Chapter 5

The patrol station's cafeteria was filled with the rich aroma of black coffee and toasted cheese.

The door burst open as Randy Casko, a black Police Officer II, strode in with Elsa Molly, an ice-cold white rookie officer, following behind him.

As soon as Randy entered, he headed straight for Kevin's table. Without warning, he twisted his hips and pinched his voice, mimicking an extremely resentful female tone: "Screw you, Kevin! I'm Emily..."

This spot-on impression of a bitter woman instantly electrified the entire cafeteria. The previously dull and tired atmosphere vanished, and the officers around them slapped their tables, roaring with laughter.

Kevin rolled his eyes in annoyance and held out his fist.

Randy grinned and returned to his normal voice, bumping fists hard with Kevin. He'd always prided himself on his uniquely black sense of humor, often bragging in the locker room that he was "a hip-hop superstar stuck in a cop's body."

"Chief!" Randy suddenly turned around and loudly suggested to Sergeant Mona in the distance, "I strongly recommend you pair me with Kevin! Think about it—Wilshire's two most handsome men patrolling together would definitely boost our precinct's street approval ratings!"

Kevin took a sip of coffee, internally complaining like crazy. This guy's face was as black as ninety-nine percent pure dark chocolate—even if he blushed from excitement, nobody could tell. And he called himself handsome?

Before Sergeant Mona could respond, Elsa, who was passing by with her lunch tray, suddenly stopped.

The blonde rookie officer gave Randy a cold glance and delivered an icy remark: "Medical research shows that when two good-looking men spend extended time together, there's a high probability they'll change their sexual orientation."

This cutting comment instantly gave Randy goosebumps. He jumped back a step and made a big X with his hands in front of his chest: "Hell no! Sergeant Mona, I take back what I just said. I'd rather die than partner with this guy!"

Kevin went with the flow, spreading his hands with a look of regret: "What a shame. Looks like I'll just have to keep partnering with old David."

Watching Randy's antics, the cafeteria erupted in another round of explosive laughter. Even the usually serious Sergeant Mona couldn't help shaking her head.

After lunch, Kevin walked out of the cafeteria, and the breeze that hit him cleared his head considerably. His phone vibrated in his pocket—it was his mom, Amanda, calling.

As soon as he answered, Amanda's relieved voice came through: "Kevin, I heard your probation period ended early? Well done! But... you still need to call your father."

Kevin sighed helplessly: "I know, I'll call him now."

After hanging up with Amanda, Kevin dialed his father Paul Jones's number.

The phone rang twice before being answered, and a man's steady, powerful breathing came through.

"Father, it's me." Kevin leaned against the wall, his tone firm. "The probation period is over. I want to stay at the station and continue being a cop."

The other end fell into suffocating silence. After a full ten seconds, Paul finally spoke slowly: "You're an adult now, Kevin. Since this is your decision, I respect your choice."

Before Kevin could breathe a sigh of relief, Paul's tone shifted, with a hint of lingering fear: "But you need to understand—you almost died this time, and Amanda nearly had a breakdown because of it."

"I'm sorry." Kevin said quietly. "By the way, you and Mom..."

"Your mother and I are working on our problems." Paul cut off the topic decisively, then commanded in a tone that brooked no argument: "Since you're going to keep risking your life on the streets, get yourself properly equipped. I'll have finance transfer you some money. Go get the best body armor. Remember—the best!"

Listening to the dial tone, Kevin looked at the large deposit notification that popped up on his phone screen and couldn't help smacking his lips: "Now that's a real dad."

The afternoon patrol began as scheduled.

The patrol car cruised smoothly through the streets of Los Angeles. David, sitting in the passenger seat, glanced at Kevin through the rearview mirror, his gossip fire burning bright: "Come clean—what's really going on between you and that Elsa? At lunch, I clearly saw the way she was staring at you. She looked like she wanted to eat you alive."

Kevin's heart skipped a beat, but his face remained impassive as he righteously deflected: "Old buddy, don't make wild guesses. I swear, our relationship only existed during training and absolutely didn't carry over into real life!"

David hummed skeptically: "You'd better hope so. I'm warning you—don't let Captain Jones catch you having romantic relationships at the station. With his old-school style, he's never been fond of rich kids who drive sports cars to work."

After a pause, David asked curiously: "Seriously though, with your family's money, how did your parents agree to let you do this kind of work where you could catch a bullet anytime?"

"It's called fighting for justice." Kevin shamelessly spouted, then counterattacked: "Instead of worrying about me, how about your daughter Catherine? Has she been dating anyone lately?"

"Shut your mouth! Anyone who touches my daughter, I'll blast their ass with a shotgun!" David immediately bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

The two laughed and bickered in the car. Just as the atmosphere was getting relaxed, the car radio suddenly emitted a harsh burst of static.

"All units, this is dispatch. A black Mercedes is fleeing at high speed on Sixth Avenue, heading in your direction. Requesting assistance with interception!"

Both men instantly became serious. David immediately turned on the siren, while Kevin's eyes took on an intensely commanding look.

At the intersection ahead, a black Mercedes with its engine roaring charged forward like a mad bull, with two police cars with sirens blaring following far behind.

"Hold on tight!" Kevin growled.

In his mind, his Level 3 driving skills instantly activated. His hands became a blur on the steering wheel—downshifting, sharp turn, flooring the gas pedal—a series of movements flowing like water, precise to the millisecond!

The heavy patrol car's tires screeched sharply against the asphalt. The rear of the car swung out in an extremely exaggerated drift, forcibly cutting into the oncoming lane like a steel wall, positioning itself perfectly in the Mercedes's escape route!

"Screech—BANG!"

The Mercedes driver was scared out of his wits and slammed on the brakes. The front of the car stopped barely half a meter from the patrol car's door, emitting a pungent smell of burning rubber.

David gripped the passenger handle on the roof with white knuckles, his face pale and heart pounding wildly. He turned to look at the unfazed Kevin like he was looking at a monster, swallowing hard: "Jesus... did you specifically train in professional racing? With skills like that, you should be a state trooper!"

Just as they finished handling the interception, the radio cut in with a Level 2 call.

"Level 2 call! A resident on Ford Street has reported smelling an extremely pungent chemical odor. The elderly woman who called insists it's a poison gas bomb dropped by the Soviets on America."

"Soviet poison gas? That old lady's been watching too many movies." David shook his head and picked up the radio to respond. "Copy that, we're closest to Ford Street. We'll head over to check it out."

Five minutes later, the patrol car stopped in front of a house with an independent porch.

The scene before them made both men furrow their brows. The entire house was tightly wrapped in thick white plastic sheeting, and parked in front was a van with "Power Extermination and Pest Control" written on it.

David walked up and pulled out his terminal to verify the van's information: "Vehicle registration checks out. It's a legitimate pest control company."

Kevin said nothing. He casually turned on his body camera. Though he appeared relaxed, his footwork maintained a tactical stance that would allow him to draw his weapon and find cover at any moment. In this damn city, never trust the calm you see on the surface.

Just then, the house door opened. Two workers in full white protective suits and heavy gas masks walked out.

Because they were coming out, the white plastic sheeting covering the doorway was lifted, creating a gap.

In that instant, an extremely faint smell drifted into Kevin's nostrils on the breeze.

David only smelled the pungent pesticide odor and even stepped back half a step, covering his nose. But Kevin's pupils contracted sharply in that second!

In his mind, his Level 3 chemistry knowledge kicked in like instinct, rapidly breaking down and analyzing the smell. Hidden beneath the strong pesticide cover, that trace of sourness that ordinary people couldn't detect at all stood out like a searchlight in the darkness!

Damn it! This wasn't any pesticide at all—this was the distinctive volatile smell produced when ephedrine undergoes chemical reactions!

Kevin's gaze instantly locked onto the two "workers," his eyes becoming sharp as knife blades.

Pest control? This was a major drug lab disguised in a residential area!

"These dealers are real geniuses, actually thinking to use the stench of pesticides to mask the chemical smell from drug production." Kevin sneered internally.

Looking at David, who was completely oblivious and preparing to approach and ask questions, Kevin's lips curved into a bloodthirsty smile.

He muttered to himself mockingly: "Looks like I'm destined to deal with drug dealers."

Before the words finished, his right hand had already quietly moved to the gun at his waist. The cold touch of the weapon made his blood boil completely.