Marvel's whitewashing cop, you want me to save the world?

Chapter 89 Gang Investigation, School Incident

The next morning, Li En changed into his police uniform and hat and pushed open the door of the Manhattan precinct.

As soon as I stepped across the threshold, a cacophony of noise engulfed me.

The hall was much livelier than usual.

A dozen or so police officers were scattered in front of their respective workstations, with a prisoner being questioned sitting in front of each of them.

The officers gripped their pens, writing rapidly on their record sheets, their faces grim.

Li En glanced at the prisoner closest to him.

The man's pupils were completely unfocused and did not react to light at all.

My body swayed gently in the chair, and my head swayed along with it, as if the tendons in my neck couldn't support the weight of my head.

Saliva stretched from the corner of his mouth into a glistening thin line, dripping onto the floor and accumulating into a small puddle.

This situation is far worse than that of common poisonous insects.

He walked through the lobby toward the director's office. As he passed the large detention room, he peeked inside through the iron bars on the door and saw that it was packed with people.

They were all in the same situation, hunched over, standing motionless, their arms hanging slightly downwards, their fingertips swaying gently.

Water trickled down his chin and onto the ground, soaking a large area.

It was eerily quiet; not even a single shout or curse could be heard.

Li En pushed open the door to the director's office.

Brock was sitting behind his desk, one hand gripping his hair, his face so irritated it looked like he could wring out a cigarette.

He hung up the phone, looked up and saw Li En, then put the receiver on the landline.

"What's going on outside?" Li En walked to the desk, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Brock leaned back, and the chair creaked.

"A batch of new products has appeared in Hell's Kitchen these past two days, and they're more potent than any other products currently on the market."

"Everyone who has taken it turns into this state, wandering the streets like zombies, not even knowing to turn when they bump into walls."

He reached into the pile of documents on the table and rummaged through them, but found nothing. He then slapped his hand on the edge of the table.

"I've asked several major gangs, and they all said they didn't know."

"I also contacted all the informants in the small and medium-sized gangs one by one, but there was still no news."

"This thing looks like it just popped out of the ground."

Since Lee drew the line, and Brock sat down to talk with those big gangs, drug trafficking and human trafficking have indeed come to a standstill in the open.

Those gang leaders aren't fools either.

Port trade, pirated CDs, tax-evaded goods—which path can't make money?

It earns just as much as drugs, but with far less risk.

But smaller gangs are different; they can't afford to run a business the size of a port, so drugs are still the fastest way to make money.

However, at least on the surface, no one will dare to distribute goods on a large scale anymore.

Especially after Li En earned the title of Hell's Sword, the number of poisonous insects on the streets has decreased significantly.

Manhattan precinct officers now carry batons with them when they go out.

If you see a poisonous insect wandering the street, go up and hit it twice with a stick, then throw it into the alley.

Those with serious offenses are brought back, but the detention room has never been full.

Starting yesterday, things changed.

Brock picked up the now-cold cup of coffee on the table, took a swig, and gestured with a gloomy expression toward the detention room.

"The single rooms are already full, with five people crammed in each one. If this continues, we'll have to use the meeting room to hold people."

Li En leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers lightly twice on the armrest.

"Could it be a new, outside force?"

The first thing that came to his mind was Global United Investment Company.

Recently, the only outside force that has forcefully entered Hell's Kitchen is their family.

Brock shook his head.

"Impossible, outsiders can't sell anything here."

He picked up his cup again, only to find the coffee was empty. He put the cup back and continued, "It's unrealistic to completely cut off drugs. The market size in New York is huge. If you and I don't touch them, someone else will. Unless one day you sit in that chair—"

He pointed his finger toward the city hall, "—Now let's talk about preventing it."

"But even if it continues, the rules must be followed regarding whose territory it is sold on, how it is sold, and how much it is sold."

"The gangsters of Hell's Kitchen will not allow an outsider to step into their bowls and steal their food."

"The speed at which they're distributing the goods now is no small matter; they have absolutely no intention of giving anyone any face."

Li En stood up.

"I'll go to Zhishoubang and ask where the address is."

"The largest laundry factory in Midtown is the territory of the One Hand Gang," Brock casually remarked, then paused and added.

"By the way, I should also visit the Japanese Yakuza region when I have time."

Li En paused for a moment and turned around.

"Isn't the One-Handed Gang a Japanese yakuza group?"

Brock was also stunned, staring at Li En for two seconds.

"Are you still half asleep? The One-Handed Gang is Chinese, the Yakuza are Japanese."

He continued explaining, counting on his fingers: "The Japanese Yakuza in New York mainly operate funeral homes and underground arms dealing."

"The jobs that Zhishoubang does are laundry and cleaning services."

"Of course, the One Hand Gang's underhanded business is much more diverse than the Green Dragon Gang's, but they haven't expanded too much in the Hell's Kitchen area."

Li En nodded and turned to walk out.

Just as his hand touched the doorknob, Brock's voice came from behind him again.

"Li En".

He turned around.

Brock's lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just waved his hand.

"Be careful on the road."

Li En glanced at him, then pushed open the door and went out.

Brock sat in his chair, listening to the questions coming from the hall outside and the occasional low moans emanating from the detention room.

His gaze fell on the staffing chart on the corner of the table.

Frank was still paralyzed in his hospital bed, while Brett, in a wheelchair, called every few days demanding to return to the front desk, which Frank dared not agree to.

The other seriously injured officers are still in the hospital, while those with minor injuries have returned to the team, but the manpower is simply not enough to fill the current gap.

He wouldn't even lift an eyelid if those poisonous insects just hid in alleys or sewers and sucked him to death.

If you're looking for death, then go ahead and die. The police officers at the Manhattan precinct aren't social workers.

But now these people are wandering around like zombies, often standing still in the middle of the road, obstructing traffic and causing several car accidents.

If this continues, the streets will definitely descend into chaos.

He glanced at the letters of intent for cooperation from private prisons on the table.

These private prisons have a particular fondness for drug addicts.

Sending one over there can earn the police station a referral fee of thousands of dollars.

However, once prisoners enter private prisons, they either have to pay an exorbitant bail or be torn to pieces.

Dismantling in a physical sense.

He recalled the young faces he had seen as he passed by the detention room earlier.

My teeth aren't completely rotten yet, and the spots on my skin aren't very dark.

He gritted his teeth, grabbed the landline receiver, and forcefully turned the dial on the landline.

"Chief Gallo, I need backup."

Li En arrived at the Midtown Laundry Factory.

This place covers an area of ​​over 1,000 square meters, and you can hear the roar of industrial washing machines even before you enter.

The sheets and duvet covers on the conveyor belt were piled up like small mountains, steam was billowing out from the drying area, and the air was full of the smell of bleach.

The factory's daily throughput is enough to cover all the large hotels and high-end restaurants around Midtown.

A set of bedding doesn't last long from when you go in to when you come out.

The profit margin isn't high, but once the volume increases, the monthly revenue becomes quite substantial.

Li En pushed open the door and went straight to a Chinese female worker, saying that she was there to see the boss.

He didn't pull out his badge; right now, around Hell's Kitchen, that face represents the sword of hell, more effective than any other identification.

The female worker led him to the office on the second floor and asked him to wait on the sofa.

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the office door was pushed open again.

A slender old woman with her hair neatly combed walked in slowly, supported by the female worker from before, and sat down opposite Li En.

The old lady raised her head, a faint smile on her lips.

"Hello," she said in Chinese.

The female worker next to him immediately translated, "Mrs. Gao sends her greetings, Officer Li En."

Lee Eun accepted it directly in Chinese.

"Hello, Mrs. Gao, may I ask what your One Hand Gang and Global United Investment Company are secretly doing?"

He made no small talk, no preamble.

He crossed his arms in front of him, his face was calm, and his tone was cold.

"Have I already drawn a red line for Hell's Kitchen? Or do you think the Manhattan Police Department has no jurisdiction over the One-Handed Gang?"

Madam Gao slightly raised her lowered eyes and glanced at Li En.

She turned her head and whispered something to the female worker next to her.

The female worker immediately turned around and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her.

There were only two people left in the office.

Madam Gao turned around, her smile still on her face, and her tone more relaxed than before.

"So Officer Lee En also speaks Chinese, that makes communication much easier."

She placed her hands on the top of her cane, her thumbs gently stroking the polished wood.

"We do have business dealings with United Investments, whose company owns a number of hotels in New York."

"Officer Li En also saw it; our factory survives entirely on these hotel orders."

Her eyelids drooped slightly, and her voice lowered as well.

"You drew the red line, but you didn't touch a single one. You know that it's not easy for us Chinese to make a living in New York, and we absolutely don't want to have any conflict with the police."

She looked up and glanced out the window towards the laundry workshop.

In the steam workshop, workers are pulling freshly dried bed sheets off the conveyor belt, folding them, and stacking them into carts.

"To gain a foothold in this city, we Chinese can only do the lowest-paying jobs."

"We take on chores like washing clothes and sweeping floors, which others are unwilling to do. As long as we can survive, that's enough."

She turned her gaze away from the window and back to Li En's face, her smile deepening.

"We Chinese are the most hardworking people in the world. With this job to support our families, we won't touch things we shouldn't."

Li En did not respond to her laughter.

He stared into Madam Gao's eyes, waited a moment, and then changed the subject.

"Does Mrs. Gao have any leads on those new drugs that are popping up on the streets?"

Madam Gao remained calm and composed, her expression unchanged.

"We only do legal, low-end business; we never touch drugs."

Li En glanced at her for two seconds, then stood up.

"Then I apologize for disturbing you, Madam Gao."

He turned and left the office, went down the iron ladder to the workshop, passed through the white mist of the steam room, and walked straight out of the laundry factory gate.

He turned into a coffee shop on the next street, ordered an Americano, and sat down by the window.

The phone rang twice before being answered.

"Barron, help me check the laundry factory's surveillance system. There's definitely something wrong with One Hand Gang."

"Okay, give me three hours." Barron's voice came through the receiver, crisp and clear.

"Thanks for your hard work."

Li En hung up the phone, leaned back in her chair, and slowly sipped her coffee.

I mentally went over the entire conversation again from beginning to end.

From the moment Mrs. Gao entered the room to the moment she sat down, to the moment she answered his questions, and finally to the moment she watched him leave.

From beginning to end, she behaved no differently than an elderly woman.

He was polite, gentle, and even revealed a hint of genuine sadness when discussing the plight of the Chinese community.

She even made a point about his mixed-race appearance, trying to gain sympathy from the Chinese community.

None of this matters.

The real problem is that her acting was too flat.

Mrs. Gao is the head of the One Hand Gang, the leader of the Chinese gangs in New York.

When the police suddenly show up at their door, interrogate them relentlessly about their secret deals, and threaten them with their red lines, this person doesn't get angry at all from beginning to end.

How could a gang leader not have a temper?

Even if a person with a temper can hold back their anger, what's in their eyes can't be hidden.

Mrs. Gao's eyes were empty, as flat as a mirror.

She must be suppressing something.

For someone like her to swallow her anger, there must be something significant going on behind the scenes.

He finished the rest of his coffee in one gulp, then pushed open the door and walked out of the coffee shop.

Boom!

A loud bang came from afar.

Li En suddenly looked up.

A thick plume of black smoke billowed up from the horizon, rising into the air before being blown to one side by the wind, with a dark red flame flickering at the base of the smoke column.

Pedestrians on the street all stopped in their tracks, craning their necks to look in that direction, and some were taking pictures with their phones.

"What's going on? A terrorist attack?"

"The military helicopters have all gone over there!"

"That place seems to be... near that school that just opened a while ago?"

boom.

There was a shoe print on the ground where Li En had just been standing, but he was nowhere to be seen.

He scaled walls and leaped over railings, sprinting straight towards the school with all his might.

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