American Detective: Starting as a Rookie Cop in an American TV Show

Chapter 1310: Black Eating Black Interception
In the small warehouse room behind the hardware store, the gangsters were stunned at the table full of rifles and pistols. The leader, a second-generation gangster named Anton, was holding an Uzi submachine gun and showing off, until he was scolded by his uncle and put the gun back on the table in dissatisfaction.

"Old man, can we go and see tonight's transaction?" Anton rubbed his hands and shook his legs, as if he was high.

His uncle couldn't help but sneer, "I'm just worried that you'll wet your pants."

Before Anton could refute anything, a strange voice came into the room, "Do you know where the bathroom is?"

There were a total of six or seven people in the room, including Anton and his uncle, sitting around a long table full of weapons. When they heard the sound, they were all startled and turned to look at the door.

A smile appeared on Reese's poker face, warm and sincere, "Hello, Anton, it's really nice to see you again."

"Do you know this guy?" Seeing Reese's familiar look, Anton's uncle hadn't reacted yet and subconsciously thought that he was a friend of his stupid nephew.

Reese was no longer dressed like a homeless man as he had been in the subway. He was now wearing a well-tailored handmade suit. His originally messy hair was tidied up by Jessica, and he even put on some styling mousse before going out in the morning.

The most important thing was that his beard was shaved clean. Now his chin was clean and he looked at least ten years younger. How could Anton connect the cool man in a suit in front of him with the homeless man who beat him up on the subway before.

The group of people in the room were still in a daze. Reese's eyes had already fallen on the long table full of guns. With his eyes shining, he couldn't help but take a step forward and asked with concern, "Have you ever taken a safety education class?"

There was a series of cocking sounds, and at least half of the people at the scene pulled out their pistols from their waists and pointed them at Reese. At this time, even a fool could see that the man in a suit in front of them was not a good person, but for a moment he could not figure out where his confidence came from.

Reese cooperated by raising his hands, still talking to the little yellow-haired boy closest to him.

"Take the way you hold the gun. Holding it sideways like this not only makes aiming difficult, but the shell casings ejected after firing can also hit your eyes, like this."

Before he finished speaking, he stepped forward, grabbed the little yellow-haired man's arm with his left hand, and controlled his gun-holding hand with his right hand, and pulled the trigger repeatedly at the other people in the room.

Screams and gunshots rang out one after another. In less than three or four seconds, the gangsters in the room were unable to fire a single shot. They were either shot in the chest, shoulder or knee.

Anton, who had the slowest reaction, was the only one who was not injured. After finding that his companions including his uncle had all fallen to the ground, he was very tactful and raised his hands obediently.

"I told you guys you should get some proper training." In a good mood, Reese picked up a travel bag and began to pick through the weapons on the table.
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"A batch of arms can be sold for at least $20 on the black market, which is enough for these guys to stay in prison for a long time. But I am more curious about how much you took."

Danny walked over to Jack's car and curiously wanted to look inside.

"Most of them are left for you." Reese gestured with his eyes at the black travel bag on the back seat. Unlike some people who have a hoarding habit, he only picked out a few things that he liked.

Among them is an M203 grenade launcher, the same model that Marvin the Crazy Old Man hid in the pink pig doll.

The ambulance and police cars in front of the hardware store were still sirens on, and several hooligans who had been shot were dragged into the cars by the ESU team members with miserable cries. "Next time, if possible, it's better not to make the scene so bloody." Although Danny said this, his tone was somewhat gloating.

After all, that gang of second-generation gangsters had made him lose face before, and now that one of them was still alive, he just said it casually out of habit. After all, the person who took action was not a policeman after all.

Reese glanced at Jack expressionlessly, "Someone has already reminded me, so except for the ones who pointed guns at me, everyone else was shot on the knees."

Danny was obviously choked, and looked like he wanted to ask something like "If Jack hadn't reminded you, would you have left a lot of dead bodies on the ground or something?"

But after a moment of stunned silence, he shook his head, sighed, patted the car door, turned around and left to deal with the aftermath.

It was already dark. Jack started the car, put on his headphones and was about to ask Finch about the surveillance situation, but the other party spoke first.

"I found Mike. He just ran out of the subway, but someone caught him before us and is turning on the recording function on his phone. Listen."

Reese, realizing that the situation was not good, quickly put on his headphones. Then an unpleasant duck voice came into the ears of the two men, "Little Mike, you don't seem to be telling the truth. Tell me the truth about who the policeman who came to see you was. What did you say to him?"

Then someone else spoke up, a black man with an obvious rap accent, "There's no need to waste time talking to him. Just make a few holes in the back of his head and throw him into the gang territory in Harlem. There will be a few bodies cleared out there one day."

Finch's voice became noticeably tense, and this time he even raised his voice a few notches unconsciously. "Did you guys hear that?"

Jack stepped on the accelerator, the police lights came on and the shrill sirens sounded. "Don't panic, they are unlikely to kill people directly in the car. Look at our position and tell me where is the best place to intercept them."

As he spoke, he had already picked up the phone. If Finch was not sure, he would immediately call the operations center in the federal building for support, and even initiate traffic control if necessary.

Fortunately, Finch was surprisingly helpful and gave an answer almost immediately, "Uh... the intersection of 97th Street and Riverside Drive, if you can make it within ten minutes."

Jack glanced at the tablet displaying the navigation route, turned the steering wheel to the right and lightly pressed the accelerator. The engine of the GMC pickup truck emitted a low roar, and with its high chassis it rushed directly onto the sidewalk, and after nimbly avoiding the traffic, it turned into an alley.

"You have to do something!" Finch, who was standing in front of the computer, was so nervous that his voice became a little distorted.

The brakes squeaked and Jack, who had turned off the police lights and sirens in advance, stopped the car. It only took him 7 minutes from the beginning to now.

"Calm down." Reese opened the glove box in front of the passenger seat, took out a black ski mask and put it on, stuffed a tear gas grenade into the M203 grenade launcher, and then calmly opened the car door and got out.

Turning the intersection, a Ford Explorer was driving towards this side. Reese raised the M203 and pulled the trigger. The tear gas grenade drew an arc, shattered the windshield, and fell accurately into the car.

(End of this chapter)