Chapter 242: The Police on Surveillance

An old Ford parked on a dirty street had its window tapped, waking two detectives—one old, one young—who were sitting in the driver's and passenger seats, staring blankly at the alley entrance in the distance.

The older detective was much calmer, glancing once to confirm the visitor.

The younger detective, however, had a more expressive face; at that moment, he sighed in relief and said, "Who! Oh, Senior Special Agent James, it's you."

The detective supported by the LAPD watched as the senior agent from the FBI sat in the back seat, handing over donuts and coffee.

They needed these right now. Without standing on ceremony, both took them and ate.

Agent James then asked, "You've been watching for a day and a night; have you seen the target?"

"Scarface, a white man with black-and-white hair? We haven't seen anyone like that enter or leave here," the younger detective replied while eating.

The older detective added, "The alleys here are complex; we can't rule out the target leaving from another direction."

Agent James said with difficulty, "So, we cannot confirm whether the target is here?"

"But we found a situation," the younger detective said.

"What situation?" Agent James asked.

The younger detective answered, "Yesterday at noon and in the evening, delivery personnel entered. This neighborhood is chaotic; few shops are willing to deliver here. But someone did deliver, so I imagine the tip must have been substantial. Only someone who struck it rich could afford such extravagance."

Agent James asked with concern, "Can you confirm that?"

The younger detective said, "Yesterday, I went into the alley to check the situation. The Tinkerer's clinic was just as the intel said: the iron gate was pulled down halfway, signaling someone was inside.

"During the entire day of surveillance yesterday, we saw someone who appeared injured enter the alley, likely seeking medical help. We just didn't see anyone leave; perhaps they exited from another direction."

Agent James asked, "Could they still be inside?"

"That person's injuries didn't seem that severe. And according to the intel, this underground clinic doesn't keep patients. As soon as consciousness returns, even if they can't walk, they have to crawl out."

After hearing the reply, Agent James sat in the back seat, pondering for a moment. The two detectives in the front took the opportunity to quickly finish their food; for them, this was almost instinct.

Once the two in the front finished eating, Agent James asked again, "Can you confirm the location is correct and that there should be someone inside?"

The younger detective answered, "The Tinkerer's clinic is easy to recognize. There is a street-graffiti sign on the iron roller door at his entrance, with the words 'Fixman' written on it. The storefront looks like a butcher shop, with empty transparent refrigerators."

"Can you confirm it again?"

"Then I'll go take a look." After speaking, the younger detective opened the door and got out of the car, walking naturally into the alley.

The older detective, still sitting in the car, asked, "So eager to confirm? Does this mean the higher-ups are about to take action?"

Agent James said helplessly, "According to the illegal medical personnel who were caught, the Tinkerer received a reward of one million dollars in cash.

"Only three hundred and eighty thousand plus was seized; the remaining money is in another identical briefcase. Who wouldn't be tempted?"

"So, have the higher-ups agreed on how to split it?" the older detective asked bluntly.

A flash of regret passed through Agent James's eyes. If his superiors had agreed to let him lead a raid team, the matter would have been resolved long ago. But since they didn't agree, he could only follow his superiors' instructions.

He said, "As far as I know, that illicit fund will be split fifty-fifty and seized as evidence." As for which two sides, it was naturally the FBI and the LAPD.

"As expected, now that there's a result, you're in such a hurry," the older detective said, unsurprised. "So the rest is to find a way to catch the person and the loot together before the Tinkerer hides the money. At the very least, we must catch the person."

"Exactly. The longer we drag it out, the slimmer the chances."

At this moment, the younger detective returned. Judging by his movements, he seemed well-practiced at such things, appearing very natural. He gave no impression of guilt that would draw attention from others.

He casually opened the car door, returned to the passenger seat, and immediately said, "Confirmed. The Tinkerer's clinic still has the iron gate pulled down halfway. I faintly heard sounds from inside. But to avoid drawing attention, I didn't get close enough to eavesdrop."

Agent James praised, "Good work, kid. I'll contact the team. You two get ready." With that, he left the old Ford.

The younger detective looked somewhat caught off guard and asked the older detective beside him, "What preparation do we need to make?"

"It means they will start sending people to blockade the neighborhood, contact the raid team to mobilize, and prepare to close the net and make arrests. Our task is to keep watching, ensuring the target doesn't leave."

Knowing what was about to happen, the two detectives, old and young, naturally perked up, paying attention to the alley entrance and staring closely at every person leaving there. However, this was not a bustling neighborhood, so in reality, not many people entered or exited.

The younger detective suddenly asked, "Is it okay to just arrest that doctor like this?"

"Is there anything wrong with that?" the older detective asked.

"There was news earlier about someone practicing medicine illegally. But the higher-ups never ordered an investigation, and the matter was dropped. I thought everyone believed that as long as the foolish doctor who serves the poor didn't cause trouble, we wouldn't touch him. Now they want to arrest him again?"

"This time, trouble has indeed been caused. To assist in the investigation of Andrew Saxton, a habitual kidnapper, extortionist, murder instigator, and human trafficker, we need all evidence. The doctor who performed surgery on him is certainly included."

"Heh, that sounds convincing enough for me to believe it. If it weren't for that six hundred thousand dollars," the younger detective made a complex expression.

"Heh, without some incentive, how many police officers could support their families on that meager salary without their wives and children complaining? Just consider it overtime pay," the older detective muttered, complaining about this inhumane work schedule.

The younger detective didn't harbor as much resentment as the older one, but he knew another thing. Regardless of what the situation appeared to be in the eyes of outsiders, the truth was not necessarily as outsiders imagined.

His not-so-short career had allowed him to see enough criminal cases; behind each, one could always find some seemingly 'necessary' reasons. In reality, it was all nonsense.

Good people commit evil acts under the guise of good deeds, and bad people mask evil acts with good intentions. Therefore, the younger detective did not naively believe that a doctor who exclusively serves the poor was an impeccable good person. Who knew what he was up to behind the scenes?

So, regarding whether to arrest him or not, the younger detective had no strong attachment. Anyway, no matter who it was, once dragged into the station and investigated, no one had a clean record.

Actually, the older detective thought even more; he knew what the sword-and-shield graffiti on that iron roller door represented. It was just that all those who knew chose to forget this fact out of mutual understanding.

This wasn't about daring to challenge the meaning behind that symbol, but rather that the opportunity might only come once.

(End of this chapter)