Chapter 63: No Wandering Aimlessly (Please Keep Reading)

“Last night was an emergency, so overtime pays double the hourly rate. If I keep working today, it’s also double,” Mark said idly.

Mark’s hourly wage was about thirty bucks—one times one is one, two times two is four… This guy had really made a fortune.

“Alright, you keep making your money. I’m going back to bed,” Aoxi replied, reaching out to close the door.

Mark quickly stopped the door with his hand. “You can’t sleep. You have to come out on patrol with me.”

“I’m not going. I was involved in a shooting case—I’m on leave at home, waiting for the official notice before going back to work,” Aoxi insisted, struggling to close the door, but Mark seemed unexpectedly strong for someone who should have been exhausted.

“There’s no leave. You’ve been cleared of any suspicion, and the police department is short-staffed. You’re back on duty immediately. Susan told me.”

“If I don’t get a call, it doesn’t count!”

“Your crappy phone was broken in two—it’s in the supply closet. The SIM card was taken out by me, and I also have Zhuo Ning’s SIM card. Without a phone, how could you possibly get a call? That’s why I came to pick you up!”

“Why are you picking me up? Can’t you go make your money on your own?”

“I’m afraid I’ll crash into a tree and die if I drive alone. That’s why I need you to drive,” Mark said as though it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

“So do I get paid double, too?”

“No, you’re on regular pay.”

Aoxi paused, letting go of the door. “So you make double overtime all night, keep raking it in during the day, and I get my ordinary wages just for driving you around? Does that seem fair to you?”

“It’s a bit unfair, I’ll admit. But you were going back to work anyway, right? Your car’s still not fixed, so driving mine is perfect. Just think of it as a two-person patrol shift—your partner is me. Simple as that.”

“I’m really back on duty?”

“Absolutely. Would I lie to you about something like this? If you don’t believe me, call Susan on my phone,” Mark offered, reaching into his pocket.

Aoxi waved him off, already convinced Mark wouldn’t lie about something like this. Besides, he’d have to go to the station to change into his uniform anyway—he could check with Susan or Carlis there.

He was just puzzled—usually, things moved so slowly, yet this time everything happened in a flash. Last night’s incident, and today he was already back at work. It felt as if the sun had risen in the west.

Aoxi went inside to let Zhuo Ning know, gave her back her SIM card, changed clothes, and headed out. He bought two new phones—one for himself, and one to be delivered to Zhuo Ning via Uber.

Mark watched, tutting in amazement. Over seven grand for two phones, bought without a second thought. He was so envious his eyes nearly turned blue. He vowed to earn more overtime himself, and, more importantly, to make good use of this wealthy friend, and let him work for him indirectly.

You drive, I make money—perfect.

Once he inserted the SIM card and turned on the phone, a slew of missed calls appeared. He prioritized the important ones, and learned that he really was reinstated—the department was genuinely short-handed.

Mark drove Aoxi back to the station, where he changed into his uniform and gear. After reporting the personnel change to dispatch, Aoxi took over the wheel while Mark climbed into the passenger seat and immediately fell asleep.

Aoxi figured he might as well not bother cruising the streets. If Mark was earning double pay, he might as well get some proper sleep. So he found a small intersection, parked, reclined his seat, turned on the radio, and settled in to coast through his shift.

“Los Angeles Express: Last night, a severe shooting incident occurred in Boyle Heights, resulting in more than twenty deaths and over a dozen injuries. According to the county sheriff’s spokesperson, the violence began when an Atlanta-based rapper with Crippled Gang ties angered the crowd with inappropriate lyrics. An audience member shouted Blood Gang slogans, stormed the stage, and shot the rapper dead, sparking a gunfight and widespread chaos. Because the venue had closed its doors after ticket sales, the crowd was trapped inside once the shooting started, unable to escape, which increased casualties—including deaths and injuries by trampling.

“When the gunfight ended, some suspects fired on innocent bystanders outside in their attempt to escape, resulting in additional deaths and injuries. Forensic analysis later revealed that at least ten victims were killed by bullets fired from the same gun. Police did not recover this weapon at the scene and suspect the shooter may have a military background and advanced training, making him extremely dangerous. Authorities say they will pursue this suspect and all others involved to ensure public safety.

“It is also worth noting that the Atlanta rapper was affiliated with the Crippled Gang, and the man who killed him shouted Blood Gang slogans. No one knows what this will mean for the two gangs, who have enjoyed years of peace, or what ripples this might send across the East and West Coasts.”

Aoxi did some quick mental math. He’d only killed nine people the night before. From what he’d seen, another three or four had been killed in the crossfire, which meant at least five victims had been killed by the SEB team. So, everything was being blamed on the shooting incident, was it?

And the news about ten people being killed by the same gun—there was no need to ask, it was the one in his storage space. He hadn’t expected the police to be able to determine, just by collecting shell casings, how many people he’d killed. America’s forensic capabilities in gun-related cases were certainly formidable.

That gun would have to be either destroyed or kept hidden—it couldn’t be used lightly again, or it would be linked back to him.

After thinking it over for a long while, Aoxi decided not to do anything for now. No one could find it in his storage space, and if he tried to dispose of it carelessly, it might end up getting discovered anyway.

Suddenly, a call came over the radio: “Adam 29, a resident has reported a Black male loitering in the community. Please respond and remove him.”

“Adam 29, copy.”

Aoxi started the car. As they neared the neighborhood, he woke Mark in advance.

Once inside, a quick patrol revealed a Black man, dressed entirely in black with a hood pulled low, wandering the street. The two men stopped the car, got out, and Mark addressed him first. “Hello there, is there something you need here?”

Aoxi stood behind as backup, glancing at the man’s threat indicator. To his surprise, it was gray—a good guy, apparently.

“What?” the man replied.

“I’m asking if you’re here for a reason, or looking for someone?” Mark said.

“No, can’t I just go for a walk?”

“No, you’re not a resident here, and your loitering has disturbed the community. You need to leave immediately.”

The man grew angry, spreading his arms wide. “Why? I’m just walking—what’s wrong with that? This is America. I’m free. I can walk wherever I want!”

“I’m giving you a warning now. Leave immediately or I’ll arrest you for loitering, which carries up to six months in jail and a $1,000 fine.”

Loitering? Was that even a real crime?

It was. Similar to the charge of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble” elsewhere, it’s a catch-all offense. Under California law, anyone loitering in a public place or shared area of a building, with the intent to commit an arrestable offense, is breaking the law and can be fined $1,000 or jailed for six months.

Even the “intent” to commit a crime in public isn’t tolerated. If they want to arrest you, they’ll find a way.

The man grew even angrier, pacing back and forth, gesturing with his hands. “What gives you the right to arrest me? I’m just walking here! I’m a U.S. citizen—this is how you treat your own people?”