The two arrived at the parking lot. Jerry led Jiang Hao over to two beautiful large motorcycles, raised his eyebrows at Jiang Hao, and slapped one of the seats hard. "Harley-Davidson Electra Glide. Isn't it cool?"
Jerry ran a hand over the body of the bike as gently as if he were caressing a woman's skin. He babbled on, "The texture of metal, the graceful lines, the scorching exhaust pipes, the deafening roar that sounds like music—it's the perfect union of power and freedom."
Jiang Hao smiled. Jerry had a naturally cheerful, exaggerated way of speaking. After stowing the patrol gear in the storage box, Jiang Hao climbed on, started the engine, and twisted the throttle. The motorcycle let out a booming roar.
"Buddy, motorcycles are for riding, not touching," Jiang Hao said, then shot off with a buzz.
"Hey, Jon, wait for me!" Jerry hurriedly got on his bike and chased after him.
Helmets, sunglasses, police uniforms, radios, police motorcycles—they tore down the highway like the wind. It felt great not having to worry about getting pulled over for speeding.
Now he was the one checking other people. Hahaha.
After speeding along for a while, Jiang Hao stopped at an intersection. Jerry did not catch up until several minutes later. Pulling up beside Jiang Hao, he said, "Buddy, you were going way too fast. I didn't even dare call you on the radio—I was afraid dispatch would find out you were speeding."
"I was just getting familiar with the bike's performance," Jiang Hao said with a smile.
Before long, Jiang Hao and Jerry arrived in their assigned district and began patrolling. A qualified patrol officer had to be familiar with every aspect of his beat: the layout of the streets, the locations of shops, the planning of residential areas,