Chapter 106: Meeting at the Restaurant
The FBI Los Angeles headquarters had been working around the clock for several consecutive days, with lights burning through the night.
Recently, in addition to the blue crystal that was already flooding LA's streets, high-purity heroin flowing in from Mexico had begun appearing on the market in massive quantities.
This situation had the bureau chief incredibly frustrated, so Jack, who was short on personnel, had even released former FBI agent O'Connor from prison and brought him back into the fold.
Now, the reinstated Agent O'Connor was escorting a bald man who looked like Dom toward the holding cell, when a short detective came storming out of an office.
"O'Connor, if you let my witness walk again..." The short man rushed up to O'Connor and shoved him against the wall, planning to teach him a lesson.
However, he hadn't expected O'Connor to use his momentum against him, slamming his head into the wall and sending him crashing to the ground with blood streaming from his nose.
"Enough!" Jack emerged from his office to break up the mess. Meanwhile, the short agent pushed away a colleague who was trying to help him up and pulled himself to his feet using the wall for support.
"You're finished, O'Connor!"
"Stasiak, go get cleaned up." Jack glanced at the short agent's pathetic state and gave the order. At the same time, he couldn't help but sigh internally. If the people under his command weren't so incompetent, why would he need to bring O'Connor back from prison?
"Hell no!" Stasiak suspected Jack had lost his mind and protested loudly. "He started it! He hit me first, you..."
"This isn't summer camp! I don't give a damn who's right or wrong here!" Jack cut off his whining impatiently. "Go! Your blood's about to drip all over my floor!"
There was no right or wrong in the FBI, only results mattered. If Stasiak had been smarter and caught that bastard Braga earlier, he wouldn't have had to take the risk of reinstating O'Connor.
In the end, the idiot had just lost a newly developed female undercover agent.
"O'Connor." After the onlookers dispersed, Jack approached. "Do you know the difference between cops and criminals?"
"What?"
"Judgment calls," Jack once again reminded O'Connor that the power of life and death was in his hands. "Play it smart, kid."
...
Meanwhile, in downtown LA, Ron took Gisele to a food truck parked in a small side street.
It was a bit generous to call it a restaurant. This mobile kitchen could serve maybe eight customers at a time, with a few plastic tables set up nearby. The owner was an immigrant who had just arrived from Louisiana, bringing a new kind of food to this culinary wasteland. It had become the hottest spot in the area recently.
However, the booming business was limited mainly to recent Southern transplants. Even longtime LA residents would cover their noses and hurry past the truck like other locals when they caught a whiff.
That's right, the featured dish at this truck was authentic Louisiana crawfish boil that even many Californians found too intense!
But what Ron never expected was that when Gisele reluctantly tried to put the spicy crawfish in her mouth under his encouragement, her disgusted expression immediately transformed into one of pure bliss.
She began using her hands like a pro, loudly slurping the juices and cracking shells with gusto. This scene left Ron stunned. "So what do you think it tastes like?"
Gisele, whose tongue was burning from the spicy broth, gulped down a big swig of beer and then gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. "This is incredible! I never expected Southern food to be this amazing. To be honest, when I first smelled it, I thought you were pranking me. It smelled like a seafood graveyard, but I never expected it to taste so... what's that Southern expression you used earlier?"
"Finger-lickin' good." Ron covered his face—his prank had backfired. He hadn't expected Gisele to be such a foodie. Live and learn.
Gisele's eyes lit up. "Yes, exactly!"
"Alright." Although his prank had failed, Ron wasn't too disappointed. He turned his attention to another untouched container. "Dom, you think I'm lying to you? Gisele says it's really delicious. Don't you want to try some?
You must be starving after floating on that cargo ship for so long."
"No way! Ever since you tricked me last time, I swore I'd never eat anything you gave me! Don't even think about it this time!" Dom scowled. "This stuff smells like it was cooked in swamp water!"
Under Dom's disgusted stare, Ron comfortably slurped some of the broth. "I told you back then that American regional cuisine is diverse and complex—don't judge by appearances.
That clear liquid that looks like water might be the moonshine that'll burn your throat for days, and the seafood that smells like low tide might be the best meal you've never had the guts to try."
"No matter what you say, I'm not touching it!" Dom crossed his arms. "Is the intel on Letty solid? Is she really okay?"
"Absolutely." Ron set down his container. "I'm certain she's been released from the hospital and taken by a group of terrorists working behind Braga. I just haven't pinpointed her exact location yet. Give my intelligence contact some time—I'm confident they can track her down."
Ron placed several photos of Letty taken from hospital security cameras on the table, and Dom pushed them closer. These were images that Paige had obtained by hacking into the hospital's system.
However, since smartphones weren't widespread yet and there were very few street cameras, Paige had no way to track the terrorists' location through digital surveillance.
Ron had no choice but to assure Dom that Letty was safe. As for how to get her back?
Either wait until the iPhone revolutionizes mobile technology, ushering in the era of comprehensive digital surveillance, and let Paige develop software like the one in Fast and Furious 7 that can hack into all phones and security cameras.
Or wait until the events of Fast and Furious 6 begin, and retrieve Letty when dealing with the terrorists.
Of course, he had a third option: contact that heavyweight guy in London—the older brother of that foul-mouthed consulting detective Sherlock, who was a senior official in British intelligence.
If Ron remembered correctly, the terrorist with the goatee seemed to have deep connections with the British government. The British Empire was indeed the world's premier troublemaker.
But the price to pay...
God only knew what Mr. Holmes would demand.
"But I'm warning you upfront—she's lost her memory and doesn't remember any of us." Ron cautioned.
Dom's eyes were resolute. "Doesn't matter. As long as I can find her, I'll figure out how to help her remember. Family is always family."
"That's right," Ron nodded. "But first, we need to settle the score for Letty."
(End of Chapter)
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