Life in North America, you call this an autopsy officer?!
Chapter 333 - 213: The Truth of the Case, An Unexpected Gunfight (First Subscription Bonus - 6)_2

Chapter 333: Chapter 213: The Truth of the Case, An Unexpected Gunfight (First Subscription Bonus Chapter 6)_2

But human rights, sorry, in the eyes of most police officers, these groups don’t even count as human.

This isn’t a joke, but a fact.

Mike could never have imagined that this time, he would encounter someone who took things seriously, even to the point of feeling indignant on others’ behalf.

Because of the unexpected situation.

Tom stayed behind to collect the body, while Brian rode in the insurance agent’s car, following the patrol cars to the precinct.

The white insurance agent was very polite and enthusiastic towards Brian, the brutal and unruly law enforcement officer, even considerately handing over his business card, hoping Brian would visit their insurance company when he had the time.

These insurance companies, they love to hire police officers or retired public servants as consultants and the like.

This way, they can leverage their connections.

...

Upon entering the interrogation room.

When the big lights were switched on, and the little book and hammer were in hand, Mike still talked tough.

He clearly understood the consequences of confessing.

It would mean his spacious House would become a tiny cell, with sewing machines he couldn’t finish operating every day, and within half a month, parts of his body would be bruised purple.

There’s no helping it, crimes committed by Hua Country people are relatively rare, they’re seldom seen in prison populations, and therefore have no affiliations, only to end up as the bullied group.

But when Brian cut off some of his hair, put the hair trimmings into a coffee cup to pour into his mouth, and considerately brought out paper and a cup of water, he broke down.

Hair milk tea, you government thug!

This damn pretty boy, why did he know so much about the torture methods from Hua Country!

"I’ll talk.."

Mike raised his hand to surrender.

According to his statement, he used to work as an immigration intermediary, of course, this immigration intermediary was just a shell company.

Wealthy people from Hua Country have their own professional channels and agencies.

Life is all about circles, those with money or the middle class all have their own circles, knowing who is reliable, so they know how to handle their children’s study abroad, their own immigration, and so forth, in a trustworthy manner.

At this time, it was many of these middle-class people who were the mainstream of those immigrating to the United States.

In fact, since the 9/11 incident, this country had no longer the spirit, energy, or enthusiasm it once had, as it was in decline from its peak, what one could consider the last of its shining afterglow.

But these groups were unaware of it.

Apart from them, the remaining majority comprised the black market labor workforce.

This group was most densely comprised of coastal Fujian residents.

Mike’s parents were from Fujian, and he still had relatives there; by referral from clients, just running his shell intermediary honestly would have been enough to ensure a worry-free life.

However, this guy got hooked on gambling.

Just earning a modest service fee or commission wasn’t enough to meet his expenditure needs anymore.

So, he started having crooked thoughts.

Having worked as an intermediary, he knew that the black market labor group was also divided into many segments.

One segment had family already here, and the only role for these intermediaries was to introduce smuggling channels and take a cut, after which they had nothing to do with them anymore.

It was not easy to cheat this segment of the workforce.

When abroad, family and relatives often stick together, especially amongst the residents of the coastal region where clan sentiments are still strong.

But there was another segment driven by sheer desperation and seduced by overseas prosperity, who came with the idea of earning several years’ hard-earned money before returning to enjoy life.

This was entirely feasible.

At that time, Hua Country was not very wealthy, exchange rates considered, work permits here were not as difficult to come by as later, if one came here and honestly earned and saved money, it was quite good for the common folk.

At least they could save enough to go back and build or buy a house and car.

With some luck, they might just catch up with the rapid development back home, achieving wealth freedom, and fare even better than those who immigrated directly.

But this was all on the premise that they didn’t run into a bastard like Mike.

After this guy had his crooked thoughts, he quickly got all the legal risks sorted out through a lawyer he often worked with, then cheaply rented the current convenience store, specifically targeting those black workers without family or relatives to exploit, not only securing work permits for them but also employing them.

He had chosen a remote location to open a convenience store.

First, because there weren’t many people around, making it easier for his own crew to commit robberies and vandalism.

Second, the rent was cheap, saving money.

As for the robber, he was Mike’s nephew.

This guy was no good bird, previously in charge as a guard for some Chinese gangs’ leaf industry parks, but later kicked out for his drug addiction.

These illegal workers, seeing Mike, a fellow countryman, not only helped them get their work cards but also provided jobs, tended to feel a strong sense of responsibility, leading to some resistance to robberies.

At that moment, when the robber pulled out a pistol and injured them before escaping after destruction, these relatively naive illegal workers would feel ashamed.

They would believe they failed to protect Mike’s property and caused him to pay for their medical expenses.

In reality, the place where they were treated was just a black clinic selling inferior products run by Mike’s relatives. Most were left with sequelae after treatment, some unlucky ones died directly, and then they were made to sign loan agreements to repay the money through labor or drug trials.

In short, there was an opportunity for yet another layer of exploitation.

Most of these exploited illegal workers didn’t have much cunning in their home country, nor any sense of law and rights, and being in unfamiliar territory, even if they sensed something was wrong, they dared not speak up.

Just like that, in a few short years, Mike had made more money than he had in the first half of his life.

But this time, there was a problem.

The illegal worker he had hired was too young, hot-blooded, and straightforward, and actually tried to pull a gun in retaliation. Mike’s nephew, in a panic, shot and killed him.

Mike, the beast, was a little frantic but also somewhat gleeful.

After all, the compensation for death was much more than for injury.

Furthermore, since the deceased was an illegal worker with only a work card and no identity, he didn’t think there would be any trouble, but he didn’t expect to run into Brian, the white-skinned, yellow-hearted guy.

Having understood what had happened, Brian felt somewhat suffocated.

He didn’t have an aversion to his fellow countrymen who merely wanted to work hard to make a living. After all, who didn’t want a better life? As long as they weren’t the kind of people who disparaged their motherland, like shepherd dogs, it was just a personal choice.

But Mike’s kind, even worse than a shepherd dog, was disgusting.

If he weren’t at the police station, Brian would have already sent this guy to meet Satan!

The rest was not up to Brian to handle.

The police department had professionals to deal with it.

Brian was a young man destined for greatness, and everyone was willing to turn a blind eye to his rule-breaking.

Some even thought he embodied the spirit of a United States officer, not as nonaggressive as he appeared to be, harboring more fondness for him.

The previous patrol officer politely prepared to send Brian back to B6 Office Building.

Brian had no objections. After messaging Tom to go back by car, he got into the patrol car and stared out at the scenery, lost in thought.

Mike would pay for his actions, but Brian always felt a weight on his chest, a sense of discomfort.

Unbeknownst to him, swarms of dark red energy surged, trying to merge into his void spirit, but as if lacking a catalyst, they were unable to succeed.

The dark red energy began to settle smoothly.

Suddenly, a woman’s urgent voice came from the police radio: "Gunfight reported near 389 Brighton District, repeat..."

The driving officer reflexively picked up the pager: "Badge number 34XX78 in the vicinity, ready to respond.."

Having finished speaking, he then realized Brian was still in the car.

The young patrol officer looked apologetic: "Autopsy Officer Brian, I’m sorry, but you might need to get off here temporarily and call your colleague for a pickup."

Brian shook his head, opening his jacket to reveal the holster under his arm: "Just go there."

He was in a bad mood and wanted to see blood.

The young officer shook his head: "It’s dangerous, the security in Los Angeles is getting worse, we’ve lost more than ten officers recently.."

"Drive!"

Brian cut him off: "You’ll soon find out who is really in danger!"

The young man probably had no idea what a NW battle sequence was and how terrifying a Second-level Staff, Dawn Warrior, could be against ordinary robbers.

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