Don't Come Over Here!
After the police car stopped, two officers stepped out and walked toward Xu Mo's window.
Noticing the driver was Chinese, they exchanged a look. The older officer immediately smirked with arrogance.
"Step out of the car."
A flash of coldness passed through Xu Mo's eyes, but when he noticed the holsters on their hips, he smiled harmlessly.
"Sure."
Satisfied by his compliance, the middle-aged officer pulled out a ticket from his chest pocket.
"The speed limit here is 55 miles an hour. You were going 80. You aware of that?"
Xu Mo's face darkened.
Eighty miles per hour was about 129 kilometers. On this twisting mountain road, no sane driver would risk such recklessness.
The younger officer caught his expression and grinned smugly.
"Kid, if we say you were speeding, then you were speeding. We decide."
"Of course," Xu Mo replied indifferently. "Issuing tickets is your right."
He extended his hand, asking for the ticket. There was no point arguing; these two had clearly sized him up as an easy target. If they wanted to play dirty, there would be plenty of ways to deal with them later.
His calm only disappointed them. Mistaking him for a pushover, the younger officer leaned closer.
"Not that simple."
He jogged back to their cruiser, then returned waving the radar gun.
"Look here. Over a hundred kilometers per hour. In New York State, that means thirty days in jail and a six-hundred-dollar fine." He sneered. "Of course, you can avoid jail…"
Xu Mo chuckled coldly. They weren't even subtle about it. Clearly, this wasn't their first time.
"Oh? And what do I need to do?" he asked with amusement.
The older cop lowered his voice. "Two thousand dollars. We forget this ever happened."
He fully expected Xu Mo to agree. Nobody wanted a month in jail.
Xu Mo calmly pulled two thousand dollars from his wallet and handed it over.
Just then, the roar of an engine split the air. All three turned to see a black pickup truck tearing down the road, blasting music. It blew past them in a gust of wind.
The radar gun in the young officer's hand shrieked.
103.
Xu Mo arched a brow. "Would that count as speeding? Or reckless driving?"
The younger officer scoffed, cleared the device with a button press, and sneered.
"What are you talking about? I didn't see a thing."
The older one pocketed the cash. "Be smart. Around here, we decide what happens."
Laughing, they turned back to their cruiser.
…
Once they were inside, Xu Mo walked calmly to the trunk of his car. He opened it, revealing a black case.
Inside was a light sniper rifle.
In America, firearms were common—especially for those with a license. Xu Mo was no exception. He not only carried a pistol, but also a rifle.
With practiced efficiency, he assembled the sniper rifle and scanned the road. Deserted. Perfect.
The cruiser had driven less than three hundred meters. For Xu Mo, a seasoned marksman, that was practically point-blank.
He aimed through the rear window and squeezed the trigger.
The crack echoed, followed by a burst of red and white inside the cruiser. The young driver slumped forward, dead.
The car swerved, smashed against the mountainside, flipped several times, and skidded to a halt teetering on the cliff's edge.
Xu Mo disassembled the rifle, packed it away, and started his car.
Half a minute later, he rolled up beside the wreck.
The young cop was gone. But the older officer, bloodied and battered, had somehow survived. He had crawled out, dragging himself onto the road, his pistol lost in the crash.
Exhausted, he collapsed on the asphalt, gasping for breath. Then he heard footsteps.
He opened his eyes and froze. Xu Mo stood above him, smiling like a devil.
"Don't… don't come over here!"