Chapter 266: Another Wave
"Knockin' On Heaven's Door, Mama, take this badge off of me..."
At the entrance of Han's small restaurant, a crowd of people dressed like hippies had gathered since sometime earlier. Ron glanced at his watch and frowned slightly.
It was two o'clock in the morning. If he remembered correctly, Han's restaurant should have closed by now.
After the holiday, Ron was dragged by Andy to stay in the office for several days. He finally finished the tax plan for the new year and finally got off work, hungry.
He remembered that he hadn't seen the sisters Max and Caroline for several days, so he deliberately passed by the restaurant to see if he could pick them up and take them home.
As for what he wanted to do, his intentions were pretty obvious.
He just didn't expect that the restaurant, which was usually deserted, would suddenly become so lively. What did Han do? He couldn't be selling marijuana openly in his store, right?
Fortunately, Ron's confusion didn't last long. He spotted Caroline in a small window near the restaurant's entrance. She was talking to a woman, and Ron walked over.
"He crashed right here before he fell," Caroline said, gently holding onto a small gap in the windowsill with a look of deep reverence. "When he fell, he was looking at me and smiling. It was a smile of contentment, of peace..."
Just as Ron thought Caroline was about to say something touching, she suddenly changed the subject: "Seven dollars a small cake, cash only."
"Okay, can you break a fifty?" the woman readily handed over the money.
"Of course!" Caroline took the money and immediately shouted, "Max! Max!"
"I'm here! What are you doing?" Ron looked in the direction of the voice and spotted Max, wearing a flower crown and holding a plate, amid the crowd.
"Change!"
Max walked over, deftly taking out a wad of small bills and counting them out. Just then, the hippie music finally reached its climax, and the two beautiful women swayed to the rhythm: "Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door!"
"Hey, my dear beauties, can I have a cake too?" Ron squeezed over and greeted them.
"Oh, Ron, you're here," Caroline exclaimed in surprise. "Here, vanilla. That's all we have for now. Max, we're almost sold out. Go to the kitchen and get some more cakes."
"Okay, right there, Earl!" Max shouted, and Ron finally spotted Earl, hawking among the crowd. "Same old deal, 30 cents on every cake you sell."
"What a waste! You know how much you could make selling weed here, with all these hippies and no taxes?" Earl sighed.
"Hey, Earl, I'm still here!" Ron said helplessly, announcing his presence.
Earl said with his typical street familiarity, "Hey, man, we're all family, can't we do you a favor?"
"As a law enforcement officer in Los Angeles, it's hard for me to turn a blind eye to crime happening right before my eyes, you understand, Earl?"
Ron winked at him, emphasizing the words "happening right before my eyes." Earl, a street-smart veteran, immediately gave him a knowing wink.
"Oh, Ron, you're so kind." Caroline quickly leaned out from behind the windowsill and gave Ron a big kiss on the cheek.
Honestly, after more than three years in Los Angeles, Ron had practically made everyone in the city aware of his authority, so every tax collection operation went smoothly.
Aside from those large corporations that had previously been unable to deal with, and still were, resorting to tax avoidance practices and still paid token amounts to get by, even the powerful crime figures had gradually developed the habit of paying their taxes on time.
Even after the major bank investigation, the banking industry itself was in upheaval. To protect his reputation, the bank chairman, in order to prevent Ron from publicly disclosing evidence of his regulatory violations, was forced to hand over his real account books and pay taxes based on actual business performance. Andy, the veteran accountant, obtained evidence of unpaid taxes from other banks through his connections.
Los Angeles bankers panicked and began to cooperate. Besides Mr. Cass, who was cornered by Ron, three more bankers came forward to pay their taxes.
Ron felt it was only a matter of time before he could reform the Los Angeles banking system. It was a shame this wasn't the financial center like New York, otherwise his gains would have been even more substantial.
In comparison, Caroline's small business was completely insignificant to Ron.
Ron exclaimed sincerely, "You look like you're doing good business."
"Of course, you wouldn't know. I was terrified when that rock singer collapsed in front of our store, but I never thought it was a gift from God. See all those people outside? Almost all of them are fans of that singer!"
Caroline said excitedly, and Ron finally understood what was going on with these hippies.
"Well, it looks like you'll be busy late tonight. I won't have the honor of going out with you," Ron said somewhat disappointedly.
"Sorry, Ron, you know, opportunities to make money like this don't come around often, so... uh... you know," Caroline said apologetically. Seeing Ron's displeasure, she immediately leaned in and whispered, "I can make it up to you next time. I bought a new set of... nice lingerie. You can do whatever you want then."
"Haha, I'll hold you to that," Ron laughed.
In reality, the disappointment on Ron's face was mostly an act. He had unexpectedly gained something interesting. But just as he was about to tease Caroline again, two police cars roared down the street, their sirens blaring. Ron looked back and saw they were heading straight for his special operations team headquarters.
"Damn it!" Ron cursed inwardly, quickly saying goodbye to Caroline and heading back to the base.
...
IRS Special Operations Team, Los Angeles Branch. Ron had returned to the base before all the police cars arrived, but someone had already arrived.
"Ron, what happened? Do you need help?" Ming, standing at the door, hadn't yet entered. Seeing Ron return, he immediately asked with concern.
"Guard the door! No one's allowed in!" Ron casually tossed his ID to Ming. "Damn it! We at the IRS don't need the Los Angeles police to deal with our business."
With that, Ron strode into the base. Joe and Andy, who looked like Morgan Freeman, were dragging a body toward the kitchen. Ron could even hear Hannibal sharpening a knife in the kitchen.
"Hey, I need an explanation!" Ron said angrily. "Don't tell me you were hungry and planning to get some human flesh for a midnight snack?!"
"Yeah, I'm talking about you!" Ron pointed at Hannibal, who was peeking out of the kitchen. "I've seen your file and know you have a history of cannibalism. I was naive to think you'd changed. You guys really disappoint me!"
"There's a misunderstanding here, Ron. Relax, this guy's not dead yet," Andy explained quickly.
"Listen, after you left, I heard some noise coming from Joe's office, so I went to check it out and found this guy pointing a gun at Joe, so I knocked him out with a chair."
"What's with those police officers outside?"
Ron pointed out the window. The police's voices were getting closer.
"Maybe because this guy touched the trigger and fired a shot before he passed out? Maybe passersby thought something was wrong and called the police?" Andy answered innocently, and his two colleagues were already slapping their foreheads in embarrassment.
"Andy, we have a shooting range here. Gunfire goes off every day, and no one's going to call the police about it. Even if they did, the Los Angeles police would just laugh it off!"
Ron pulled aside the curtains. Police cars were already parked outside the base. Ming was explaining something to the officers, but it didn't seem to be working. The officers were still determined to come in to investigate.
Ron's expression grew increasingly serious. "Whatever the reason, they were dispatched immediately, and so quickly. It's definitely not what you think. Joe, who's the guy who wants to kill you? Do you have any idea?"
"Boss, you know me. I used to be an agent like you, and I have more enemies than I can count. How would I know who he is?" Joe spread his hands.
"Okay, anyway, it looks like we're in trouble. You guys take that guy downstairs, I'll go see what's going on."
Ron checked his weapons and headed outside.
"Hey, gentlemen, this is the IRS headquarters in Los Angeles. You can't go in!" Ming tried in vain to stop the officers, but the leading officer roughly pushed him aside.
"Get out of the way, old man! We've got a report of a shooting here, and someone's injured! If you don't move out of the way, I'll take you back too!"
The leading officer was showing off his authority when suddenly, a gunshot rang out, causing him to quickly duck. He looked back to see Ron emerging from the base.
"I dare you to enter my territory!" Ron, gun raised, stood at the entrance like a guardian. "This is the IRS, not a place for you guys to run wild!"
"You... who are you?" the sheriff asked in a panic.
Despite his best efforts to conceal his reaction, Ron keenly noticed the flash of recognition in his eyes.
This guy had definitely come prepared!
And he'd deliberately chosen to strike when he wasn't around. He just hadn't expected him to return so soon.
"It's basic courtesy to state your own name before asking for it, especially when dealing with a superior officer." Ron snatched his ID from Ming and slammed it into the sheriff's face.
"Didn't your superiors teach you that?"
The sheriff's eyes flashed with anger. Ron raised his chin proudly. "Or do you think you can defy your superiors by relying on your numbers? Do you want to challenge me to a match of firepower?"
"Crash..." The glass windows on the second floor of the base shattered, revealing three black gun muzzles.
"I don't think your sidearms can match the power of a heavy machine gun, do you, Mr. Sheriff?"
Ron took two steps forward, retrieved his ID from the sheriff's hand, and patted the sheriff's face provocatively, but the sheriff didn't dare to make any aggressive moves.
He was afraid that one mistake would draw fire from the three machine guns overhead. He had arrived in a hurry, thinking he could quickly deal with the situation while Ron was away. His men were armed with pistols, not even a rifle, let alone body armor.
The sheriff could only suppress his anger, but he still refused to give up. "No, no, I just received a report and would like to go to your base to investigate briefly. I promise it won't take too long."
"Are you kidding? You can just walk into IRS headquarters?" Ron sneered. "Do you think this is like some cheap dive bar, where anyone can come in anytime they want?"
"Even your superiors wouldn't dare make such an unreasonable request of me. You look a little unfamiliar. Who's your superior? I've never seen you before in Los Angeles?"
Ron asked, tilting his head to study the sheriff.
Of course, he couldn't remember the appearance of every person in the LAPD. In reality, he was just trying to trick them based on tonight's unusual behavior.
Whether it was Ron's overwhelming presence or the sheriff's poor mental state, this trick actually got him to reveal something.
"I'm a new transfer from Orange County. I just reported in yesterday. It's normal you haven't seen me yet. We'll get to know each other better," the sheriff replied dismissively. He glanced at the base behind Ron with a hint of resignation, then turned back and said, "Retreat!"
The sheriff's men exchanged glances, but no one moved. Ron folded his arms and sneered.
A sloppy plan, poor internal coordination, and these people's terrible performance, especially the obviously military-inspired tactics. If he still can't tell they're CIA in disguise, then all his years as an agent have been for nothing.
It's fair to say that since the Cold War ended, the CIA has been going from bad to worse. Now they can't even pretend to be police officers properly.
The sheriff could only yell again, "What are you looking at? I said retreat! Didn't you hear me?"
The officers then returned to their cars, started the engines, and drove away. Once the last car disappeared around the corner, Ron led Ming back inside the base and closed the gate behind them.
"Now, I'll give you three minutes to gather your thoughts. I need you to give me a reason," Ron stared into Joe's eyes. "Why are you being targeted by the CIA?"
"Another old colleague of mine came to see me today, and then I found out I was being followed. I think it might be because of the incident in Guatemala."
(End of this chapter)
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