Chapter 193 The Vagrant Dumping

It was six in the morning. The rain in Seattle had finally stopped, but the sky remained overcast, without a glimmer of light.

On the edge of the West Side, on 15th Avenue, there is a Mexican taco restaurant called "Old Aztec".

The shop's signboard is faded, and the shop itself is small, but every morning the rich aroma of tortillas and roasted meat wafts out.

In immigrant cities like Los Angeles or Seattle, top drug lord agents would never be foolish enough to spend every day in the same auto repair shop.

The saying "a cunning rabbit has three burrows" is a basic rule of survival.

The auto repair shop was used for handling bulk shipments and money laundering, while the basement of this taco shop served as a safe house for Maria to meet and process daily intelligence.

After all, hundreds or thousands of Latinos come and go from these cheap fast food restaurants every day. Even if FBI agents were to stare with their eyes wide open, they would not be able to distinguish from the surveillance footage who is a drug dealer and who is a cleaner who has just finished a night shift.

The pantry in the back kitchen of the taco restaurant is filled with the aroma of onions, cilantro, and aged cured meats.

Maria was sitting unceremoniously on top of a pile of frozen pork belly.

She had changed out of her oil-stained mechanic's clothes into a loose gray hooded sweatshirt, and her hair was casually tied into a bun.

She held a freshly made, steaming beef taco in one hand, chewing it with relish, and a bottle of cheap Corona beer in the other.

The heavy iron door to the storage room was pushed open, and Pablo entered, bringing with him the chill of the early morning.

His face looked somewhat pale, and there was still lingering shock in his eyes. Even his clothes had a few drops of mud on them that he hadn't wiped off.

"Big sister..."

Pablo swallowed hard, walked up to Maria, and lowered his voice as if afraid of disturbing something unseen.

Maria swallowed the beef in her mouth without even lifting her eyelids.

"What? Did you see a ghost? I told you to keep an eye on things in Eighth Street, and you fell into a sewer?"

Pablo shook his head, grabbed a bottle of mineral water next to him, and gulped down two mouthfuls before he could finally calm his breathing.

"It's scarier than seeing a ghost. Sister, your previous judgment was absolutely brilliant."

Pablo leaned closer and reported to his superior with lingering fear:

"I didn't dare get too close."

"The cops in the West District have all gone crazy lately. Before, you could get them to talk by giving them a few hundred dollars, but last night I had someone try to contact two familiar faces, and they didn't even dare to answer the phone. They just blocked me."

"So I had to pay a few drug addicts who were wandering the streets to pretend to be homeless and stroll around outside the police line."

Pablo took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly.

"The Pink Swan Club... is completely finished."

"Lamar's men, and Darrell's old gang, have all been wiped out."

"The drug addict I bribed saw with his own eyes that a refrigerated truck went back and forth and took away more than thirty body bags through the back door."

Maria paused for half a second while biting Taco.

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flashing in her languid eyes, but quickly returned to calm.

"More than thirty? That little bastard Lamar really went all out. Darrell and his gang are useless too, getting beaten up like this by a bunch of drug-addicted idiots."

"Not all of it is from Lamargan!"

Pablo abruptly interrupted Maria.

"The drug addict said he saw several plainclothes officers come out of there, covered in blood and smelling of gunpowder."

"None of the patrol officers on the perimeter went in to fire; they were all taken down by those plainclothes officers. And..."

Pablo lowered his voice, a hint of fear in it.

"Tray is definitely dead. I saw his body being carried out through binoculars from a high point; there was a huge hole in his head."

"And Tyrone, that mad dog who manages modified cars, isn't he close to Darrell too?"

"I reckon they're dead in there too. Anyway, Darrell and Lamar's groups are completely wiped out."

Maria took out a Marlboro, put it in her mouth, and then remained silent for more than ten seconds.

She showed no sadness or anger at Trey's death, only somewhat disgustedly tossing the remaining half of the taco into the trash can.

"A fool is a fool."

Maria gave a cold laugh, picked up her Corona, and took a sip.

"I told him a long time ago to find his own way to survive. And what happened? Not only did he not survive, he also broke our Seattle line."

She turned to Pablo and pointed at him with the unlit cigarette.

"Now you understand why I scolded you before, right?"

"If I had listened to you and sent a few Sicarios (gunners) to back up Trey, do you think one of our brothers would be lying in a body bag being fed to the dogs right now?"

Pablo nodded repeatedly, his back already covered in a layer of cold sweat.

"Eldest sister is wise."

"If you hadn't stopped us, we'd probably be trapped in our beds by the FBI and DEA SWAT teams by now."

"These Seattle cops have absolutely no sportsmanship; they actually sent tactical squads to slaughter gangsters."

"When have Americans ever talked about martial virtue?"

Maria chuckled, jumped off the freezer, and brushed the ice crystals off her trousers.

"Tray is dead, so be it. He was just a piece of trash."

"However, Marcus is dead, Darrell and Lamar are dead, even a tough guy like Tyrone has fallen in. The Bloods are now completely disorganized in the West End."

Pablo asked with some concern:

"So what do we do next? The West District accounts for a third of our total shipments, and now nobody's buying them. Should we take advantage of the chaos and promote a minor leader to a higher position?"

"You're here again?"

Maria looked at Pablo like he was an idiot and slapped him on the head.

"Supporting someone to usurp power within a stable gang is called investment."

"To support your boss in a chaotic mess, where cops are red-eyed and biting everyone in sight, is tantamount to suicide!"

She walked to the sink in the storage room, turned on the tap, and washed her hands.

"Notify all distributors and smuggling routes to cease all large-scale transactions for the time being."

"Whether it's a few kilograms of cocaine or a whole box of methamphetamine, keep it all in the warehouse. Not a single gram is allowed to be sent to the West District."

Pablo was taken aback: "Supply cut off? What are we going to eat for the next two weeks?"

"Eat my ass!"

Maria grabbed a tissue to dry her hands, her eyes turning extremely cold and pragmatic.

"The Blood Gang is leaderless now. Those dozens of street thugs will fight each other like mad dogs over territory and supplies. We just need to sit on the sidelines and watch."

"Remember our rules: we're here to sell goods, not to wage war."

"Once their infighting is over, whoever can gain a foothold by stepping on the corpses of others, whoever can knock on our door with enough US dollars, we'll sell the goods to them. As for those Tom, Dick, and Harry who want to take advantage of the chaos to buy goods now..."

She snorted coldly.

"Just tell them to get lost. Sinaloa Group doesn't offer credit for its goods, and it doesn't invest in people who die."

……

9:00 AM, Seattle City Hall.

Mayor Douglas Reynolds' office is located on the top floor of the building, with huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the somber city skyline.

The office was furnished with heavy, handmade Persian carpets, and several abstract paintings, though seemingly incomprehensible, were priced extremely high. The entire room was permeated with an expensive and pungent woody cologne scent.

"Snapped!"

A copy of the Seattle Times, still smelling of ink, was slammed heavily onto the large mahogany desk.

The front page headline prominently featured the elegant and confident smiling face of Victoria Sterling, the West Precinct Chief.

The title, written in bold black font, read: "West Side Crackdown on Organized Crime, Pink Swan Club Night, Chief Sterling's Promise of Absolute Security."

Reynolds tugged at the $800 silk tie around his neck in frustration, his once neatly styled, sparse hair now somewhat disheveled.

"Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on?"

Reynolds braced his hands on the desk, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the two people standing in front of the desk.

"Victoria Sterling! The one who rose to power because of her dead father." !

"She didn't even have her PR department give City Hall a damn heads-up before announcing the victory in the newspapers!"

Reynolds sat bolt upright and roared, pointing at the photo in the newspaper.

"Look at these numbers! Crime rate hits a ten-year low!"

"This morning, those old fogies from the Police Foundation directly deposited a three million dollar donation check into the West Precinct's account! They're practically slapping my face in the face!"

Standing on the left is the police chief, named Finch.

He was a pot-bellied old bureaucrat who always carried a black-covered memorandum in his hand.

In the American system, the Director General is appointed directly by the mayor, so he was Reynolds's absolutely loyal lackey.

Director Finch looked around awkwardly and coughed lightly.

"Mr. Mayor, I have reviewed the preliminary report submitted by the West Precinct in the early hours of this morning."

"They characterized the incident as an extreme shootout triggered by a dispute over the distribution of spoils within the gang."

"The report says that Lamar and Darrell's men riddled each other with bullets, and Leon Vance's special operations team only forced their way in at the end of the firefight, killing a few gunmen who put up a fight and calming the situation."

"You're talking nonsense!"

Reynolds grabbed the ashtray from the table and slammed it onto the carpet.

Do you take me for a three-year-old?

"More than thirty fully armed gang members fought each other until the very end, leaving not a single one alive?"

"When that madman named Leon and his men came out, not a single hair was missing?"

"This is fucking insulting to my intelligence! They must have gone in and carried out a massacre!"

The chief of staff standing on the right was a thin, middle-aged man with a severely receding hairline.

He was holding a tablet computer and habitually tapping the edge of the screen with his fingers.

The chief of staff smiled obsequiously, trying to ease the tension.

"Mayor, on the bright side, this is also a major victory for public security."

"As the highest-ranking official in Seattle, you could easily include this achievement in your list of accomplishments at the afternoon press conference."

"After all, the police are under your command..."

"I'm a leader my ass!"

Reynolds was so angry he almost spat out a mouthful of blood, pointing his finger at the chief of staff and yelling at him.

"Is Sterling one of us? The police union and those conservative financiers behind her are dreaming of kicking me out of this chair!"

"Every victory she wins now is paving the way for the next election! She wants to turn Seattle into a Republican stronghold!"

The chief of staff was sprayed with spittle, awkwardly took out a handkerchief to wipe his face, quickly adjusted his thinking, and began to seriously analyze the situation.

"You're right. But the problem is, no matter how outrageous the truth may be, Sterling handled the procedures flawlessly. There must be signs of a shootout on those bodies."

"And to be honest, the citizens don't care how the gangsters died; they only care about the outcome. Indeed, you can't find a single gangster with a gun wandering the streets of the West District anymore."

The chief of staff swiped his tablet and brought up several sets of data.

"Lyon Vance's current image is too troublesome."

"Ever since the idolization movement following the last industrial zone incident, whenever he appears on camera, citizens automatically regard him as their guardian angel."

"Even if we release some negative rumors about his violent law enforcement in the media, we will be immediately boycotted."

"What's worse is that conservative media outlets like Fox News are now treating him like their own father."

"If we investigate him under the pretext of human rights or procedural justice, Fox's top anchor will definitely accuse us of being left-wing traitors who protect drug dealers during prime time."

The chief of staff got more and more excited as he spoke, completely unaware that Reynolds' face had turned as black as the bottom of a pot.

"Furthermore, Mr. Mayor, don't forget that you personally awarded Lyon a medal after the last incident in the industrial zone."

"You've reaped a reputation for effective governance from him."

"If you forcibly tear down the idol now, those voters will think you're a hypocrite who uses someone and then abandons them, and your approval rating will drop by at least five percentage points..."

"Shut up! You stupid pig who only knows how to look at poll data!"

Reynolds, unable to contain himself any longer, grabbed a pen from the table and threw it at his chief of staff.

The chief of staff was shocked. "Damn it, he criticizes me whether I say nice things or give a serious analysis. Is he crazy?"

He ducked, and the pen hit the picture frame on the wall before bouncing to the ground.

Reynolds paced anxiously behind his desk, his leather shoes making no sound on the carpet.

"Leon Vance...that madman is a ticking time bomb!"

"If we continue to allow him to enforce the law in such extreme violence on the streets, sooner or later he'll turn some innocent passerby or some damn minority group into a sieve!"

"When a massive human rights scandal breaks out, the fire will definitely reach those of us who came to power by relying on a left-wing base!"

Director Finch had been observing the mayor closely, and only after the mayor had vented his anger did he open the memo in his hand and tentatively begin to speak.

"Mr. Mayor, since we can't find fault with his procedures, how about a promotion in name only, but a demotion in reality?"

"We can give Lyon a large bonus, award him an honorary title similar to Seattle Police Ambassador, and then transfer him away from the front line to teach shooting at a police academy or give legal education lectures to elementary school students."

Reynolds stopped and rubbed his throbbing temples, immediately rejecting the suggestion.

"It won't work."

Reynolds recalled the scene at the city hall press conference a while ago.

"That bastard doesn't buy into political correctness at all. I was on stage trying to win him over, and he just threw his prepared speech aside."

"He has those damn old-school Republican tough guy traits in his bones, and he will never obediently become a mascot."

Reynolds sighed and sat back in his large leather swivel chair.

"Moreover, if we forcibly remove him from the front lines, what will those tech elites and conservative financiers think? They will think we are compromising with criminals."

"Political donations from centrists will be withdrawn immediately. We cannot afford this loss."

A brief silence fell over the office. Only the faint hissing sound of the air conditioner vents could be heard.

Director Finch closed the memo, a sinister glint in his eyes.

"Mr. Mayor, if forcing it doesn't work, perhaps we can try a different approach."

Director Finch took a step forward and lowered his voice.

"I just reviewed the security updates submitted by each branch office."

"Because of last night's purge in the West End, the gangs there are basically too scared to show their faces now. This has led to a very interesting chain reaction."

"The security situation has become 'too safe'."

A cold smile curled at the corner of Director Finch's mouth.

"The gangs in the South and North districts don't dare to set foot in the West district at all now, even for the sake of collecting debts."

"Furthermore, there are no more gangs collecting protection money in the West District, and for the time being, no one dares to openly seize territory on the streets... Guess who likes this environment the most?"

The chief of staff paused for a moment, then his eyes lit up and he immediately chimed in, "Homeless people! And those drug addicts!"

"That's right."

Director Finch nodded.

"Homeless people have a keener instinct than rats. They know where they won't get beaten up by gangsters and where it's the best place to pitch a tent."

"We can use municipal scheduling to subtly and intentionally drive the homeless populations from the South and North districts to the West district."

The chief of staff rubbed his hands together excitedly.

"This is brilliant! Chief Finch, you can issue internal orders to the patrol officers in other districts to conduct intensive 'city cleanup' at night."

"Just drive all those homeless people across the boundary line and into Sterling's territory!"

Reynolds raised an eyebrow and leaned forward slightly.

"Go on."

Director Finch nodded and began to explain his ideas in detail.

"Mr. Mayor, Leon Vance is indeed a formidable fighter. He can kill over thirty armed drug dealers without batting an eye, because it was counter-terrorism, a self-defense action. But..."

Director Finch drew out his words, his tone full of politician calculation.

"He would never dare to shoot hundreds or thousands of unarmed homeless people who just urinate or defecate on the lawns of wealthy neighborhoods or inject fentanyl on benches."

"If he dares to shoot a homeless person or break a drug addict's ribs with a baton, we can immediately and legitimately have the Ministry of the Interior suspend him on charges of police brutality and human rights violations!"

"Even Fox News can't save him!"

"What if he doesn't shoot?" Reynolds asked.

"If he doesn't shoot, then Sterling is doomed."

"A massive homeless population will swarm every street corner in the West Side like locusts. Theft, robbery, public urination, needles everywhere..."

"These petty security incidents will be like a quagmire, completely dragging down the police force of the western precinct. The skills of the Lyon counter-terrorism special police are useless when dealing with a bunch of crazy people who are soiling themselves."

"When those tech elites and wealthy people living in the West Side have to step in homeless excrement every morning when they go out, do you think they'll still donate to Sterling?"

"They will abandon her immediately, and even demand that you replace this incompetent branch chief right away."

After hearing this perfect plan, the gloom on Reynolds' face completely disappeared.

He leaned back in his chair, let out a long sigh of relief, and a satisfied smile appeared on his face.

Then, he picked up the Blue Mountain coffee on the table, which had gone a little cold, and took a sip.

"Very good. Finch, you're in charge of this. Do it cleanly, don't leave any written records."

Reynolds put down his coffee cup, turned to look at his chief of staff, and his gaze returned to its haughty and superior manner.

"Go and notify the city's sanitation department and shelters. Tell them that the city hall is currently facing budget constraints, and that the cleanup and transfer of homeless people at the West End homeless camp will be suspended indefinitely, effective immediately."

"As for what excuses to use to deal with the media, such as the nonsense about respecting the living space of vulnerable groups, you can make that up yourself."

Reynolds looked out the window at downtown Seattle and gave a cold laugh.

"Since Victoria Sterling and her superheroes are so keen on maintaining order, let them take good care of these homeless people for the next few months."