"Hello! Police?! I want to report something! Downstairs from this hotel in the Los Angeles suburbs, a group of fans are driving modified cars, honking wildly, banging gongs and drums, seriously disrupting our rest! Get over here and deal with it!"
The police officer on the other end sounded perfunctory. He merely replied, "We know. We'll head over as soon as possible," before hanging up.
But Sprewell waited for over ten minutes without seeing any sign of the police, while the noise downstairs continued unabated.
He was completely enraged. He called the police again, his tone even more heated, and even shouted into the phone, accusing them of failing to do their duty.
After a while, several police cars slowly arrived. They were still the officers who had been stationed nearby earlier. After getting out, they merely shouted a few token words at the modified cars in the distance without actually stepping forward to drive them away.
Seeing this, Sprewell's anger flared. He stormed downstairs, marched up to the officers, and pointed at their faces as he shouted, "What the hell are you doing?! They're still making noise, so why aren't you doing anything?! Are you deliberately letting them get away with this?!"
One officer frowned and said impatiently, "Sir, please calm down. We've already handled it. They're no longer gathered together; they're simply driving normally. We have no grounds to arrest them."
"Driving normally?!" Sprewell's eyes widened as he pointed at the modified cars moving in the distance. "They're blaring their horns and making this much noise, and you call that normal driving?! You're clearly turning a blind eye and deliberately favoring them!"
The two sides argued endlessly. Sprewell was so worked up that he even shoved an officer, and a physical confrontation was on the verge of breaking