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

Chapter 1366: The Choice of "Detective Doudou"
Detective Fusco was a little panicked at this time.

After providing the information of the "Matador" gang to the FBI, the scene he most hoped to see was that the FBI would launch a thunderous attack and wipe out the entire drug trafficking group in one fell swoop, so that he would have no worries from then on.

But he also knew that was impossible, because the "Matador" was just like the large and small drug gangs on the streets of New York. The real bosses were hiding in Mexico and would not easily appear in the United States.

Those in charge of drug sales are all small bosses, whose families are left in Mexico. Some of them have sisters who are simply the bosses' lovers or concubines to ensure their "loyalty."

So Fusco's idea was to settle for the next best thing. If Jack could bring the FBI-SWAT team to arrest the small boss who threatened him and his men, it should be able to guarantee the safety of him and his family.

However, what he waited for was only an expressionless man in a suit. Reese was carrying a suitcase and asked him to lead the way to find the gang members.

Deafening Latin music echoed in the corridor through the thin door panels. "Detective Doudou" stood at the entrance of the corridor, holding a pistol and closing his eyes in thought.

"What's wrong with you?" Reese felt that he looked a little strange.

"Of course I'm praying to God. These cunning drug dealers won't be fooled by your empty suitcase. Once we launch the raid, we must not let any of them go."

Fusco took a deep breath and managed a flattering smile. "Are you sure we can go in together? Don't you want me to guard the back door?"

Reese shook his head speechlessly, grabbed his collar and pushed him to the door of the apartment. "No need, just ask them to open the door."

There was a heavy knock on the door, and several gang members who were hugging and touching the Latina girl in the room subconsciously stopped what they were doing.

The bearded little leader pulled out a Desert Eagle from his waist and looked out the door through the peephole. After seeing Fusco's big face, he turned around and winked at his men, signaling them to turn down the music.

"Detective Fusco, did you bring the money?"

Seeing Fusco, with sweat on his forehead, showing the suitcase in his hand through the peephole, the little leader couldn't help but smile proudly.

He really didn't expect that this detective was so cowardly. He just brought two people to his door, but he was scared to such an extent that he vomited out the millions of drug money he had taken.

Although he was secretly proud in his heart, the young leader still had basic vigilance. He pointed his gun at his three men, signaling them to be on guard, and opened the safety chain on the door.

Reese was waiting for this moment. He snatched the suitcase from Fusco and kicked the door hard.

The wooden door opened with a sound, and the flying suitcase hit the little leader's chin hard. The sound of broken bones was drowned out by the woman's scream.

The man closest to the small leader just took out a small pistol, but he felt a pain in his wrist and the gun flew away. Then his eyes went dark and Reese punched him hard, breaking his nose.

Fusco stood at the door with a pistol in hand, staring blankly at Reese swinging the aluminum suitcase, making a whirring sound, and in no time he knocked the remaining two gang members to the ground.

The Latino girls who were originally sitting on the sofa obviously had rich experience in this kind of thing. They quickly stopped screaming, bent down, covered their mouths, and ran out of the room quickly. During this time, no one even dared to look up.

Fusco leaned against the door with a dull expression, sucked his beer belly hard, and let several Latin girls pass by him and flee in panic. "This gun is good." Reese picked up the Desert Eagle dropped by the little leader, pressed the latch and the magazine fell into his palm smoothly, then pulled the slide, and a loaded .357 bullet jumped out of the ejection port and was caught steadily.

"You guys." The bearded young leader who was knocked down first still had some consciousness. Just as he was about to say a few harsh words, he was knocked unconscious by the butt of a gun.

Fusco looked at Reese in surprise as he put on gloves, opened the suitcase, and stuffed the bags of white powder on the table into it. "What are you doing? Why are you stealing their goods?"

"I'm doing this to do good things." Reese packed at least four or five kilograms of white powder on the table into the suitcase and turned to leave.

"But shouldn't you kill them? They will cause me trouble again later." Fusco became even more anxious now.

Reese looked back at him, a hint of sneer on his lips, "Kill them or send them to jail yourself, it's up to you."

Hearing the footsteps behind him disappear in the corridor, Fusco stood frozen in place, a look of helplessness written all over his face.

He never thought about sending this drug dealer to prison. If he did that, he might be shot by the Mexican gang behind this guy.

You have to know that the goods that Stiles and his corrupt policemen had snatched from these drug dealers before were only the amount that Reese had just taken away.

Fusco has now lost contact with "HR" and the undercover arranged by Director Reagan has not yet been deployed, so the first reaction when encountering trouble is to find Jack, the FBI.

Although in his opinion, Jack and Reese are two "plague gods" whom he cannot afford to offend, the former at least has an FBI identity and should help him for the sake of Director Reagan, or at least not stand by and watch him die.

However, he didn't expect that the young FBI agent just sent him back to wait for news. The person who came in the end was still Reese, the man in a suit who looked even more difficult to deal with and who had forced him to go to Oyster Bay to bury the body.

Fusco's palm holding the pistol was full of cold sweat. He looked at the four drug dealers lying on the ground with eyes that were sometimes cold and sometimes fearful. His fingers kept opening and closing and then clenching again. Finally, he gritted his teeth and chose to turn around and leave.

Reese seemingly gave him two options, but whether to kill these guys or put them in handcuffs, he didn't have the courage to do it.

Fusco knew very well that he was just a low-level detective, a mediocre and unknown person.

It had been ten years since he last shot at a suspect. At that time, he was just a street patrolman, a young man who had just started working. He shot down a suspect who was committing a crime in the street.

That was also the only time he was awarded for merit in his police career. After accumulating several years of experience, he became a detective based on this achievement.

But the passion of his youth soon disappeared with his growing beer belly and gradually rising hairline.

With his career going nowhere and his marriage failing, life quickly smoothed out Fusco's edges. Raising and accompanying his son to grow up, and finally retiring and receiving a generous pension seemed to be his only remaining goals.

But life doesn't seem to want to see him have it too easy. After being transferred to the drug enforcement team, Stiles, on behalf of "HR", extended a "poisonous" olive branch to Fusco.

(End of this chapter)