Alright."
"Thank you."
"No, I don't quite understand. He finally agreed to pay more."
"It's not about the money."
"Then what is it?"
"Credit."
"?? The employer canceled, it has nothing to do with your credit."
"It does."
Hawk, sitting on a long bench, dressed in a police uniform with a hat and a small mustache, took a sip of his coffee and said to Yekaterina on the phone with a serious and earnest expression, "He can be unkind, but I cannot be unjust."
Yekaterina fell silent.
That…
It sounded strange.
Hawk smiled faintly and finally said, "Alright, I'll go complete this order first. Remember, let me know when the payment arrives. The New York Police Department should be on their way to find you."
Yekaterina snapped back to attention, "Okay, if you don't want to say, I won't ask. Be careful, I'm hanging up."
"Mm."
The call ended.
Hawk watched the several police cars rushing out of the police station parking lot across the street, expressionlessly put away his phone, and took another sip of the coffee in his cup.
Coffee was indeed not as good as bourbon.
But…
Drinking at work was a bit inappropriate.
Hawk lowered his head, glanced at the coffee in his hand, shook his head, stood up, threw the empty coffee cup into a nearby trash can, then adjusted his hat, and walked towards the New York Police Department 12th Precinct across the street.
Fortunately, it was just a precinct, not the New York Police Department headquarters, otherwise, it would have been a bit troublesome.
Hawk thought to himself.
Cancel the order?
Heh.
Is this something you can cancel just by saying so?
The customer is God?
Even God cannot do as he pleases in front of me.
Hard-earned money.
Hard-earned money.
Either one's own sweat, or someone else's blood, that's what can be called hard-earned money. Money obtained without sweat or blood, can that even be called hard-earned money?
Cancel.
Ridiculous!
Although Hawk was very willing to let Alex Wylanck pay double the price, what if the cheat system determined that this double money wasn't hard-earned money?
Money that wasn't hard-earned, no matter how much, had no meaning to Hawk.
Hawk wasn't greedy. What if he lost big by being greedy? He could have a stable income of 1.2 million in hard-earned money, but what if he lost everything because he sought comfort?
So…
Sorry.
Hawk lifted his right foot, adjusted the brim of his hat, and stepped into the New York Police Department 21st Precinct before him.
Whether it was the current 21st Precinct or other New York Police Department precincts in New York City, their basic structures were largely similar: the first floor was like a reception hall, the second floor was the Homicide Squad office, the third floor was the Organized Crime office, and the fourth and fifth floors were the so-called administrative offices.
And Alex Wylanck's case belonged to serious crimes, so the interrogation rooms and such were naturally on the second floor.
"Huh."
After Hawk entered the elevator, a White Irish man in plain clothes, looking down at a stack of documents, first glanced at the lit-up second floor button, then looked at Hawk in the elevator: "New here?"
Hawk smiled and said, "I came from the 32nd Precinct. I heard they're short-staffed here."
The Irish detective was Kevin Ryan, Detective Kate Beckett's partner in the Homicide Squad on the second floor.
Kevin Ryan listened to Hawk's very calm words, nodded, then shook his head, and extended his hand towards Hawk: "Kevin Ryan, good work, buddy."
Hawk glanced at the outstretched right hand, and without any surprise, reached out to shake it: "Hope we catch this guy soon."
As he spoke.
The two shook hands.
Kevin Ryan felt a somewhat sticky, glue-like sensation in his palm, which he found a bit odd. Just as he was about to ponder it, Hawk's words interrupted his thoughts, and he smiled, "Don't worry, we'll definitely catch this guy."
After learning that a prosecutor and a detective had bounties placed on them, the entire New York Police Department became agitated.
Just like this.
Not long ago, after George Stacy came up with a plan to feign cordiality with Alex Wylanck and then locate the person who placed the order, police officers from other precincts in New York City volunteered to come to the 21st Precinct for support.
This also gave Hawk an opportunity.
Otherwise, normally, the various precincts hardly interacted, and any unfamiliar police officer would likely be thoroughly checked.
It wouldn't be as easy as today, where he could just put on a police uniform and confidently walk into the Homicide Squad on the second floor.
Soon.
The second floor arrived.
Kevin Ryan looked at the open elevator and, without any suspicion, said to Hawk beside him, "Buddy, I'm busy. Thanks a lot. If the 21st Precinct ever needs help, you can find me."
"Okay."
Hawk smiled as he exited the elevator, watched Kevin Ryan wave and walk away, shouting "Beckett" to a woman in plain clothes nearby, and then run off. He retracted his gaze, recalled the signal location Yekaterina had told him during their call, and walked directly towards the interrogation room.
Using phone location signals was a double-edged sword.
Just like the abyss.
When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.
The interrogation rooms and detention cells were on the same corridor. After turning right through the lobby on the second floor, one could see the corridor separated by iron bars.
And on the other side of those iron bars, a uniformed police officer was sitting on a chair.
The uniformed officer watched the uniformed officer who had just swapped shifts with him pass by, nodding, while Hawk, raising his head and smiling, extended his hand to greet him. Out of instinct and the shared uniform, he showed no vigilance, stood up, and also smiled as he greeted Hawk: "Buddy, do…"
His words were cut short.
With a whoosh.
The uniformed officer only felt a blur before his eyes, then a pain in his neck, and then his consciousness was instantly emptied.
The next second.
Hawk laughed as if seeing an old friend, embracing the uniformed officer whom he had injected into unconsciousness, then with a flick of his right hand, dislodged the keys from the uniformed officer's waist, then turned to glance behind him, and quickly rearranged the unconscious uniformed officer back onto the seat.
Not long after.
Hawk looked at the uniformed officer in front of him, who was lowering his head, supporting his chin with both hands, seemingly dozing off, and secretly nodded.
He was a killer, but he never killed anyone outside of his targets.
In a word.
No one could freeload his labor.
The next second.
Hawk glanced at the time on his wristband, set the timer for a ten-minute countdown, then opened the iron bars and walked in.
Tick-tock.
On the wristband, the ten-minute countdown officially began.
…