The Sudden 999 Incident

"Hello!"

"999 incident, George, an officer has been shot on 27th Street."

"What?"

"…"

George stood up directly, holding the phone.

Looking around the bar, men of various skin colors, dressed in plain clothes, hung up their phones and, without a word, left the bar with a sense of urgency.

Boom!

The bar door was pushed open.

The sound of thunder and pouring rain entered the bar.

Wail!

Wail!

Wail!

Thirty-seventh Street.

Lake pulled the handbrake and said to Cassel, who insisted on following and sitting in the passenger seat, "Stay in the car, understand?"

Before he could finish speaking.

Cassel, ignoring the heavy rain outside, pushed the door open and got out.

Lake shook his head helplessly.

He got out of the car.

The police had already put up a canopy, and under it, a female patrol officer, about thirty years old, lay motionless on the ground.

Shot in the forehead.

Killed with a single shot.

Good heavens.

Shooting a law enforcement officer, and in such a manner, like an execution?

Was this an attempt to provoke the anger of the NYPD’s nearly eighty thousand officers?

If so.

Congratulations to that guy, he succeeded.

Lake ignored the pouring rain and, without needing to show his ID, walked into the cordon simply by being recognized.

Beckett, along with Ryan and Esposito, were the first to arrive at the scene.

Joe was also there.

After walking in, Lake greeted them.

Ryan nodded at Lake and reported the intelligence: "Rowan Ford, thirty-one years old, a patrol officer from the 22nd Precinct, was on patrol duty tonight, and this area is part of her regular patrol route."

"I know her."

Joe squatted down and looked at Rowan lying on the ground: "We went to the academy together."

"Is she married?"

"She was."

"…"

Everyone fell silent.

Joe stood up and covered his forehead: "But she’s divorced, has two kids, fuck."

Lake looked up at the surveillance camera not far away: "That camera, facing the alley entrance, did it capture anything?"

"Someone has already been sent to the traffic division to retrieve the footage."

"Damn it."

Wail, wail.

A police car suddenly started moving.

Lake and the others turned to look.

An officer ran over: "A passerby just provided information. After the gunshots, he saw a man in a hooded sweatshirt, not carrying an umbrella, hurrying away from that exit towards 82nd Street."

Soon.

Communications came through on everyone’s walkie-talkies.

"All units, pay attention, 999 incident, suspect is…"

Before the walkie-talkie could finish, the sound of successive police sirens could be heard nearby.

999 incident.

Officer injured or dead code.

This is a heinous incident.

If law enforcement officers’ lives are not guaranteed any protection, then who will protect the public’s safety? Regarding the 999 Incident, the NYPD has always had only one stance.

Whoever dares to trigger a 999, the NYPD will investigate to the end, and when the court accepts such a case, it will consider the death penalty.

This is a heinous incident and must be severely punished.

Soon.

NYPD vehicles arrived, and Rowan Ford was placed into a body bag.

The officers here also prepared to disengage.

Lake said to Beckett, Joe, and George, "If you need any help from the Department of Homeland Security, just say the word. I’ll also have the Department of Homeland Security assist with the investigation tomorrow."

The three nodded.

There was nothing they could do.

There were no direct witnesses at the scene. The closest patrol car arrived ten minutes after the incident occurred. The hooded man who had just been discovered had already vanished onto the street.

The next day.

Lake returned to the Homeland Security building and directly instructed his assistant, Tiffany, to liaise with the NYPD’s Major Crimes Division, stating that the Department of Homeland Security would not refuse any assistance it could provide.

However…

There were very few clues.

Even by the afternoon.

Another case occurred.

The victim was also a patrol officer, and this time, he was found dead inside his vehicle.

The incident took place on a main road in Queens.

When Lake arrived at the scene, the NYPD had already arrived, as usual.

But…

There were no clues.

This was Queens, and moreover, it was a district with the worst public safety and the most gangs. The surveillance cameras by the roadside were basically just for show; even if they were installed, they would be destroyed. Over time, the NYPD had become too lazy to waste money on them.

Passersby?

There were absolutely no clues.

As I said before.

This was a district with many gangs. The officer who died in the patrol car had pulled over to the side of the road, waiting for his partner to return with a burger to tide him over.

His partner had been gone for only ten minutes. By the time he returned with a Coke and a burger, his partner was already dead.

"Fuck!"

Ryan irritably ran his short hair.

"What happened?"

"The deceased officer was good friends with Ryan."

"…"

Ryan was somewhat frantic, "Damn it, he greeted me when he went out on patrol this morning."

Lake remained silent.

He was also filled with anger.

After all, no matter what, Lake was a killer with his own principles, and he had even worked in the NYPD before.

But…

With no clues, being angry was also useless.

Lake stood in place, looking around, trying to find any trace, but unfortunately, he found nothing.

The surveillance cameras were useless.

The passersby offered no clues. Moreover, even if they did, given the temperament of the gangsters in this area, heh, even if they were willing to talk, they would first need a lie detector test.

Poor mountains and bad waters breed wicked people.

In the Federation.

Most of those living at the bottom were such wicked people.

In the evening.

Lake rose from the swimming pool on the balcony, wrapped himself in a towel, and took deep breaths, looking at the New York City under the night sky.

This incident was not done by the underworld.

Lake had just taken a stroll through The Continental Hotel and, after careful confirmation, reconfirmed that the killer was not someone from within the circle.

Killers generally don’t take contracts from law enforcement.

The reason is that within the circle, killers are well aware of the wrath they’d face after killing a law enforcement officer. So, this is considered an unwritten rule. Newcomers to the circle are always told this.

Of course.

It’s not impossible for some daring killers to accept such orders.

But.

Whether it was Maureen who died last night or the patrol officer who died today, to be frank, considering their value, it would be difficult for any killer within the circle to accept this contract while risking the NYPD’s fury.

While it might sound harsh, that’s the truth.

Just like Lake.

If someone placed an order at The Continental Hotel, anything less than a million wouldn’t get a second glance. Below two million, a rookie killer might be tempted, but they’d be immediately slapped back to reality by their organization or mentor.

Given Lake’s current status, it would take at least five million for someone to even consider taking on the order and risking immense danger.

After all, Lake had the added benefit of being affiliated with law enforcement.

City councilman?

State senator.

Congressman?

These were all clearly priced at The Continental Hotel. Taking a contract for a congressman would yield similar money to Lake’s, but the risk would drop significantly.

Therefore…

If it wasn’t someone from the circle, it must be an outsider, a novice.

Random killing?

Or a hate crime?

Lake’s eyes flickered.

Three days later.

The investigations by the NYPD and even the Department of Homeland Security had hit a dead end. The only clue was a photo of a man in a hooded sweatshirt, whose appearance was unclear, only known to be male, about 1.75 meters tall, and weighing around 130 pounds.

But there were countless people like that in New York.

In the afternoon.

A message came from the New York Forensics Laboratory.

The bullet that shot Rowan Ford had disappeared after piercing her forehead, but the trajectory report for the bullet that killed the second officer had come out.

"A nine-millimeter semi-automatic rifle."

"A SIG pistol, or Stark Industries’ EAA pistol."

"EAA?"

Lake, along with Beckett and others, had arrived at the forensics lab. Hearing this, he frowned and asked, "How high is the match probability for the EAA pistol?"

The forensic technician thought for a moment. "It’s hard to say, but our lab’s opinion is that the EAA pistol is more likely."

Lake and George exchanged glances.

As for SIG pistols, many were circulated in the New York black market.

But EAA?

This pistol, specifically developed for female self-defense, was also available on the black market, but rarely.

Who would buy it, being a women’s pistol?

So…

Even though the EAA had the guarantee of Stark Armaments, this gun was rarely circulated on the black market. In fact, since the EAA pistol was released, very few black market dealers in New York were willing to purchase it or had it for sale.

Even.

Most of the EAA pistols circulating in the New York black market were stolen.

Undoubtedly.

This one was too.

It was simple.

Would someone buy a genuine pistol to shoot law enforcement officers?

Lake looked directly at George. "You go to Queens, and I’ll go to Hell’s Kitchen?"

George nodded.

There were only two black market dealers who could sell this EAA pistol currently, one in Queens and one in Hell’s Kitchen. And the biggest characteristic of these black market gun dealers was their habit of keeping records. They would write down who bought what from them.

Of course.

They wouldn’t admit it, but trust me, they would definitely keep records.

Hell’s Kitchen.

As a notorious no-man’s-land in New York City, it’s hard to imagine that Hell’s Kitchen isn’t located in the rural Queens or the common Brooklyn, but rather right next to the wealthy Manhattan.

Although Lake lived in Manhattan, he had only been to Hell’s Kitchen a handful of times.

It was simply…

beneath him.

Even though Lake wasn’t max level yet, he felt that Hell’s Kitchen was no different from a starting village. Mingling in Hell’s Kitchen felt too demeaning to him.

Why settle for this filth when he could strive for the stars?

However…

Despite not visiting often, Lake was well aware of the dozen or so gangs operating within this rectangular area, stretching from Eighth Avenue in the east to the Hudson River in the west.

Under the watchful eyes of several idle bystanders, Lake kicked open the door of the shop before him, which bore a sign reading "Used Goods Recycled."

Boom!