Life in North America, you call this an autopsy officer?!
Chapter 361 - 225: The Fake

Chapter 361: Chapter 225: The Fake

Passed a gun store.

Brian said to Chief Flory who was driving, "Chief, I need to stock up on some ammo."

Chief Flory shook his head:

"No need to bother, we will pass by my office along the way. I have a collection of weapons there, you can borrow whatever gun you like. Besides, you haven’t paid tax in Florida, regular gun stores won’t sell you one. They fear being baited."

Upon hearing this, Brian did not say further.

In the United States, there is no household registration system.

Normally, when a citizen lives in a new place for a while, having a fixed residence there, whether rented or bought, and has paid taxes, they will automatically become a local resident. They come under the local government’s jurisdiction, enjoy local benefits, and need to fulfill some civic duties.

Among these, having a residence and paying taxes are crucial.

With a residence and having paid taxes, the community recognizes you as an individual. You can then enjoy the rights of local residents, such as exchanging driver’s licenses, filing local lawsuits, and so on.

Otherwise, you don’t even have the right to sue...

Driving is similar, touring or passing through temporarily, you don’t need to worry, but if you loiter for longer, Brian’s California driver’s license won’t work. You must go to the local DMA agency to inquire and follow requirements like exchanging your license.

This is one of the reasons why the police have considerable power here.

Most of the time, whether you have violated local laws or not is generally up to them, at least until you have a chance to enter the courtroom and defend yourself. The standard of judgment during this period is very flexible..

It partly depends on the professionalism and work ethic of the police officer.

It partly depends on their first impression of you and their mood at that moment.

..

The small town under Chief Flory’s jurisdiction was located in a forest-surrounded area.

This marshy terrain allows the plants here to flourish.

The paths are mountainous.

Both sides are filled with dense forests and vines, and many other unknown plants.

Brian, whose eyesight was excellent, even saw bits of the leaves—cannabis.. It seemed to be growing well, albeit irregularly, possibly growing wild, not intentionally cultivated.

Of course, it wasn’t ruled out that someone had planted it here and then died.

Chief Flory probably saw it too.

He actually stopped the car, pulled out a bag from inside, filled it up, and placed it at his feet. He casually explained to Brian, "This is for Jimmy’s mother. Oh, Jimmy is one of my missing partners. His mother is old and has many age-related ailments, she needs this stuff to alleviate the pain."

It was a bizarre scene, akin to a public official harvesting drugs in front of you, claiming it was for a colleague’s mother to consume.

But here, it was too normal.

Many people simply treat this stuff as an alternative to ’cigarettes.’

From their school days, many people here start dabbling with this stuff or are goaded by their ’peers’ into trying it.

Here, if you say to a newly met friend, "Hey bro, want a cigarette?"

They’d think you lack boundary awareness.

If you say, "Hey bro, top-grade cannabis, want a drag?"

They’re likely to not mind your saliva, take a hit, and then compliment you for being a generous and good person.

"Is there a lot of this stuff around here?"

Brian asked, looking at the calm Chief Flory, curiously.

Chief Flory nodded:

"There’s quite a lot, especially in Odoran. This area is all marshland, the soil is fertile, very suitable for growing cannabis, and there are a lot of illegal immigrants in Florida. So, often, some bad guys deceive those illegal immigrants to this area and imprison them.

They use these illegal immigrants like serfs, forcing the unlucky ones to cultivate cannabis in the mountains. The luckier illegal immigrants end up being absorbed by these groups as subordinates, then managing other illegal immigrants. As for the less fortunate, when their health fails, they are sold to some trafficking organizations to draw blood and traffick organs.

But this generally doesn’t fetch much money."

In many states here, selling blood is legal.

A person can sell blood up to twice a week, $30-40 US dollars each time, just enough to buy enough cheap bread to last two or three days, with some cannabis to top it off.

When they run out of money, they can sell for the second time.

All of these are well calculated.

Of course, the blood of these people is generally exported, otherwise, with a total population of just over three hundred million in the United States, it wouldn’t be possible to provide the majority of the plasma exports worldwide.

"Has anyone escaped?"

Chief Flory shifted his gaze, remained silent for a moment, then spoke softly:

"Yes, or rather no. Occasionally, a lucky one escapes, but they all end up unable to leave. These illegal immigrants are marked with dog tags by those groups. Each dog tag corresponds to a cannabis farm gang. If the nearby residents see such a person near their home, based on the style of the dog tag, they contact the respective gang behind it. Reporting one can earn at least a thousand US dollars, along with some free cannabis..."

He didn’t continue, but Brian already understood the meaning.

On one side, money + cannabis.

On the other side, illegal immigrants, not even considered citizens, helping them could even bring trouble to oneself and family.

The choice of most people goes without saying.

Chief Flory probably felt somewhat embarrassed.