Jack had been drinking, so he called an Uber. While a healing spell would have cleared the effects of the alcohol, he didn't want to leave a bad impression on his friends about drunk driving.
"That's pretty much it. They ultimately decided to keep the truth a secret. All the world needs to know is that Commissioner Roy Montgomery died a heroic death."
Frank Reagan's volatile expression finally gave way to a long sigh after listening to Jack's story in the dated study.
"Kidnapping and ransoming gang members—I did hear about that back in the millennium." Old Chief Henry Reagan, who was listening in, stood up shakily, opened a cabinet, pulled out a bottle of Scotch, and poured himself a little.
This elderly man, nearly 80 years old, was the primary target of Jack's visit. As one of the earliest members of the "Blue Templars," Jack hoped to learn some relevant information from him.
"In fact, there were others who did even more egregious things. But you're saying that the mastermind, after learning about John LaGrand and Gary McAllister's affairs, chose to take a cut, even though he had the ability to send them to prison?"
Seeing the old man's thoughtful expression, Jack leaned forward slightly on the sofa. "Did you guess his identity?"
To his disappointment, Old Henry slowly shook his head. "Of course not. In fact, by that time, not only me, but even Frank had already left the Blue Templars. As I said before, it had completely deteriorated.
But I can be sure of one thing: that guy was definitely not one of them, not even an NYPD member."
Jack pondered for a moment, then nodded slightly in agreement. The Blue Templars were a secret society within the NYPD, a fraternal-like secret society. If John LaGrand and Gary McAllister were being blackmailed by members within the organization, there was no need to be so frightened.
"But it's reasonable to assume that this person, even if not in the police system at the time, was within the judicial system and had already held a certain position," Frank Reagan said solemnly.
"Speaking of which, the safety of Detective Kate Beckett." Old Henry looked hesitantly at his son.
"Oh, don't worry. I'll keep her safe for now." Jack waved the old man's offered glass of wine, having already had quite a few to drink.
This was also the second purpose of his visit. His previous promise to suspend Beckett and the clowns was of course just a joke, but Jack hoped Frank could find a reason to place the three of them on administrative leave.
It was unclear what arrangements Commissioner Montgomery had made before his death, promising Beckett that if she stopped investigating her mother's death, the mastermind would be safe from attacking her.
But considering their ruthlessness, Jack believed it was best to err on the side of caution and protect her.
With two professional killers already emerging, a third or even a fourth wouldn't be surprising.
Although Chief Frank Regan was somewhat displeased with Commissioner Montgomery's actions, he remained silent, effectively accepting the outcome.
After all, death is the greatest virtue. Even Beckett, the de facto victim, chose to forgive him, so there was no need for him to create a major scandal within the NYPD.
When Jack said goodbye to Reagan's house and returned to the small building, he was met by four drunken men.
Plum wine requires rock sugar, and its sweetness dilutes the pungent taste of the white wine. Adding some ice to the mix, he immediately knocked the four clueless Americans unconscious.
Of course, Jack was doing this on purpose. While drowning one's sorrows in alcohol only exacerbates them, getting drunk can offer some relief.
The next morning, as Jack knocked on the doors of the second-floor guest rooms one by one, he heard the startled screams of a man and woman from one of them.
"You have ten minutes to brush your teeth, wash your faces, and then go downstairs for breakfast. The cemetery is at least a 40-minute drive from here. As pallbearers, you four don't want to be late for the funeral, do you?"
Jack wasn't surprised to see the two sharing a bed. Last night, after returning, he had Cassel, the only one still somewhat conscious, help Beckett upstairs to bed. The two of them collapsed into bed together, and he had helped close the door.
After notifying the three NYPD officers that each of them would receive an additional two weeks of administrative leave, Jack served them four bowls of hot and spicy soup to sober them up.
The sour and spicy taste was effective in relieving a hangover, but as for the accompanying headache, aspirin was the only solution.
—
"Tattattattattattattattatt." To the beat of a snare drum, Beckett, clad in a dark blue police uniform and a wide-brimmed hat, carried Commissioner Montgomery's coffin, walking first on the left.
On either side stood Esposito, Kevin, two officers from the 12th Precinct, and Cassel, wearing sunglasses.
Six men carried the coffin through two rows of officers. Danny and his brother James, representing Frank Reagan, saluted solemnly.
Beckett, his closest colleague, almost a family member, was the first to take the stage to deliver his eulogy.
"Roy Montgomery taught me what it means to be a police officer. He taught me that we are bound by our choices. We will make countless mistakes, but for us, there is no victory, only a constant battle."
Jack, standing in the audience, frowned slightly. Ever since entering the cemetery, he had felt a subtle tingling sensation. It wasn't intense, as he could clearly sense it wasn't directed at him.
From the beginning of the funeral, he had completely freed his senses, impersonating a sniper, searching from far and near for the source of this malevolent force.
Having experienced a cemetery encounter before, Jack focused his observations on the densely packed tombstones: 100 meters, 150 meters, 200 meters.
Meanwhile, Beckett's speech continued on the stage.
"...The most important thing for us is to find our place. If you're lucky, you'll find someone willing to fight alongside you."
As Beckett and Cassel locked eyes, Jack's hair stood on end. A faint reflection, fleeting in the sunlight, was captured by his keen senses. Without a second thought,
Jack drew his rifle from his waist and fired into the air.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
"Sniper, get down!"
"Bang!" A bullet shattered the microphone on the podium. Cassel pounced on the stunned Beckett, who fell heavily to the ground on the grass, his wide-brimmed hat tumbling to the side. The scene was in chaos.
(End of this chapter)