Chapter 250: Tommy Arrives in America
"Who's this guy?"
Jake asked hesitantly, looking up at Ron's imposing figure. Ian quickly explained, "This is my training officer, Ron."
"Hello, sir." Jake straightened up respectfully. Ron waved him off and returned to helping the victim. Jake took the opportunity to thank his academy classmate.
"Thanks, Ian. If you hadn't shown up, I think it would've taken me a lot longer to handle these two lowlifes."
Jake extended his hand for a handshake, but Ian unexpectedly pulled him into a hug. Ron squinted, watching Ian carefully—something about the kid's behavior was starting to bug him.
From across the alley, Jake's veteran training officer strolled in, grinning widely. For some reason, that smile made Ron's skin crawl.
What made it worse was watching the veteran stuff all the cash he'd taken from the unconscious attackers into his own wallet. Ron's eye twitched, but he kept his mouth shut.
What did FBI business have to do with the IRS? Ron was just here to help out.
After handling the situation, Ron received a text message that made his face light up. He casually dropped Ian off in a neighborhood known for drug activity—giving him a "real taste of street patrol"—then disappeared in his car.
Ron had been juggling several complicated relationships lately, agonizing over who to spend Valentine's Day with, but this text offered him a perfect escape route: if he couldn't handle the drama, why not just avoid it entirely?
Instead of going home, Ron drove straight to LAX and caught the next red-eye to New York.
At JFK Airport, a skinny young man with nervous energy was playing on his phone while waiting in the customs line. He was absorbed in CrimeSolver, an incredibly popular online detective game.
It was a global community for mystery enthusiasts, where people uploaded real unsolved cases for discussion. Surprisingly, the crowdsourced investigations had led to significant increases in case clearance rates in several cities.
Most interesting was that the top-ranked detectives weren't official law enforcement from any country—a fact that made even seasoned professionals roll their eyes.
Ron, for instance, thought the whole ranking system was a joke. What kind of credibility could an online community of amateur wannabe detectives possibly have?
Yet this nervous young man's username was prominently displayed at number two on the global leaderboard.
Just as he was getting into a particularly complex case, the customs officer rapped impatiently on the window. Tommy looked up, startled.
"Purpose of your visit to the United States?" the officer asked, examining Tommy's passport with practiced suspicion. But Tommy's nervousness triggered his chronic stutter, and he began stammering.
"I... I... I..." He couldn't get the rest out.
The officer, who happened to be from Boston and recognized the accent, switched to a gentler tone: "Take your time, son. What brings you to New York?"
"Wedding," Tommy managed to say, pulling out an ornate wedding invitation. The customs officer, satisfied with the explanation, stamped his passport without further questions.
"Tommy!" As Tommy emerged from customs, he spotted Ron—whom he'd met briefly during a case in Miami—standing in the arrivals area and waving.
Surprised, Tommy asked, "You... you... you're here too?"
"Of course. My old partner's wedding is a big deal—how could I miss it?" Ron extended his hand with a firm handshake. "Good to see you again. Welcome to New York."
Ron's smile carried hidden meaning.
Ever since receiving Tony's text message, Ron had been curious. He'd caught a red-eye from LA, and with the time difference, it was already evening when he landed, so he'd simply checked into an airport hotel.
"Where's my... my cousin?"
"How should I know? Probably waiting outside somewhere," Ron said casually.
He remembered enough about Tony's schemes to know this so-called wedding was likely just another con job—probably to trick Tommy into joining him for some amateur detective convention where they could win prize money.
But now that Tony had dragged him into it too, Ron wondered what angle he was working. Maybe he planned to use Ron's federal credentials to get access to restricted crime scenes?
The more Ron thought about it, the more likely it seemed, given Tony's complete lack of scruples.
But Ron didn't mind being used occasionally by Tony—he had his own agenda.
New Year's was approaching, and while most Americans didn't make a big deal of it, Ron believed that as leader of the IRS Special Operations Team, he should set an example by landing a major case to start the year right.
A Little Italy organized crime figure might be just the ticket. At this thought, Ron couldn't help but grin, causing several female travelers nearby to stare and whisper.
"Come on, let's go! Maybe he's got a surprise waiting for you." Ron gave Tommy a nudge, steering him toward the exit.
Outside, two large men in dark suits were waiting. As soon as they spotted Tommy, they immediately pulled out a black hood and threw it over his head.
However, when they moved to do the same to Ron, they ran into a problem.
Both men froze when they felt cold steel pressed against their necks. "Easy there, gentlemen. My Glock's been acting up lately—hair trigger. If it accidentally goes off, that's not on me."
The two men immediately raised their hands with practiced efficiency, wondering how this guy had gotten a gun through airport security.
Of course, Ron wasn't about to explain his special storage capabilities. He simply pulled the hood back off Tommy's head as his friend tried to struggle free. "Relax, kid. You're still their priority. Now take me to your boss."
A black Lincoln Navigator pulled up to the curb. The two suits escorted Tommy inside first. Before Ron even climbed in, he could hear a familiar gravelly voice from within.
"Surprise! How'd you like that, Tommy boy? Surprised or what?" Tony's voice boomed cheerfully. "Hey, where's my federal buddy?"
"Right here," Ron said, rubbing his ears as he got into the vehicle. Besides Tony, the Navigator was packed with attractive women of various ethnicities seated along both sides. Tony sat in the middle wearing a Yankees cap and what looked like a mustard-yellow faux fur coat that screamed "lottery winner."
He looked like every stereotype of new money trying too hard to impress.
"Long time no see, Tony. Your taste is still absolutely terrible."
(End of this chapter)
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