Chapter 33: On How to Gracefully Make a 'Problem' Disappear: Just Find a Used Car Dealer!
Sean turned around, his gaze sweeping past Alan, who was still huffing and puffing as he organized items in the trunk. He extended his hand, his voice carrying a trace of nonchalance:
"Lend me your phone. Need to make a call."
Without asking further, Alan pulled his old companion from the worn pocket of his baggy khaki shorts—a Samsung flip phone.
Sean took the bulky 'antique'; its screen edges were severely worn.
A 'blazing fast' early 2000s data speed, minimal memory—such an object would be a museum piece in later years. Or perhaps a paperweight.
He expertly powered it on; the signal bars flickered weakly. It wasn't that his own phone was dead, but because when you're out there, caution is paramount.
What if there was internal affairs surveillance during his administrative leave? Who could say for sure.
After all, even a president could personally order a wiretap, leading to the political scandal of Watergate.
The call Sean was about to make was better handled with care. This wasn't exactly a conversation meant for official records.
Though it was somewhat like overkill—utterly unnecessary paranoia.
As for Sean's own phone?
It had been deliberately placed by Sean deep within the cup holder of the passenger side in Alan's Volvo.
Sean's finger hovered over the keypad; a string of numbers clearly surfaced in his mind:
310-6... On the other end of the line, Los Angeles, South Figueroa Street.
The air was filled with the distinct smell of cheap leather cleaner mixed with motor oil. The sign for Value Autos reflected the sunlight harshly, shining on the overly polished car paint and casting a greasy sheen.
Leonard Mackey, a white man wearing a suit that was decently tailored but slightly loose at the collar, was piling on a professional smile, haggling over the price of a 2007 Jeep Wrangler with a shrewd customer.
"Eighteen thousand, sir, absolutely worth every penny, includes a premium detailing!"
"Sixteen thousand, not a cent more, there are scratches on this paint..."
"Seventeen five! And I'll throw in a bottle of synthetic oil!"
"Seventeen, plus two oil changes, two car washes, deal!"
People often prefer a compromise, so starting with a large, excessive demand, then following with a smaller one, makes reaching an agreement easier.
At this moment, the negotiation tactic worked once again. The contract signed, Leonard secretly breathed a sigh of relief—five hundred dollars commission in his pocket.
Although this sum was pocket change for Leonard now, every dollar counts!
Leonard could never forget the grueling experience of working as a mechanic for twelve straight hours for just $350. As for this job where he could earn a five-hundred-dollar commission after a verbal sparring match with a customer, it was something he wouldn't have dared to imagine in his past.
He wiped sweat from his forehead that wasn't really there—a habit left over from his days wrenching on cars, wiping his brow whenever he finished a task.
Just as he gestured for his assistant to handle the paperwork, the phone in his pocket vibrated.
An unfamiliar number. Business?
As a businessman, Leonard had no reason to reject any incoming call. Pressing the answer button, his voice instantly switched to enthusiastic mode:
"Hello, this is Value Autos, I'm Leonard Mackey, manager of Value Autos. How may I help you?"
Back on Sean's end.
The call connected, and that familiar, slightly measured, smooth voice came through.
Sean leaned against a large tree that provided ample shade from the scorching sun, his eyes sharply scanning the empty parking lot, his fingers unconsciously checking the weapon at the small of his back. He lowered his voice, uttering only two words:
"It's me."
On the other end of the line, the professional smile on Leonard's face instantly froze, then deepened and grew more cautious, like a mask snapping into place.
He recognized the voice. An unfamiliar number?
Burner phone?
Or was there something sensitive to be arranged?
Leonard immediately understood, his tone becoming more formal, carefully neutral:
"Hello, sir! What can I do for you?"
This statement itself was confirmation—he had recognized Sean.
Sean didn't beat around the bush, lowering his voice further, carrying a tone of unquestionable command:
"Yesterday, two 'packages' came down from San Francisco, driving a stolen vehicle. One's in custody, one... didn't make it. Find out which MS-13 cell was behind it."
The purpose of Sean's call was to find out which branch of the San Francisco MS-13 the person he arrested yesterday belonged to. The system clearly stated in the mission consequences section:
'May incur retaliation from the opposing gang.'
In Sean's experience, when the system says 'may,' unless hell freezes over, the other side will definitely come looking for trouble. And Sean himself was never one to sit back and wait.
Better to take the initiative than be caught off guard!
Leonard narrowed his eyes, his fingers lightly tapping on the clean office desk, his brain racing.
He glanced out the window, where a few young men in baggy clothes were leaning lazily against the wall on the street corner.
The corner of his mouth lifted in an almost imperceptible cold smile, but his voice remained steady, carrying a tone of absolute certainty:
"Minor issue. No need to get your hands dirty, I'll handle it cleanly."
He deliberately kept it vague, but the meaning was crystal clear.
On the surface, Leonard was the used car dealership owner on South Figueroa Street!
In reality, he was also... the owner of two other used car dealerships... Leonard's 'Value Autos' stood like an island amidst the bustle of South Figueroa Street in Los Angeles.
This neighborhood was carved up by invisible boundaries, with four territorial gangs like the Hoover Criminals and various Crip sets entrenched on all sides, demarcated by South Figueroa Boulevard.
The air always carried a faint, lingering tension, like gunpowder smoke that hadn't dispersed.
The relationship between the Hoover Criminals and the Crips was complicated—the Hoovers had split off from the Crips decades ago, creating their own identity.
Although there was historical connection, they basically operated independently, possessing strong autonomy.
As for Leonard, who managed to thrive in this gang-infested area, was he a clean, legitimate businessman with no street connections?
Probably even the taco vendor on the street corner would laugh at that.
At this moment, Leonard stood by the window of his dealership's second-floor office, a high-end cigar he rarely indulged in pinched between his fingers, smoke curling upwards.
Through the slats of the blinds, he looked down at the busy service bay below and the distant street corner where a few young figures dressed in signature baggy blue or gray clothing loitered.
The windowpane reflected the complex emotions that flashed in his eyes: shrewdness, vigilance, and a hint of barely perceptible control.
His rise to success was unusual, or rather, it was shaped entirely by Sean.
A few years ago, he was just an unlucky guy who ended up in county jail for a stolen car charge, meeting Sean, who was working a case from the inside.
Sean saw his familiarity with the underground car market and his relatively clean record. More importantly, Sean needed eyes and ears deep within the street's shadows.
Thus, a company invested in with Sean's money, engaging in the used car business, became Leonard's ticket to legitimacy.
Leonard was indeed talented. Not only did he make the car business profitable, but he also miraculously, as a white man, established himself in this territory dominated by black gangs.
He deeply understood the law of street survival: poverty and lack of opportunity are the breeding ground for gangs.
Therefore, one-third of his dealership's employees were young black men recruited from the surrounding neighborhoods.
A stable job, a salary that could support a family—that was the best crime prevention.
He regularly 'took care' of relationships—not through bribes, but under the guise of 'community support,' providing supplies or helping solve minor troubles for gang members' families. This made him a respectable 'patron' in the eyes of gang leaders.
Leonard took a drag of his cigar and exhaled thick smoke. Outside the window, a teenager wearing Crip blue was diligently helping a customer detail a car.
Leonard's gaze softened for a moment. He knew that most of these gang members didn't want their own children and nephews to follow in their footsteps.
The street life is a one-way path; once you're in, there's rarely a way out. He had heard and seen too many examples of people dying violently in gang wars.
If someone could provide legitimate job opportunities for the community, the gangs were usually happy to see it.
In a way, the jobs he provided were giving those young people teetering on the edge a legal alternative.
Because of this, his dealership could safely operate until eleven at night, becoming an unusual safe haven within this chaotic neighborhood.
So, when Sean mentioned MS-13 on the phone, Leonard didn't hesitate for a second.
He knew all too well how a businessman with his kind of connections could 'solve problems'—sometimes with a well-timed deal, sometimes with precise intelligence, sometimes with a few 'words of advice' whispered into the right ear.
Methods?
He had plenty!
And this wasn't the first time he had done this sort of thing for Sean.
"Then I'll leave it to you to handle!"
On the other end of the line, Sean's voice was crisp and decisive, without the slightest hesitation, full of trust in Leonard.
The reason he gave Leonard a chance to succeed back then was precisely for useful moments like this!
What?
You're saying our Officer Sean is cooperating with criminal elements, that this is corruption?
Don't be naive!
All I see is an officer who, to maintain the city's peace, has to work with unconventional sources and walk a fine line!
The world isn't black and white, but shades of gray.
The corner of Leonard's mouth lifted almost the instant Sean's words fell. It wasn't the fake smile for customers, but genuine satisfaction.
This was precisely his purpose!
The helping hand Sean extended back then, wasn't it for this very moment—when the long arm of the law couldn't reach certain corners, for his 'connections in the shadows' to handle things?
To put it bluntly, Leonard was just an asset for handling dirty work.
But even so, Leonard was willing, even grateful.
Looking out the window at his own polished Jaguar, then thinking back to the empty pockets when he was released from jail years ago.
And now, with three dealerships and a nice house in the suburbs... the foundation of all this stemmed from Sean's seemingly casual but life-changing investment back then.
Leonard reflected:
"If Officer Sean hadn't given me a shot back then, I'd probably still be turning wrenches at some shop for minimum wage!
Of course! There's nothing wrong with honest blue-collar work, but the business world offers me so much more!"
After a long moment of contemplation, Leonard crushed out his cigar, picked up the internal phone on the desk, found a number he hadn't dialed in a while, and spoke in a low, clear voice:
"Little Derek, come to my office. Got a job for you."
The slanting afternoon sun cast Leonard's shadow onto the blinds, stretching it long.
Why does Sean seem like a dirty cop working with criminals?
It's because Sean himself understands what kind of world he lives in!
Sean doesn't want to be a boy scout trapped by bureaucracy!
The kind of person who only fights back after being attacked.
Good guys always get shot at first—is that a question? Or just reality?
After all, Sean wasn't about to wait around to be a victim.
PS: Although MS-13 is a vast criminal organization, its internal structure is extremely loose, with no formal centralized leadership; small cliques of gang members operate relatively independently. It's like a franchise—the local chapters are independent, they just fly under that banner. That's why Sean believed Leonard had the ability to gather intel on them.
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