early. We still have to clean up here." Alice stomped her hands coquettishly. "Come on, Boss, today's my favorite holiday. I even wore my special sexy holiday boots."
Then she put on a slightly serious expression, a mixture of anger and joy. "Even if we go our separate ways tomorrow, it has to be after a fun party."
Even Jack could see how seriously this girl took this little New Year's party. It was obvious that she had personally designed all the surrounding decorations.
"Well, how could I bear to disappoint you? Enjoy yourself." Sheriff Ronik raised an eyebrow in agreement.
—
"So just passing through?" Placing the steaming cup of coffee in front of Jack, the young sheriff sat back at his desk and casually flipped through the newspaper.
"I used to be an LAPD officer, a colleague of John's. He recently offended the union president and was assigned here for a week. I was just about to return to New York from Los Angeles, so I was definitely just passing through."
Jack had nothing to hide, so he pulled out his ID and placed it before him.
"Supervisory Agent Tavolar, you're even younger than I thought." Ronik glanced casually at him before handing him back.
Jack's eyes flicked over his sparsely stubbled lips and chin. "You too, I mean, for a precinct chief in a big city."
Ronik keenly noticed Jack's attention to his tattoo and generously rolled up his sleeves for a better look.
"This is my reward for five years of undercover work. Just eight months ago, I thought I'd be limping forever." He patted his right leg vigorously. He
'd been injured in an undercover stint and retired. No wonder he'd become a chief at such a young age, and even been given sole charge of an entire precinct—albeit a remote one on the verge of closure. Still, he was a chief.
Jack waved his hand and, likewise, got straight to the point. "Sorry, I'm just curious. I've been to Chicago, but this is my first time in Detroit, and I'm curious about everything here."
The depth of Detroit's decline is clear from a single example: in a few years ago's mayoral election, four of the eight candidates had felony convictions, including drug charges and murder.
The decline of this city, once the fourth largest in the United States, wasn't a recent phenomenon. As early as the 1960s, racial riots plunged the city into turmoil.
President Lyndon Johnson urgently authorized military intervention, and American soldiers, including the 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions and the National Guard, entered the city in tanks.
Five days later, after over 1,200 casualties and the razing of over 2,000 buildings, the riots were finally quelled. Over 7,200 people were arrested and imprisoned.
In the 1970s, rising oil prices impacted the American auto industry, which was under pressure from the Japanese auto industry.
Detroit, home to General Motors, Ford, and Chrysler, the world's three largest automakers, has been hit particularly hard. With the economic downturn and the influx of the poor, the city's population, once over 1.8 million, has fallen to less than 700,000 today.
Clearly hearing the underlying meaning in Jack's euphemism, Roenicke shook his head with a wry smile. "If you're here to experience some urban legend, you might be disappointed.
There are now alarms with cameras every 150 feet (45 meters) along the Detroit River. At least in the downtown core, it's relatively safe."
Jack smiled and spread his hands. "You misunderstood. I didn't come here for curiosity. If that were the case, I'd rather go straight to Kensington Avenue in Philadelphia.
I'm simply curious about Detroit because I'm a bit of a muscle car enthusiast. I own a 1982 Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am."
As someone whose contributions to the American auto industry far surpassed those of most ordinary Americans (just look at the cars Jack had scrapped in recent years), Jack figured it wasn't too much to pretend to be a muscle car enthusiast.
Hearing this, Roenicke smiled. "That's a coincidence! I have a second-generation Dodge Charger. Perhaps after tonight's snowstorm passes, I can take you to GM and Ford headquarters in it."
"It's a deal," Jack offered, shaking his hand as a formality.
Although he only vaguely recognized the young sheriff's appearance, his small frame didn't resemble that of an action movie star. Jack felt that this trip to Detroit might go smoothly.
Then, the sound of high heels tapping on the wooden floorboards approached, finally stopping at the office door, where a knock followed.
"Alice, what's up?"
Before Ronik could finish his words, the office door flung open, revealing Alice's charmingly charming face. "Sheriff, the guy I'm supposed to meet every Friday is here."
Ronik glanced at the falling snow outside the window behind him and uttered a sigh. "Are you kidding me?"
"I know you don't like your therapist, but your attitude is really hurtful, Sheriff Ronik."
A beautiful woman in a violet coat appeared with this voice. She walked past Alice and entered the office. When she saw Jack, she paused for a moment, a look of surprise on her face, as if she recognized him.
"No, no, no, I'm just surprised to see you here."
Ronik left his desk, making a deliberate attempt to introduce them. "This is Dr. Sebian, the psychologist assigned to me by the union, and this is Jack, who's from Los Angeles and is passing through Detroit. Uh... He said it's okay to call him Jack."
Apparently, this guy only remembered the "Jack" part, having forgotten his last name.
"Jack Tavola, I know you. I'm Alex Sebian, but you can just call me Alex." The psychiatrist, equally beautiful as Alice, but with a completely different temperament, offered Jack her hand.
"Have we met before?" Jack asked, shaking her hand. Though he asked, he was certain he'd never met this intellectually charming woman before.
"The author of 'Jack Reacher,' right? Professor David Rossi recommended your novel to me, and I loved it. I also talked to Professor Maureen Cahill about you and learned you're currently pursuing a master's degree under her tutelage.
But honestly, you look much more handsome in person than the author photo on the novel's title page."
Jack was convinced. The author photo he'd included in the book was a close-up shot he'd taken wearing a pair of dark-framed glasses, which made him look rather goofy, yet he was still recognizable.
The glasses were supposed to represent Clark Kent, but why didn't they work on him?
Alex seemed to see Jack's confusion and explained with a smile, "I'm also a forensic psychology consultant for NCIS. I've been hearing your name a lot lately. Now that you're here, does that mean the Hawaii issue is resolved?"
Jack suddenly realized, "Yes, it's resolved. I never thought the world could be so small."
(End of this chapter)