The Cops on Stakeout

An old Ford parked on a dirty, chaotic street was knocked on the window, startling the two detectives, one old and one young, who were sitting in the driver's seat and the passenger seat, staring blankly at the alleyway in the distance.

The veteran detective remained much calmer, glancing at the person who had arrived.

The young detective, however, had a more expressive face. He breathed a sigh of relief and said, "Who! Oh, Senior Special Agent James, it's you."

The detective from the LAPD watched as the veteran FBI agent got into the back seat and served him donuts and coffee.

They needed these right now, so without any hesitation, the two of them took them and ate.

Agent James then asked, "You've been monitoring for a day and a night, have you spotted the target?"

"A scarred white man with black and white hair? I haven't seen anyone like that come in or out of here," the young detective replied while eating.

The veteran detective added, "The alleys here are very complex; we can't rule out the possibility that the target came from another direction."

Agent James said with difficulty, "So, we can't confirm whether the target is here?"

"But we've discovered something," the young detective said.

"What's going on?" Agent James asked.

The young detective replied, "Delivery drivers came in yesterday at noon and in the evening. This neighborhood is chaotic, and few shops are willing to deliver here. But since someone did, I imagine the tips must have been substantial. Someone who can afford such extravagance must have struck it rich."

Agent James asked with concern, "Can you confirm this?"

The young detective said, "Yesterday I went into the alley to check things out. The Tinkerer's clinic was like a tip; the iron gate was half-closed, indicating that someone was inside."

"During the entire day of surveillance yesterday, we saw someone who appeared to be injured enter the alley, possibly seeking medical attention. We just didn't see them leave; perhaps they went in another direction."

Agent James asked, "Could they still be inside?"

"The man's injuries don't seem that serious. Besides, according to our intelligence, this underground clinic doesn't admit patients. As long as he regains consciousness, even if he can't walk, he should crawl away."

After hearing the answer, Agent James sat in the back seat and pondered for a moment. The two detectives in the front seat took the opportunity to quickly finish their food, which was almost instinctive for them.

After the two people in the front seat finished eating, Agent James asked again, "Can you confirm that the location you found is correct? There should be people inside, right?"

The young detective replied, "The Tinkerer's clinic is easy to spot. There's a graffiti sign on his Roll-up Shutter that says 'Fixman.' The storefront looks like a butcher shop, with empty transparent refrigerated display cases."

"Could you confirm this again?"

"I'll take a look," the young detective said, opening the door and getting out of the car. He walked naturally into the alley.

The veteran detective, still sitting in the car, asked, "Why are you in such a hurry to confirm? Could it be that the higher-ups are about to take action?"

Agent James said helplessly, "According to the arrested medical personnel who broke the law, the Tinkerer was paid one million dollars in cash."

"Only a little over 380,000 was seized; the rest is in another bag of the same style. Who wouldn't be tempted?"

"So, has the higher-ups already decided how to divide it?" the veteran detective asked bluntly.

A flicker of regret crossed Agent James's eyes. If his superiors had agreed to let him lead the team on the raid, the matter would have been resolved long ago. But since they hadn't agreed, he had no choice but to follow his superiors' orders.

He said, "As far as I know, that illicit fund will be seized in half as evidence." And which two halves, of course, are the FBI and the LAPD.

"So there's a result, that's why you're in such a hurry." The old detective said, unsurprised. "Then the rest is to find a way to Tinkerer red-handed before he hides the money. At the very least, we need to catch him."

"That's right, exactly. The longer it drags on, the slimmer the chances become."

Just then, the young detective returned. Judging from his movements, he seemed to be very familiar with this kind of thing, appearing quite natural. He didn't give off any sense of guilt or attract the attention of bystanders.

He casually opened the car door, returned to the passenger seat, and said directly, "I confirmed it; the Tinkerer's clinic also has a half-closed iron door. I could vaguely hear sounds inside, but I didn't go closer to eavesdrop, afraid of attracting attention."

Agent James praised, "Well done, kid. I'm going to make contact. You guys get ready too." With that, he drove off in the old Ford.

The young detective, seemingly caught off guard, asked the older detective beside him, "What preparations should we make?"

"That means they'll start sending people to block off the area, contacting the assault team, and preparing to make the arrest. Our task is to keep watch and make sure the target hasn't left."

Knowing what was going to happen next, the two detectives, young and old, naturally perked up, watching the alley entrance and keeping a close eye on everyone leaving. However, this wasn't a particularly busy area, so there weren't many people actually going in or out.

The young detective suddenly asked, "Is it okay to just arrest that doctor like this?"

"Is there something wrong with it?" the veteran detective asked.

"There were rumors before about someone practicing medicine illegally. But the higher-ups never opened an investigation, and the matter was dropped. I thought everyone believed that as long as a 'foolish' doctor who serves the poor didn't cause any trouble, they wouldn't touch him. Now they're going to arrest him again?"

"This has caused quite a stir. To assist in the investigation of Andrew Saxon, a habitual kidnapper, extortionist, murder instigator, and human trafficker, we need all the evidence. The doctor who performed his surgery is, of course, among them."

"Heh, I'm almost starting to believe that. What If...? it weren't for that six hundred thousand." The young detective made a complicated expression.

"Ha, without some incentive, how many police officers can support their families on that meager salary, without their wives and kids complaining? Just consider it overtime pay." The veteran detective muttered a complaint about the inhumane working hours.

The young detective didn't harbor as many resentments as the veteran detective, but he knew something else: no matter how outsiders perceived things, the truth was not necessarily what they imagined.

His considerable professional experience has allowed him to see enough criminal cases to always find seemingly compelling reasons behind them, which are actually complete nonsense.

Good people may use good deeds as an excuse to do evil, and bad people may use good deeds to cover up their evil deeds. Therefore, the young detective would not simply assume that a doctor who serves the poor is a flawless good person. Who knows what he might be up to behind the scenes?

Therefore, the young detective wasn't particularly concerned about whether to arrest the person or not. He figured that no matter who it was, once they were brought to the station and their background was investigated, no one was innocent.

In fact, the veteran detective had thought much more; he knew exactly what the sword and shield graffiti on the Roll-up Shutter meant. It's just that everyone in the know tacitly chose to forget about it.

This isn't about daring to challenge the meaning behind that symbol, but rather that this might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.