Chapter 1010: Small Talk and the End of the Year

In the evening, the Police Chief signed the last document. Two police officers were suspended pending investigation for "dereliction of duty." It was highly likely they would be leaving the force.

The reason was simple: during their watch, a key criminal suspect had committed suicide by hanging himself in the detention room. This was the greatest humiliation to the New Golden City Police Department!

The news was spreading through all the New Golden City precincts, and it was certainly not good news.

More importantly, the entire matter of the car accident was completely cut off at this point.

If you say it was a deliberate murder, you need evidence.

And the evidence was not the truck registered locally, nor was it why it appeared there. It was why the person driving it was there at that time, and why he had slammed on the accelerator and crashed into the car leaving the police station.

Now that the driver was dead, continuing the investigation was meaningless.

The Chief actually knew that he could also investigate the driver's family to see if they had any unusual changes recently.

For example, suddenly having a large sum of money, or some other change.

But the things he could think of, Lance and his group could certainly also think of. At this moment, he no longer dared to view Lance as just the leader of an ordinary criminal organization. This person was absolutely not an ordinary criminal organization leader.

The usual effective investigative methods were completely useless against him and might even be misleading.

Coupled with the fact that the Perez family had given up pursuing the matter, this incident was over.

The entire incident was suppressed at the cost of two police officers being dismissed.

However, although these two officers lost their police jobs, they would soon find new work. After all, they were also victims in this incident.

After a while, when the heat was off, they would be recalled to the force.

The Police Chief handed the signed document to his secretary. This document would soon appear on the Mayor's office desk.

He leaned heavily against the back of the chair, which made the chair slide backward a bit, perhaps one or two feet.

He leaned there, his eyes closed. In just two or three days, he felt a weariness he had never experienced before.

The phone on the desk suddenly rang. He cursed "fuck," then pulled himself together and answered the phone.

He was now a little afraid to answer the phone. Who knew if it was bad news? So much so that he felt he might be ill; he had developed a stress reaction to Lance.

When Lance wasn't here, everything was very stable and peaceful. The moment he appeared, everything went wrong.

"This is the Police Chief's Office..." he said, somewhat weakly.

Fortunately, the voice coming from the receiver was not what he was afraid of hearing. It was an old friend of his calling. "I heard you've been having a bad few days?"

The Police Chief sighed. "Yes, unprecedentedly bad. I never thought dealing with these gangs would be a hassle before."

"But Lance's appearance has broken some of my inherent, stereotypical perceptions of gangs."

"His speed is fast, his methods are vicious, and he hasn't left any flaws for me."

"That driver, the truck driver, committed suicide in the detention room this morning."

The person on the other end of the line chuckled twice. "Sounds terrible. Want to come over for a drink?"

Hearing this suggestion, the Police Chief was visibly tempted. He thought about it. There was no more work for him to do. He just said "good," then propped the phone on his shoulder, stood up while tidying his things, and said, "I'll be right there."

He put down the phone, tidied the desk, hesitated for a moment, and still put on his holster.

Just as he thought, he was stressed by Lance's presence. Who knew if he would encounter trouble or an emergency?

In the past, when he got off work, he would leave his handgun in the office, because he basically never used it. But now, he felt safer having it with him.

He then informed his secretary and drove away.

...

About twenty minutes later, he was at his old friend's house, the Director of the FBI, whom he had seen take office two years ago.

After taking off their jackets, the two hugged, then entered the living room.

The room was warm. The heating was turned up high. This was the kind of life only the rich could enjoy.

Regardless of what fuel they used, the boiler in this house would not stop all winter. Every winter, for about four to five months, they would burn about three to four hundred dollars in heating costs.

This was close to half a year's income for an ordinary person.

But they only used it for heating.

"You have to help me with something," the FBI Director shouted. The Police Chief followed him.

"The barbecue is ready. You take it to the dining table. I'll get the liquor."

After assigning the task, he went to another room, a room specially used to collect liquor. He had several liquor cabinets, all filled with various kinds of liquor.

The Police Chief used a specialized tool to take the platter out of the oven, then placed it on a small barbecue grill with a heating function on the dining table. Then he prepared some side dishes.

Vegetables, onions, some things to cut the grease, and also ketchup, salted lemons, and pickled cucumbers.

These were all necessities for eating barbecue, as well as a vegetable salad.

Not long after, the FBI Director walked out with two bottles of liquor, two glasses, and an ice bucket.

"Brandy or whiskey?" He placed the ice bucket on the dining table between them. The Police Chief looked at the whiskey. "Whiskey. Barbecue today."

The FBI Director opened the unopened bottle of whiskey, put ice cubes in the two glasses, and poured the liquor.

They were old friends, and had known each other for a long time. When they were young, they had the same dream. With time and experience, their dreams had also changed. And interestingly, their dreams still highly overlapped—to possess greater power.

Perhaps it was precisely because their values and cognition of society were always consistent that they had always been good friends.

The Police Chief didn't stand on ceremony. He directly used his hand to take a piece of sizzling, greasy beef rib from the grill.

The bone and meat easily separated completely. The thick beef rib had a layer of fat and a layer of beef. Just looking at it made one's mouth water.

"I've been hungry all day. I'll eat something to tide me over first." After he had finished speaking, he took a large, unrefined bite of the beef rib.

The melted fat was instantly torn apart, and the tender meat couldn't resist his tearing. Soon, a large piece of beef with fat entered his mouth.

The natural aroma of beef fat and a faint milky smell, accompanied by the unique smell of spices and the meat itself, created a subtle chemical reaction in his mouth. It was simply indescribable!

Especially those fatty parts, and the meat near the fat. Just a sip, and it would melt into juice. Of course, it could also be oil, but it was just so delicious!

He picked up a small piece of salted lemon and a small piece of pickled cucumber and threw them into his mouth, chewing them with the meat. The slight greasy discomfort that had just arisen was instantly suppressed.

After a big mouthful of meat, followed by a bite of a refreshing vegetable salad, sour and sweet. It could only be described as a pure enjoyment!

The two raised their glasses and clinked them. The cold whiskey was not harsh. It could even be said that the process of swallowing it down was not noticeable at all.

After putting down his glass, the Police Chief finally let out a heavy sigh. "I feel like I've come back to life."

The FBI Director laughed heartily. "That's too exaggerated. Or is it that Lance has put too much pressure on you?"

The Police Chief pursed his lips. "Both. Lance is not an easy person to deal with. He is completely different from the gangster bosses I've dealt with in the past. I can't even find an example to describe him."

"I don't know who he's like. He's like no one. He is just himself, unique, someone I haven't encountered before."

"Roland (the FBI Director), he will become a big trouble for you!"

As an "insider," the Police Chief actually knew some inside information. For example, the federal government planned to deal with the rampant gang problem after the war ended, and this problem would be handed over to the FBI, that is, the "Director Roland" in front of him, to handle.

This would be a very difficult "war."

He called this job a "war." It wasn't an exaggeration of its difficulty, but a statement of fact.

For example, the five major gang families of the Federation, they are not just mere gangs. They also have many political spokesmen at their backs, including congressmen.

To want to deal with them is not just to deal with them, but also the politicians behind them, and also the capital in their own hands, and some of their social friends.

The federal government, perhaps, had not thought that they would develop so fast and infiltrate so deeply when they had allowed the gangs to grow. Now, to want to uproot them would become exceptionally troublesome.

Roland was not deterred. Instead, he said with a smile, "That's what makes it more interesting, isn't it?"

"And I believe I will solve these troubles."

"No matter what forces they have behind them, and who they are, the federal government and Congress will ultimately stand on my side."

The Police Chief nodded. "There is no problem with what you said. I'm just worried about you."

"Those gangs are crazy. Just look at Lance's group."

"They directly killed their opponent at the entrance of the police station, and that driver committed suicide this morning. Before committing suicide, he met with the lawyer his family hired for him."

"I suspect that the lawyer brought him the suicide order that Lance had given him. After the lawyer left, he returned to his detention room and chose to commit suicide."

Although this matter had been handled quickly, the Police Chief was still uneasy when he talked about it now.

"They have no regard for the law, they will not abide by the law, and they do not fear the law. Dealing with them is not a simple matter, Roland. It's possible that they will directly come after you."

Director Roland looked composed. It could even be said that he had a special kind of demeanor, a temperament. "If you, and I, people like us who have been entrusted with a special mission, don't dare to deal with these gangs,"

"Can you expect others to deal with them?" Director Roland shook his head. He used a small knife to cut the beef on his plate.

He piled the cut beef, onions, and pickled cucumbers together and put them in his mouth.

After chewing for a few times, he continued, "This is our mission!"

The Police Chief smiled bitterly. "That's why I'm only a Police Chief, and you're already the FBI Director. You can go farther than me."

Roland just responded with a smile. It wasn't that he had really gone farther than the Police Chief, but that his purpose was stronger.

Some also said that he was a madman, always doing things that seemed a little abnormal. Whether it was dirty work or hard work, he did it.

It was all to climb higher!

Now that he had finally gotten such an opportunity, he certainly wouldn't give it up. He wouldn't treat the FBI as his limit. He wanted to go to a higher place, and he needed to show his value even more.

The Police Chief reminded him, "The Lance Family and the Perez Family will definitely have an all-out firefight after the war. You can totally let them fight until they are both crippled before you deal with them."

"You can even consider introducing more gang forces to make the scope of their firefight even larger."

Roland nodded. "That's a good suggestion. I will consider it carefully."

The two ate the barbecue, drank the whiskey, and chatted about their work, as well as some rumors in New Golden City, or secrets of the federal government.

This was just an ordinary gathering, but it was not so ordinary.

Roland once again firmly remembered the name "Lance White," and treated him as an opponent worthy of his attention.

At the same time, he also thought of the news that had been sent back from the Golden Port City precinct. The Lance Family had completely infiltrated every aspect of Golden Port City and even Likalai State.

Whether it was the city hall, the state government, or the city police department or the state police department, from top to bottom, almost all of them were their people, or had a very close relationship with them.

So much so that for two years, they had not been able to collect much criminal evidence related to the Lance Family, nor did they dare to.

It wasn't just the government and law enforcement departments on the surface that had colluded with Lance. Even the ordinary citizens seemed to be very supportive of Lance.

The work of the entire Golden Port City precinct had not made any progress.

This was a formidable opponent that deserved to be taken seriously.

...

As the end of the year approached, all kinds of things were no longer surprising.

After all, it was almost the end of the year. People always had some special feelings for the last month.

They hoped that their children could come back and that the family could be reunited—this mainly referred to the poor. The rich never worried about this.

And because the federal people would return to the places where they lived, all kinds of folk organizations in New Golden City also became exceptionally active.

For example, the Workers' Party was also promoting their cause recently. They were distributing flyers on the street, calling on more people to pay attention to or join the Workers' Party, and to speak up for themselves.

The establishment of the Workers' Party had not brought more power or influence to the unions. On the one hand, the war was relatively intense, and on the other hand, the Workers' Party was now like a joke to the public.

They had no seats in Congress, and no one like a governor or a mayor had joined the Worker's Party, or their own people had won the election.

So for a short period of time, although they had been established and seemed very busy, the feeling they gave people was not very good.

Only when they had taken a state governorship, and had at least a few seats in Congress, would they be considered to have truly stepped onto the political stage.

If they couldn't do these, then the Workers' Party was no different from some of the fraternities and sororities in the schools.

As for how to make their people win the election, they naturally had to win over the voters and continue to expand their propaganda.

Lance's vehicle was slowly moving forward on the road. The snow on the ground made the surface a bit slippery. Along the way, he had already seen several car accidents that had occurred because the brakes had failed on the ice.

The vehicle continued to advance. This was the city of New Golden City, and also the center of the Federation's "line of sight."

If you held up a sign in the countryside, no one would pay attention to your plight, but if you held up a sign here, someone would definitely notice you.

Many reporters also liked to wander around here. They could always find some unique news. Some of it was indeed of high reporting value.

The convoy passed another intersection, and then slowly parked on the side of the road.

In the distance, a large group of people holding anti-war slogans were gradually approaching. They had almost completely occupied the road, and vehicles could not pass.

The ones who were walking in the very front were constantly waving their fists, and were shouting loudly the slogans of their parade and demonstration.

There were many reporters around who were constantly taking photos of them, or interviewing some of the participants of the parade.

Lance saw some of the names that Senator Cleveland was concerned about. These people were all "social activists," or they could be considered "non-partisan opinion leaders." To put it more simply, they were public intellectuals with a stance.

They were paid to do things. This was what these people were all about.

Because they had a relatively professional background, and also a certain amount of fame and social influence, there would always be some who firmly believed that what they said was the truth.

These people were also using their influence on society to profit from it.

In the past, their employers were often different enterprises, and politicians.

And now, there were some more foreign forces.

They didn't care who paid them, and what they had to say. All they cared about was whether the money could go into their pockets, and whether they could gain more attention, and greater influence from this matter!