Jack hamred the last nail into the sink cabinet, sat down, and considered today's work done.
"Next ti, rember to shoot the head. Criminals won't aim for your thighs. I don't have many friends, and I hope that when I retire, none of you guys will be missing."
Nolan laughed heartily. "Then I'll have to work hard to stay healthy, especially to maintain a good relationship with my dentist. I don't want to be unable to chew your delicious stew when I'm over 70."
"That's alright. I have plenty of recipes suitable for seniors, even those without teeth can enjoy them."
When you hire soone to do chores, you naturally have to treat them to good food and drinks. For lunch, the two of them simply had pasta with Jack's homade tomato sauce, served with minced at stewed eggs, and sprinkled with black pepper, which Nolan raved about.
For dinner, Jack stewed chestnut chicken, adding extra sugar, and added a side of oyster sauce kale, served with fragrant rice, which made the guy so full he kept burping.
After seeing off a satisfied Nolan, Jack returned to his room, preparing for his routine workout, when his phone suddenly rang. Seeing the unknown number on the screen, his expression instantly turned serious.
"Jack Tavelor, patrol officer at the Wilshire Division of the LAPD, a new recruit who's only been with the unit for six months and has already finished his probation. Your record is outstanding; you've killed five criminals in less than six months."
Jack remained calm; the familiar synthesized female voice told him who it was, and he answered frankly.
"Thank you for the complint, but it's not very polite to investigate soone's background casually. Are you a friend of the man in the suit from the other day?"
The other person was silent for a mont, seemingly puzzled by Jack's composed attitude. About a minute later, the synthesized female voice ca again.
"What do you know?"
"I know nothing, but just like you know , I'm very interested in you."
The voice on the other end fell silent again, seemingly uncomfortable with having the initiative in the conversation taken away. After a long pause, the call was suddenly disconnected.
Jack put away his phone, hesitated for a mont, then rushed into his bedroom. Five minutes later, he left ho with a travel bag, got into his car, and drove to Los Angeles Airport.
Seven hours later, after exiting Chicago Airport, Jack pulled out a disposable phone he'd bought at a convenience store before boarding the plane and called the rental car company. Soon, a pre-arranged blue Ford pulled up in front of him.
Taking the keys from the driver, Jack called Abby Sciuto, the gothic girl: "Found it? Give the address."
Before 9 a.m., the blue Ford stopped in the parking lot of a small shopping mall on Wabash Road in Plainfield. Jack got out and found one of the nurous signs hanging on the mall's facade: **ZZZ Accounting Firm**.
With a satisfied smile, he gently knocked on the door of the accounting firm's office.
"Co in."
Hearing the deep male voice from inside, Jack entered the office. A well-dressed, exceptionally burly white man with thin-rimd black square glasses sat behind the desk, a P14 pistol with an Osprey silencer pointed at him in his right hand.
"Isn't this a bit unfriendly to a friend?"
Jack put his travel bag down from his shoulder and tossed it casually on the floor by the door, then slowly opened his coat to show that he wasn't carrying a weapon.
"I just got off the plane. The FAA wouldn't allow an ordinary LAPD patrol officer to carry a weapon on a flight."
"Who are you?" Confused by Jack's behavior, the man's gaze darted around. He was never good at dealing with people, and now he had no idea how to handle this strange young policeman.
"Jack Tavelor, patrol officer at the Wilshire Division of the LAPD. Didn't your friend already investigate , Mr. Christian Wolff?"
Jack sat down at the desk, looking directly at the man until he averted his gaze again.
"Your friend called yesterday, but I prefer face-to-face communication, so I took the liberty of coming to visit."
Christian Wolff put away his P14 and awkwardly loosened his blue tie.
"How did you spot ? I observed the angle of the sunlight at the ti; you couldn't possibly have noticed the reflection from the scope."
Jack smiled slightly. "Everyone has their secrets, don't they? Just like you. You could consider to have a sixth sense beyond ordinary people."
As he spoke, he took out five ten-cent coins from his pocket and placed them one by one on the desk in front of him, heads up, with the portrait on them.
Jack's movents were slow and very neat, even carefully aligning the portrait with the other man. But when he placed the last coin, he seed a little careless; the portrait on the coin was slightly off-center.
Christian Wolff imdiately felt uneasy. He suppressed the urge to reach out, his eyes twitching, his fist clenched tightly under the table.
"You see, you're not the only one with hacker friends. Of course, we're even now."
Jack said, straightening the crooked coin.
"Now can you tell what you want from ?"
The accountant's tense nerves relaxed, and his expression softened considerably.
"We initially thought you were just an ordinary police officer and wanted to establish so mutually beneficial cooperation with you, but it seems you don't need it."
Jack waved his hand. "No, no, no, you've misunderstood. I am indeed just an ordinary LAPD officer. Can you elaborate on the cooperation your friend ntioned?"
The accountant's face remained expressionless, but a hint of doubt flickered in his eyes, yet he calmly began to explain.
"I've done so financial work for several drug trafficking groups and have so intelligence, so I need so friends to cooperate with ."
"What kind of cooperation are you referring to?" Jack asked, sowhat puzzled.
"Take down those drug lords, or send them to jail."
"Can't you do it yourself? Like you did the day before yesterday."
The accountant shook his head: "I can't kill every bad guy who hires for accounting or money laundering; that would damage my reputation in the underworld."
Jack chuckled: "So you did it yourself yesterday because…"
"That Cole tried to have his n secretly take pictures of , and he's the dumbest gang leader I've ever t."
Okay, although he didn't know the details, he could tell from the accountant's tone that there was so personal grudge involved.
"Then why did you think of cooperating with ? Just because my excellent sixth sense allowed to detect your presence from hundreds of ters away?" Jack was still puzzled, unable to figure out why the accountant had approached him.
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