Los Angeles Police Department Headquarters, Holding Cell.
Brian woke up amidst a violent coughing fit. His entire body ached intensely, feeling exactly like he had been brutally beaten.
Even though Brian had definitely screwed over his boss, Bradford wasn't the type to beat him while he was unconscious.
In reality, Brian's cold was simply rapidly worsening.
After all, he'd spent an hour freezing in a -4°F refrigerated truck yesterday, didn't get any proper rest all day, and then got busted by the LAPD and tossed into a holding cell right around dawn.
You couldn't exactly expect the duty officer to tuck him in with a warm blanket. It was lucky enough he didn't get thrown into a cell with hardened criminals.
Otherwise, Brian might be experiencing localized pain instead of full-body aches.
Being handcuffed made it incredibly difficult for Brian to even sit up.
He patted himself down and confirmed all his belongings had been confiscated. He had no choice but to ask the duty officer outside.
As soon as he opened his mouth, Brian realized his voice was completely gone. He had to strain his throat just to speak.
"Excuse me, what time is it?"
The duty officer, prioritizing reading his newspaper and drinking coffee, glanced up at Brian.
"9:25 AM. What the hell happened to your voice? Did someone stab you in the throat?"
"I caught a cold."
"Out committing crimes with a cold? You're highly dedicated!"
The duty officer had no idea why Brian was locked up, but since he was in a holding cell, he assumed the guy was a criminal.
Brian flashed a bitter smile. This was the exact fate of an undercover cop.
Facing the disapproval of colleagues while simultaneously dealing with intense moral conflict. Brian was finally beginning to deeply understand everything Donnie had told him.
Just as Brian was sinking into despair, a female officer walked in and greeted the duty officer.
"Sergeant Tim Bradford wants to interrogate Brian O'Conner."
"Right, that's him. Take him."
Brian looked up to see a sharp-looking female officer open the cell door.
"Brian O'Conner, keep it moving and don't try anything stupid!"
She delivered a standard warning, given that many suspects were highly volatile.
But Brian definitely wasn't one of them. He was struggling just to walk. The second he stood up, he stumbled and nearly collapsed.
"What's wrong with you? Withdrawals?"
The female officer assumed Brian was a junkie suffering from intense withdrawal symptoms, which explained his absolute mess of an appearance.
Brian quickly explained.
"No, not withdrawals. Just a severe cold!"
"A severe cold? You're out committing crimes with a severe cold?"
Whether it's because Western healthcare is lacking or because Westerners genuinely have lower resistance to colds than East Asians, a cold is considered a serious illness in America. Numerous people die from it every year.
The female officer shared the exact same thought process as the duty officer, dragging Brian's mood even lower.
Being sick naturally makes people depressed.
Shaking her head, the officer still showed some sympathy.
"Look at you. After interrogation, I'll get you sent to a hospital. Try not to die in the precinct."
"Th-thank you."
The female officer escorted a stumbling Brian into the interrogation room, where Tim Bradford was already waiting.
Bradford looked slightly confused seeing Brian looking like he was on death's door.
"What the hell is wrong with him?"
"Says he has a severe cold."
"Severe cold? Alright, you can step out."
Waving the female officer out of the room, Bradford crossed his arms and stared at Brian.
He just stood there staring, showing absolutely zero intention of speaking.
Brian, completely wrecked by the cold, was seeing stars. Bradford was practically blurring into double vision.
After a long pause, Bradford finally broke the silence.
"Why the hell did you do it?"
"What?"
"I specifically ordered you not to make a move and wait for my command. Why did you impersonate that Asian guy and cause me a massive headache?"
Brian's mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds before he finally forced out a response in his raspy voice.
"I owed him a favor."
"So you decided to flush the hard work of dozens of officers down the drain? Have you completely forgotten you're LAPD?"
Bradford stormed forward furiously, jabbing his finger hard into Brian's chest.
That completely silenced Brian. His choice had indeed resulted in a massive waste of police resources, and Bradford likely caught heavy flak for it.
"You realize I could completely frame you as the driver of that Dodge Viper and throw you in a federal pen right now? That solves all my problems!"
Brian stayed silent, letting Bradford vent his intense fury and spray him with spit.
After five straight minutes of uninterrupted yelling, Bradford's rage finally began to cool.
"Brian, if you still consider yourself a cop, give me the name and a description of the real driver. I'll sweep last night completely under the rug."
Brian finally spoke.
"That guy... he's actually FBI. I only found out yesterday myself."
"What the fuck?"
Bradford was initially shocked, but then a new wave of intense fury hit him. He violently kicked his chair over.
"How the hell is he FBI? Then why the hell was he running street races?"
Brian flashed a bitter smile.
"I think his primary target was Little Martin. Little Martin was obsessed with befriending elite street racers, but then he got murdered that exact same night. Sir, doesn't that seem incredibly suspicious to you? We suddenly get an anonymous tip about Little Martin organizing a street race, and then he immediately gets murdered..."
Bradford obviously recognized the massive coincidence, but the LAPD weren't mobsters or intelligence agents. They needed hard evidence to make a move.
"That tip came in completely anonymous. We couldn't trace the source."
"Looking at motive and who benefits most, I strongly believe Francis Ricci is the prime suspect."
"Everyone knows Francis Ricci is dirty. Especially after over a dozen Bonanno capos got slaughtered in that Korean restaurant last night. But where's the evidence? We need hard evidence to build a case!"
"Over a dozen capos got killed in the Korean restaurant?"
Brian stared at Bradford in absolute shock. He had zero knowledge of this. His only missions last night were to plant the Spy Pen and use Lawson's Dodge Viper to bait the LAPD away.
Bradford rubbed his temples in sheer frustration. By ordering the pursuit of the Dodge Viper yesterday and only bagging Brian, he'd essentially chased a rabbit and let a tiger escape.
"I just found out myself. The FBI just issued federal warrants for Dominic Toretto and his two crew members."
That made Brian bolt upright, though his legs immediately gave out and he collapsed back into the chair.
"What! There's absolutely no way Dominic did that!"
Bradford glared at Brian.
"The FBI wouldn't issue warrants without solid evidence! Instead of worrying about Dominic Toretto, you need to start worrying about your own damn situation!"
"I'm taking you to the hospital."