Hearing about eating fish, the corners of Dean's mouth curled upward. It was a code between them, meaning something was stirring in the Narcotics Division.

"Got it, I'm coming over now."

He hung up the phone.

Dean stood up and stretched. Looking at the curious Daisy, he chuckled. "A friend invited me for grilled river fish. Want to come?"

"The kind with lots of bones?"

"Yes, lots of sharp bones. You have to be careful when you eat, but it's delicious," Dean said offhandedly.

He wasn't wrong. An internal criminal case within a division was indeed delicious.

Upon hearing this, Daisy looked hesitant. Cutlery wasn't very effective for dealing with fish bones, so even though she was tempted by food, she couldn't bring herself to like this particular dish.

Thus, she chose to decline.

In the precinct parking lot, Dean looked at his shining, freshly washed armored Hummer and nodded with satisfaction.

Truth be told, Harry might seem unreliable, but he did his job well. Dean hoped Harry could find the 'flour' source from that illegal workshop in the previous massacre case. If so, then he, as the BOSS, could level up again.

Eve and Dean had agreed to meet at a coffee shop outside the Narcotics Division. When Dean arrived, Eve was flipping through a thick book.

Dean's sharp eyes noticed a logo on the corner of the book incorporating a triangle, a fishtail, and a circle, with the letters "DEA" in the middle. That was the emblem of the United States Drug Enforcement Administration.

Hearing his approach, Eve looked up. Seeing Dean, she smiled. "Dean, I was a bit nervous, but seeing you instantly calmed me down."

"I'm honored you trust me so much."

Dean sat down, glanced at the book in her hand, and asked casually, "Is that a DEA book?"

Eve held up the book, showing the cover, and nodded. "Yes. The Narcotics Division is pretty much my ceiling at the detective bureau. I'm planning to accumulate enough merits and then pull some strings to transfer to the DEA."

Hearing this, Dean fell into thought. The DEA functioned similarly to the serious crime and narcotics divisions. However, one was federal drug enforcement, while the other was like a small unit set up by local government, their levels of power entirely different. It was comparable to the difference between Dean's Homicide Division and the FBI.

The Director of the United States Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) required a presidential nomination and approval from the House of Representatives to take office. They wielded tremendous authority. Not only did they have dedicated offices in major U.S. cities, but they could also intervene in international drug trafficking cases. For instance, in earlier years, there was even a blunder where the CIA was involved in drug trafficking, only to have one of its departments busted by the DEA. The crucial point was that the CIA, despite being as ferocious as wolves and tigers abroad, didn't dare utter a peep in protest.

Thus, there's an inside joke within American law enforcement circles. Mexican drug lords might dare to defy the President and murder their own police for intimidation, but they wouldn't dare touch a DEA member. Because the DEA could genuinely take them down.

Furthermore, the Narcotics Division was essentially a department established by the governments of some wealthy major U.S. cities to centralize power. Many other cities didn't even have such a department. This put Eve and her colleagues in a somewhat awkward position. People always strive for better opportunities. It wasn't hard to understand why Eve was considering a future transfer to the DEA.

"Not a bad idea, but I'm more interested in today's 'little fish'," Dean tapped the table. "Tell me the details."

Eve picked up her coffee cup, casually scanned their surroundings to ensure no one was approaching, then lowered her voice. "Today, between 12:00 PM and 12:30 PM, an armored delivery truck will leave the Narcotics Division's warehouse and head to a contraband destruction plant in the suburbs. This is the only chance this year. I have a hunch the mole inside the Narcotics Division will make a move. Otherwise, as I slowly gain control here, they'll lose their chance completely!"

"What do you want to do?" Dean asked seriously, pinching the foot that was playfully rubbing against his thigh near where his 'lance' was.

This woman really wasn't afraid of death. If not for the lure of Experience Points, Dean would have to give her a taste of what it's like to go without 'meat' for half a month—an experience so jarring it would make a sow look like a peerless beauty.

Seeing his feigned seriousness, Eve covered her mouth and chuckled, then her expression turned serious. "I can't participate in the escort, nor do I have the firepower for such risky actions. Therefore, Dean, I hope you can dispatch someone to discreetly follow them. If an accident occurs, they should take them down immediately!"

"What if they're in collusion with the destruction plant?" Dean countered.

Having the transport truck hijacked was a last resort. Previously, those moles had done just that. Only through collusion at both ends could they keep it a secret from everyone. It wasn't until Eve took office and used her captain's authority to review the files that she discovered something was amiss.

"Not this time!" Eve shook the book in her hand. "I've requested DEA agents to be involved with overseeing the destruction plant. If they try that, it'll just make things easier for me."

CLICK-CLACK.

Just then, the sound of high heels tapping on the floor grew closer. A woman, her face still retaining a touch of baby fat, wearing large sunglasses and holding a baby, approached the table next to theirs.

She first noticed Dean's appearance, paused for a moment, then pulled down her sunglasses, revealing a pair of captivating eyes that shimmered like a clear sky after rain. The woman completely ignored Eve, who was sitting opposite Dean. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she stared unwaveringly at Dean, seemingly pleasantly surprised to encounter such a handsome man in an unassuming coffee shop.

Eve's restless foot under the table stilled. She narrowed her phoenix eyes, turned her head as if sensing something, and met the woman's covetous gaze. Her expression immediately darkened. "Ma'am, the little baby in your arms is adorable. How many months old is he?"

This damn bitch, bringing a child to seduce men. Shameless!

Unexpectedly, the woman with the baby-fat face raised her eyebrows provocatively. She shifted the baby to her other arm, simultaneously revealing an ample bosom that dwarfed Eve's flatter chest, and said in a saccharine voice, "This is my sister's son. I love children, but unfortunately, I haven't found a suitable partner to have one with. By the way, Auntie, you look quite mature. Your children must already be in school, right?"

Eve glanced at the woman's prominent assets, then touched the fine lines that were beginning to show under her makeup at the corners of her eyes. She harrumphed, picked up her book, and prepared to signal Dean to leave. Then she noticed Dean looking at the woman with the child with considerable interest.

Eve felt even more aggrieved and saddened.

Sigh, no matter how outstanding a woman is, turning thirty is a definite handicap. In the eyes of these damn men, it could never compete with the endless supply of younger women.

She moved to block Dean's view, her tone laced with mockery. "She's a 'buy one, get one free' deal, Dean. Not your type."

"That child really isn't hers." Dean withdrew his gaze, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "Actually," he said, standing up, "I prefer mature women like you. We still have some time before noon. Let's find another spot for a proper chat."

Hearing this, Eve's mood instantly brightened. She clenched her fists, determined to perform well this time and let Dean appreciate the depth and charm of a mature woman!

Around twelve noon, outside the Narcotics Division, inside a battered second-hand car, Carlo was hunched over, intensely disassembling the Beretta M9 in his hands.

This was an Italian-made military pistol. It had decent performance and a 15-round magazine. However, due to its slightly lower power and 9mm caliber, it wasn't very popular among the U.S. military. But this gun boasted high accuracy and an ergonomic feel.

For the new generation, it was a fine personal firearm, suited for close-quarters gunfights and sustained combat.

Dean liked the young man's composed temperament. As the saying goes, the dogs that bite don't bark. Their unit was well-rounded: Daisy handled logistics, Harry was responsible for intelligence and informants, and Dean led case investigations. However, they still lacked additional firepower support. This was why he had chosen to bring Carlo into his group. Today was a good opportunity to take him out, spill some blood, and test his mettle!

「Twelve o'clock sharp.」

An unremarkable box truck drove out from the side gate of the Narcotics Division. It had no markings. It looked very much like the ordinary trucks used by supermarkets to deliver frozen goods or by second-hand thrift stores for hauling merchandise.

Because there had never been any problems for years, the personnel involved in this kind of escort mission weren't excessive.

According to Eve's information, the personnel on the truck were arranged by the deputy head of the Narcotics Division. Team members served as the driver and co-driver. Fully armed individuals were inside the vehicle, and two additional plainclothes officers would follow covertly, just in case.

This meant that the Narcotics Division had five people involved in this escort. Their armed strength was significant but not exaggerated, a reasonable deployment.

Spotting the target, Carlo reassembled his pistol and looked at Dean, who was fiddling with bullets. "Boss, should we follow?"

"Wait!"

Dean wasn't worried about losing track of the truck before it left the Los Angeles city area. First, he needed to identify the plainclothes surveillance vehicle to prevent them from being detected, which might lead to unnecessary misunderstandings. The technical intelligence support for this was entrusted to Little Mike, out in the suburbs. Using police surveillance on the highways, Little Mike could easily help Dean track the truck's route. He could also identify the covert plainclothes vehicles!

Make the most of every tool, and every person's talent. After his previous request for equipment, Dean had realized that leaving such a useful asset idle was practically a crime.

Time ticked by. Carlo, already primed for a gunfight, began to grow restless. Maintaining a high state of tension for an extended period wasn't easy. An excellent soldier needed to learn to regulate their own rhythm and state, or they could easily succumb to post-combat stress.

Carlo tugged at the collar of his heavy bulletproof vest, lit a cigarette, and took a few deep drags to calm his nerves slightly. Seeing Dean still calmly playing with the bullets in his hand, he couldn't help but ask with admiration, "Boss, aren't you nervous?"

Dean flicked a steel-core bullet and chuckled. "I'm fine."

Nervousness stems from a lack of confidence. The city isn't a battlefield; there aren't that many stray bullets or abundant cover, situations where it takes, on average, thousands of rounds to claim a single life.

With Dean's marksmanship, physical fitness, and reflexes, as long as he had his guns, he was Death incarnate within fifty meters! He was, in a sense, infinitely approaching the pinnacle of human combat prowess in modern history, at least in terms of face-to-face gunfights, far surpassing any so-called 'King of Assassins.'

The two continued to wait for a while.

At 12:20 PM sharp, Dean's phone finally rang!

The message was clear: High noon had arrived; the bait was out. It was time for action!

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