Jack and the beautiful psychiatrist simply exchanged a smile, offering no explanation to the bewildered others.
Information like the smallpox virus terrorist attack was destined to be labeled highly confidential, locked away in a pile of archived papers, never to be seen again, just like countless other similar cases before it.
Jack didn't know if this was the case in his previous life, but in this world, he had become part of the undercurrents beneath the seemingly calm surface, privy to some of the truth.
An inexplicable sense of duty washed over him as he silently protected the world. Jack gulped down the coffee on the table and stood up to take his leave.
Alex had clearly come to provide Sheriff Ronik with psychological counseling and assessment, much like Maureen had done for him after his first shooting.
But Ronik's condition seemed more serious, because as Jack closed the office door, he overheard two conversations from inside.
"I noticed you don't seem to be limping anymore, Chief. Are you still taking those painkillers?"
"Come on, Doc, it's been so long, I bet you're getting tired of this repetitive conversation we've had."
Jack's heart stirred, and a hint of curiosity arose. He pulled out his phone and sent a message to Alice in New York.
"What are you doing? Texting your girlfriend to let her know you're safe?" The female officer with the same name, who had come downstairs with him, winked at him curiously.
"Ah, no, just checking in with my colleagues, the usual check-in," Jack replied casually, then thought of the party he was looking forward to.
"Is there a supermarket nearby? I'll go get some snacks and drinks. You were originally just three, but now there's two more, so you might need some more."
Hearing him say this, Alice instinctively glanced out the window, feeling a surge of anticipation. "Maybe the snowstorm will arrive early. We could stock up on food, and maybe even some beer. I know a supermarket nearby sells Stroh's." The
Stroh's she was referring to was the ice-cold beer the protagonist secured for the prisoners in the movie "The Shawshank Redemption" to help a prison guard evade taxes.
After finishing their work on the rooftop, Andy and a group of prisoners comfortably enjoyed their cold beers, as if they were experiencing long-lost freedom in that moment. The captivating camera language remains vivid in Jack's memory.
In Jack's previous life, Stroh's beer had long been discontinued, but he was surprised to hear the brand reappear in this world, sparking a sense of curiosity.
The two hit it off, one driving while the other directed the way, and braved the increasingly heavy snow to make the special trip.
"So you're a writer and an NCIS agent." On the way back, Alice finally couldn't contain her curiosity.
"It's the FBI, but we recently collaborated with NCIS." Jack carefully steered the Subaru SUV, the wipers squeaking as if overwhelmed, and the tires skidding slightly.
It was only afternoon, but the sky was already nearly dark. Even with the headlights on, the two beams of light beaming into the distance seemed swallowed by an unspeakable monster hidden in the snow and wind, barely illuminating the distance of a dozen meters.
"That looks like Dr. Sebian's car up ahead," Alice suddenly pointed to a black Dolan Tahoe parked on the side of the road.
"Stay in the car, I'll get out and take a look." Jack applied the brakes. Although the car was moving slowly, the inertia caused the entire car to slide a short distance on the already thin layer of ice.
"Are you okay?" Jack bent down to avoid the oncoming ice and snow, walked over to the car and knocked on the window.
"Thank God, why are you here?" Alex opened the car door and, wrapped tightly in her coat, got out, looking terribly cold. "My car broke down, and I was just about to call for help."
Jack pulled his coat over her to shield her from the wind and snow. "It looks like the storm's arrived early. Forget your car for now, come back to the police station. It looks like we'll have to spend the night there."
He escorted the woman back to the car. Although they were only out in the snow for a moment, the snowflakes covering them were blown by the car's heater, instantly soaking their hair.
"You'll catch a cold like this. Wipe yourself off first." Seeing Alex, who also had long blond hair, in such a disheveled state, Alice quickly handed her a towel.
"Thank God I met you. This damned weather."
Alex gratefully took the towel and began to wipe her hair, then handed it to Jack without hesitation. "I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not." Jack turned the fragrant towel over and casually wiped his head twice. His buzz cut was convenient, so it wasn't a big deal if he didn't wipe it.
He released the parking brake and continued to move slowly through the snow. Fortunately, they were not far from Precinct 13. Within 20 minutes, they saw the two-story brownstone building again, the only light still on in the darkness.
"
Sizzle!"
The pork belly slices sizzled on the wire mesh, emitting an enticing charred aroma. Jack poured a small pot of "Water of Life" onto the grill, and a burst of flames instantly erupted. The intoxicating aroma of alcohol with a hint of lemon filled everyone's nostrils.
"Wow!" Alice cheered enthusiastically, downing her ice-cold beer in one gulp and eagerly accepting a skewer of barbecue to taste.
John laboriously dragged Jack and his suitcase into the police station office, his jaw dropping at the sight. "I knew going out with you would be full of surprises. You even bought charcoal and a grill from the supermarket,"
Jack warned over his shoulder. "Leave the door ajar, or this will turn into a locked-room murder scene."
The beautiful psychiatrist had long since removed her violet cashmere coat, including the wet collar of her long, stand-up-collared jacket underneath, revealing a fitted, low-cut evening gown. Also short, it contrasted beautifully with Alice's.
She sat across from Jack, hunched over, her chin resting on his shoulder, watching his movements with a touch of interest, not minding the revealing display.
She did have a nice figure, a distinctly different kind of curvaceous beauty compared to Alice's voluptuous curves. The difference in cup size between her and Alice's was at least one, which suited her scholarly demeanor.
"Although I missed the New Year's Eve party tonight, thank you for saving me from my gloom with your delicious food." Alex's eyes lit up after tasting the second skewer of barbecue Jack offered her.
Jack's casual gaze swept over her face, not daring to look down at the alluring black lace. Instead, he pointedly said, "It's probably not the New Year's Eve party that's got you down, but a stubborn patient."
As if his words had hit the point, Alex's pretty face fell, a look of frustration on her face. "Although I shouldn't discuss my patients like this, that guy is indeed the most stubborn ostrich I've ever met."
Jack chuckled and didn't press the issue.
Alice from New York had just sent him the information about Ronik. Although this young police chief was only 32 years old, he had 10 years of police experience. As he had said before, half of that time he had been performing undercover missions.
About eight months earlier, during a failed undercover sting operation, Ronnick's two partners, Carol and Tony, who were also working undercover with him, were killed in a desperate counterattack by drug traffickers while pursuing the suspects separately.
Ronnick was also shot in the thigh and only regained normal walking ability after nearly three months of rehabilitation. The Detroit Police Department (DHD) investigation team, after reviewing the circumstances, cleared him of responsibility.
The sheriff then left his undercover career and voluntarily applied for a transfer to the now-closed precinct to serve as acting chief.
Alex then became the acting chief's designated psychiatrist, and her psychological evaluation would determine whether this highly decorated officer could return to frontline duty.
Jack could roughly guess what had happened. The DHD's exoneration of Ronnick didn't necessarily mean he felt the same way.
It seemed that Ronnick and his two partners had posed as suppliers to two drug dealers, intending to catch them red-handed, but their identities were accidentally exposed.
In the melee, Roenick was shot in the thigh and limped to the rear. His two partners, after calling for reinforcements, split up and pursued the suspect, only to be killed by the drug traffickers.
From a responsibility perspective, his actions were flawless. The fleeing drug leader ultimately perished at the hands of Roenick, who had relentlessly pursued him. His partners' misfortune could be chalked up to sheer bad luck.
But for Roenick, the commander, the situation was different. He was the one who ordered the split-up pursuit, and the fact that the order itself was flawless didn't mean he, the decision-maker, wouldn't feel guilty about it.
"Some problems may only be solved on your own. Neither medication nor psychological counseling is a panacea," Jack said, his voice deliberately raised slightly, just enough for Sheriff Roenick, who was descending the stairs.
"That smells wonderful," the former undercover detective said with a playful smile, handing a thick file to Alex.
"I think you left this on my desk, Dr. Sebian."
Alex took the file with a sardonic smile. It contained, of course, her psychological analysis and diagnosis of Ronnick over the past few months, clearly already thoroughly reviewed by the patient himself.
"Oh, really? Did I forget? Or did you sneak it out of my bag when you were so gentlemanly as to see me off earlier? Did you enjoy reading it, Mr. Sheriff, the part-time thief?"
"No, you really did forget it. I'm absolutely certain." Ronnick sniffed hard, trying to look serious.
"You're so disappointing!" Alex's face flushed crimson, and she was about to explode when John, who had been watching the drama from the sidelines, interrupted her.
"Why don't we all sit down and have a drink? I don't know what happened, but tonight's New Year's Eve. Maybe tomorrow will be a fresh start, right?"
Jack chimed in. "At least your treatment is working. At least your patient is starting to take an interest, right?"
"That's all nonsense. He just buried his head in the sand like an ostrich, ignoring everything that happened and refusing to take any responsibility."
Before Ronnick could continue, Alice held up a starch sausage and stopped him. "Try this, boss! I swear you've never had such delicious sausage."
"Alright, alright, boys and girls, raise your glasses," Jasper, the oldest police officer present, stepped in to smooth things over.
"Before this rotten rathole is razed to the ground, let's have a drink to it and to me. Of course, I'm sure I'll miss this place, and you two too."
He gestured towards Alice and Ronnick.
"What the hell are you talking about, old man?" Alice's eyes widened, confused as to why he suddenly spoke like a last will. Even Ronnick looked puzzled.
"I have news for you, boys and girls. The old man is retiring." Jasper smiled mysteriously.
Ronnick's surprise was palpable. "Congratulations, but you should have told us sooner."
"I just received the official notice, too." Jasper cheerfully raised his glass, his graying beard twitching.
"Anyway, pick up your glasses, and including the few unexpected guests, let's drink a toast to this old police station, and of course, to me, and my impending retirement."
"Cheers."
"Cheers!"
Naturally, no one wanted to dampen the spirit at this moment, and everyone raised their glasses. Jack noticed that Ronnick only touched his lips. It seemed that despite his tough talk, he had some understanding of his situation and was trying to move on from the shadows.
Alice unearthed an old cassette player from nowhere, and the deep, magnetic voice of Frank Sinatra, the king of white American jazz, blazed through the police station office.
John admired the two dancing women, his skewers sparking from the effort. "Maybe it would be nice to get out of Los Angeles once in a while. You can see a lot of different sights." "
You'd better talk about the scenery, not the beauties. Don't forget to call Grace to check in at night," Jack said disdainfully.
"She seemed very relieved when she knew I was traveling with you, in every sense of the word," John retorted, winking at someone. A sudden realization struck
Jack. "I finally understand how my reputation was tarnished. You must have played a big role in it."
Then, a news report playing on the small television in the office caught his attention. A large, dark-skinned man in handcuffs appeared on the screen.
"Hey, beautiful, do you know who Marino Bishop is?" Jack handed the grilled sausage in his hand to Alice, who was waiting eagerly by the grill after dancing a song. This girl seemed to be fascinated by this thing.
"One of the sources of chaos in this city, the biggest local gang leader in Detroit. Um, it says he just killed a police officer named Ray Botno? The police killer, he's dead."
Alice wrinkled her nose and inhaled with her tongue sticking out, not sure if she was burned or spicy.
Jack didn't care about the news about the arrest of the gang leader. He was simply surprised by the appearance of Marino Bishop on TV. Isn't this guy with sunglasses like the big black Morpheus in "The Matrix"?
(End of this chapter)