Dean didn't head up to see Eve immediately after he arrived at her apartment building. He parked his car and started to wander around the vicinity. Every time he found himself in an unfamiliar place, Dean had the habit of familiarizing himself with his surroundings, identifying convenient escape routes, and noting the characteristics of nearby buildings and the like. This is a good habit. In his past life, Dean had relied on this more than once to escape capture and crackdown operations, creating a reputation within the organization for never failing.

While observing the environment, Dean casually organized his thoughts regarding this current affair.

Eve called me over this time because of that previous warning I gave her. Moress had provided me with a piece of information: the Narcotics Division might soon face a major incident involving collusion from both within and without. Moress, that wealthy woman, is most likely a white-glove figure for Los Angeles's contraband processing organization. Since she used this information as part of a trade, it strongly suggested that Eve's Narcotics Division was facing significant problems. This is because organized crime, when fencing stolen goods, usually first confirms through channels whether the goods can be disposed of, the approximate profits after disposal, the risks, and so on. All these factors are considered, and only after deciding it's feasible do they act. After that, if they fail, it's not worth mentioning. If they succeed, they fence the goods and vanish immediately. They strive for high efficiency! Even if they're eventually exposed, by the time the police catch on, they've already fled to who-knows-where. Those robbers who, after a heist, desperately look for a fence, are mostly small fry—unprofessional, and very likely to get caught in the end. These small fry can't discern whether their 'hard-earned' fencing channel is legit or a police trap waiting for a rabbit. My guess is that someone inquired about the disposal of stolen goods, which allowed Moress to infer the impending events. The kind of contraband that would put the Narcotics Division under scrutiny... it doesn't take a genius to figure out it's drugs. But when the other party will strike, that's unknown. So, after giving Eve the heads-up, I hadn't paid much more attention to the matter. Her calling me over today probably means there's been some development regarding this issue.

Of course... it could also be that she just wanted to make her day off a bit more fulfilling.

After finishing a cigarette, Dean touched the pack of Blue Elf in his pocket and walked towards Eve's residence.

This was a high-end apartment community. The market price for the homes here ranged roughly from three hundred thousand to five hundred thousand US dollars. Considering taxes, property management fees, and various other expenses, the captain's net annual income of just over one hundred thousand US dollars didn't make upkeep easy.

He rang the doorbell, and the door opened.

For Dean's first visit, Eve, as the hostess, concerned that he might have gotten tired on the way, warmly invited him to lie down on the bed to rest.

As a guest of quality, Dean also modestly presented the small fish umbrella he had prepared as a gift, inviting Eve to test and review this brand of umbrella.

After a reprieve from their physical exertions, Dean habitually lit another cigarette. He savored the moment for a while, then looked down at Eve, who was still in a daze, and teased her, "You had me bring a magazine of bullets, and you only endured one shot. Are you thinking of paying in installments?"

Eve exhaled, rubbing her flushed face as she struggled to sit up. She first grabbed the mineral water bottle from the bedside to rinse her mouth, downed half the bottle in one go, and then said with a teasing smile, "You can charge me interest like a loan shark."

Due to her unique experiences, she had little expectation for marriage, nor did she harbor any girlish fantasies. To Eve, perhaps, years from now, she would opt to marry a simple, honest man. But that man would definitely not be Dean.

There's a saying that goes quite rightly: the quickest way to a woman's heart is to take an "unconventional" path. Men like to smoke after the fact; women like to listen post-coitus to sweet nothings and absurd vows of undying love.

As a good man, Dean was still willing to spend some time on certain ceremonial aspects to put a satisfying full stop for both parties to a brief but exhilarating product trial.

After some post-coital chat that was meaningless but pleasing to a woman, Eve, fully satisfied, finally started to talk business, "Dean, you told me to keep an eye on the contraband situation inside the bureau, and I've discovered something quite interesting!"

"What is it?"

Although Dean had also once been a newcomer to the Narcotics Division, he was not well acquainted with this department.

Eve got up, picked up a printout from the bedside, and handed it to Dean.

"The Narcotics Division of Los Angeles, ever since my predecessor took charge in 1980, has seen its contraband seizures grow at a very stable rate every year. And this contraband is escorted to an incineration plant for burning at random times."

Dean took the paper. It contained a table listing timelines, types of contraband (specifically drugs), and their quantities. Below the table was a line graph based on the data.

From the data alone, it appeared that Los Angeles's Narcotics Division had been on a steady upward trend over the years. But looking at the categories and quantities of drugs, there was a significant loophole!

I'm not very familiar with the types of drugs, but I know that the popularity of certain drugs fluctuates over time. Never think junkies don't follow trends.

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