Chapter 38: A Major Case Without a Sequel

Jimmy returned to the police station, where Chief James had already been briefed. The Chief assigned Sergeant Kagg to take over the case from Jimmy.

Jimmy had no objections. He had never handled a drug-related case before and lacked the experience, so he was more than happy to leave it to Sergeant Kagg.

Instead of returning to patrol immediately, Jimmy went to the breakroom, took off his gear, and tried to relax. The situation he had just faced was quite intense. Having a traffic stop escalate into a direct threat from a driver was not uncommon across the country, but Jimmy had reacted quickly; the moment he saw the driver’s hands off the steering wheel, he had stepped back. Thanks to his "mind's eye," he had confirmed the driver was indeed holding a gun, which prevented him from being deceived and allowed him to maintain a standoff while waiting for backup. The suspect ultimately surrendered only because a second patrol car arrived. Had it been just one officer, the suspect would have had a decent chance of escaping, either by driving off or opening fire. With two officers and two patrol cars, however, the suspect’s hope was gone.

Jimmy took a shower, as his undershirt had been soaked with sweat. By the time he emerged, Kagg had already processed the suspect and placed him in the interrogation room. Now, they had to wait for the lab results on the white powder. If it turned out to be narcotics, the weight of the bag meant the suspect would be facing many years in prison. If it were just flour or starch, Jimmy would have to release him. Jimmy chatted with Kagg to get a sense of the procedure, which served as a good learning experience. Since waiting for the lab results was Kagg’s responsibility, Jimmy rested for a while before putting his gear back on and heading out for patrol.

County police can handle drug cases, but usually only for small-time players; for major operations, the DEA must be involved. If the lab confirmed the contents, the DEA would certainly be notified, as the bag contained conservatively over a kilogram of powder. Regardless of whether Jimmy waited for the results, the outcome would have little to do with him or the department; receiving a case update would be the best he could hope for.

While patrolling, Jimmy heard some interesting news from Kagg: the Mississippi River was overrun with Asian carp. When Kagg and his colleagues were off duty, they would go "bowfishing" to relax. It was exactly what it sounded like—using bows, crossbows, or harpoons to shoot fish. It was said to be very therapeutic, and some of these Asian carp were reportedly over 70 centimeters long and weighed over 15 kilograms. These sizes completely shattered Jimmy’s perception of carp. He had eaten carp and crucian carp before and seen them in markets, but they were always small, maybe 20 to 30 centimeters and a few pounds. He had never seen monsters like the ones Kagg described.

Jimmy had already made an agreement with Kagg to join them next time they went out to see for himself. Having caught one suspect already today, Jimmy didn't want any more excitement. He drove aimlessly along the highway, sticking to the 45 mph speed limit; as long as no one overtook him, there was no reason to pull anyone over. The rest of the shift was uneventful, and Jimmy headed home safely.

Jimmy had received word from the repair shop that partnered with the police department that he could get a decent used car. For months, he had been catching rides with others or taking taxis to work, and he felt it was time to have his own vehicle. He had already coordinated with his apartment manager to rent a parking space in the adjacent lot.

He had scheduled a time to look at the car: a 1992 Mercury Tracer. It was a brand Jimmy had never heard of, though everyone else seemed familiar with it. Upon seeing the car, he liked it immediately. It was blue, a four-door sedan, with a small spoiler on the trunk, a 1.8L naturally aspirated engine, and an automatic transmission. It was a private sale, and the repair shop helped him handle the title transfer. The out-the-door price was only $2,000. There was likely something wrong with the car, but as the beneficiary, Jimmy didn't care. He was satisfied and just had to wait two days to pick it up.

Two days later, Jimmy successfully picked up his car, and the insurance company affiliated with the police department provided a discounted rate for the policy. It was worth noting that American police departments generally offered various insurance perks to officers, including medical, health, life, and property insurance. Medical and unemployment insurance, in particular, were fully covered by the department—a necessity for a profession like policing, where minor injuries were inevitable. Having an insurance company as a safety net provided great peace of mind.

Jimmy drove his new car to the station and received a new update: the driver from a few days prior had been handed over to the DEA. However, the news from their end was disappointing. The driver was truly just a courier—he picked up the goods at a designated spot and delivered them to another, never making contact with anyone during the process. Due to a lack of surveillance, they had no way to identify the handlers on either end. It was a big case, but a useless one. Jimmy’s chance for a major commendation vanished, leaving him only with the credit for the initial arrest. It didn't matter much; the biggest credit would have gone to the DEA anyway, and no one at the local station would have touched it unless the DEA needed the county police’s assistance.

Jimmy headed out on patrol in his cruiser. He had been writing a lot of tickets recently, so he decided to take a break on the side of the road to avoid appearing too greedy. Noah and the others averaged 10–15 tickets a week, while Jimmy was hitting 3–4 a day, so taking a day or two off was no issue.

Jimmy parked his cruiser on a side road and went under the shade of some trees to smoke. He took the opportunity to practice reloading his revolver. He didn't use a speedloader; instead, he grabbed a handful of rounds, pushed them into the cylinder one by one, then used the ejector rod to push them out and started again. He practiced repeatedly, aiming to master rapid reloading during a firefight to maintain firepower. It was time-consuming work that wouldn't show results overnight, so he practiced whenever he had a spare moment. As long as he ensured the cylinder was loaded before holstering, he was set.

Just as he was practicing, his phone rang—an unrecognized number.

"Hello, who is this?"

"Hi, is this Officer Jimmy? It’s Dasmoro from Summerfield. You came to handle the noise complaint about my neighbor’s late-night renovations last time."

"Oh, I remember you. What’s up?"

"Yes, I’m not sure if I should report this, but there’s a box truck that’s been parked at the intersection for three days now. It doesn't have local plates, and none of my neighbors are truck drivers."

"Has the truck just been sitting there? Has it moved at all in the last few days?"

"No, it’s been there for at least three days straight."

"Okay, I’ll head over and take a look."

Jimmy started his patrol car and drove toward Summerfield. He remembered the place well, mostly because someone who might be a CIA agent lived there.