Super Detective in the Fictional World

Luke: “NYPD. ”

This is a home that must be reported, and although he reversed the order of his head and the door of the newspaper, he did.

The middle-aged man he strangled was obviously stunned: "NYPD? ”

Luke: "Come on, who's in there? ”

The middle-aged man suddenly shouted: "DEA! We're DEA agents. My ID's in my chest pocket. You can see it. ”

The sound of the speech in room 6B was suddenly quiet, Luke frowned, the gun was still stuck in his back of the head, and the man's left hand, pinched his neck loose, touched his chest a few times, and found a badge.

Just a glance and he knows it should be true.

But these DEA agents are really fake, an unknown number.

Or they're really agents, but they're more trouble.

The middle-aged man he was holding with his gun felt his neck loose and immediately said, "We're on a covert arrest mission, and I'm Brass Bolton, and it's my colleague inside. ”

That still sounds very loud.

Luke squinted his eyes and knew what was going on.

Along with Brass-Burton's voice, someone finally spoke in the room: "We're DEA people, who's out there? Brass.”

"It's a cop from NYPD," Brass said in a hurry. ”

And as he spoke, Luke had retracted his gun and returned to the stairwell.

He can't trust these DEA agents in the house at all.

There was finally a man in the door who looked out quickly.

After making sure it was only Brass at the door, he quickly came back and looked at Luke and said, "Dude, what are you doing? It's not good to point a gun at a colleague. ”

Luke laughed and his face didn't change much: “I'm sorry, I was notified of a heavy gunfight here, but you didn't show your badge. ”

That said, he still had the gun in his hand against the 6B door.

The other party's divine color is obviously not very nice.

Luke was more likely to notice the calm appearance of the man talking at the door, and there was someone behind him who spoke very quietly about how to deal with his words.

The movement in the house grew again.

After that, Luke walked a little further down the stairs, hiding half his body beneath the horizon.

He just picked up the phone and dialed the information centre at Headquarters.

Luke reported his identity and police number, describing the situation here, and headquarters indicated that the patrol police would be there in up to five minutes.

Room 6B is constantly moving, and Luke's acute hearing and brain response are constantly grasping information from each other's sporadic language.

“What about this shit? ”

“Mikey, wait for you to get out. If found, say seized contraband. ”

“Here? What about the kid's body? ”

“Think for yourself. ”

“Ah?”

……

Five minutes later, two patrol police vehicles arrived downstairs.

Luke showed his badge to the four NYPD patrol officers upstairs, identified themselves and told them what was going on over there before taking them to the 6B room entrance.

The patrol police stood on both sides, shook their guns in their hands, and began shouting: “NYPD, listen, people inside, put down your weapons and come out and show your papers, otherwise we have reason to suspect you reasonably. ”

It was quiet for a moment and finally four people came out.

They don't have guns in their hands, but they just stick them back in the holster, and everyone has a DEA badge on them or on their hands.

A winged eagle stands on an octagonal circle badge, distinguishing it from the NYPD badge at a glance.

The first person on the patrol, one by one, checked the badge identification and nodded at Luke.

Luke wasn't surprised.

These DEA agents are real, but they're the only ones who know what they're doing here.

Luke almost knows, but there are things you can't accuse without iron evidence.

He stepped into the room while the patrol officer was communicating with several DEA agents.

The body of a short, fat man was lying near the door, but there was something wrong with the six bullet holes in his back and the long blood trail behind him caused by the crawl.

Avoiding all the blood, he walked two steps inside and a young girl was shot in the back at the end of the right passage.

Luke took two steps in silence, looking at the bathroom with the door open on the right.

A woman soaked in a bathtub with headphones, a big hole in her chest, and the water in the bathtub had turned red with blood, and there was a lot of red water on the ground.

Luke grinned in his heart: A woman listening to headphones soaking in the bathtub needs a shotgun through her chest? SWAT is not so rough against empty cloth elements.

After a few glances, he took a few more steps and another body appeared at the intersection of a passage.

Luke's face went down.

This is a little boy, four or five years old at most, who has been shot in the chest and is no longer breathing.

Except for the man at the door, the three men who died here were unarmed women and children.

These DEAs are crazy!

Paused for a moment, judging the direction in which the little boy had been shot, he walked into another room.

The room was a mess, full of guneyes, not a gun.

This should be where the intense exchange of fire took place, as mentioned by the police call.

The body of a man in a plaid shirt lying at the door, and the smell on him showed that he had a lot of contact with several other people, which should be the DEA guys.

The dead in the room, that's five.

The man who should have died at the door, the woman in the bathtub, the young girl and the little boy were the children of the family.

As he swept through the room, he glanced at a photo frame.

That's a picture of a dead young girl and a little boy, but in the middle down there, there's a photo clip there.

That's an 11-year-old girl.

Luke looked at the middle-aged man in a beige suit as he measured the situation in the house, with a little smile on his face: "Detective, this is our case. ”

Luke dropped his gaze on him, and this time he didn't even have a condescending smile on his face, just a faint statement: "Here are two minors who are dead, you DEA kind of method, you want blank attack or massacre? ”

The man in the suit changed his face: "What do you think the traffickers are? Pious believers, praying in church every day is over? They'll take out their guns any minute and kill you. ”

He lifted his finger to the body of the man in the flower shirt at the door and yelled, “My buddy just died, so you said something cool? Oh, by the way, see, that fat bastard broke his new suit!” He shouted his left shoulder.

He did get shot there.

But Luke could see that the shotgun wasn't completely solid, it was just rubbed by a bullet or two, otherwise the guy's left arm wouldn't have moved.

He nodded: "You just have to be happy.” Turn around and go.