Jimmy extinguished his cigarette butt and tossed it into the trashcan, then continued to walk the streets with Ruiz.
This kind of aimless wandering on the streets might seem like a waste of ti, but actually it allowed for a better observation of the surrounding environnt and people. For soone as experienced as Ruiz, in many cases, just by spotting gang mbers he could identify which gang they belonged to.
This was their compulsory course. By analyzing the gang mbers' patterns of movent, they could roughly determine their respective territories. And if mbers of another gang appeared, that might an trouble.
Of course, Jimmy was still a rookie, he was just getting a feel for it.
Ruiz had shared a lot of information about the Bronx with him, giving Jimmy a preliminary impression. For more detailed information, they would need to go back to the office and look at the records. Ruiz was the team leader, not a tour guide.
After wandering for a while, they returned to the surveillance van; the two re-entered the vehicle. Ruiz sat down next to the surveillance personnel, looking at the data displayed on the computer, while Jimmy sat near the rear door, in a sowhat cramped space—far less comfortable than Jones's surveillance van.
Ruiz flipped through the data for a while, then stood up and called Jimmy over, "Jimmy, take a look at this data as well. Familiarize yourself with it. We'll have to wait here for a while longer."
Jimmy obeyed and took a seat. The computer displayed what appeared to be video screenshots, of a dozen or so people, with no nas labelled yet—presumably the ones the surveillance personnel ntioned had been sent to the office for investigation, with no feedback received yet.
Jimmy scanned through them one by one, attempting to commit these faces to mory. Among them was a photo of Moro, the head of the Holy Crown Alliance in New York.
Jimmy asked Ruiz, "Do we have any evidence against Moro right now?"
Ruiz replied, "We have no direct evidence. The smuggling ship that was seized earlier did not have concrete evidence to directly implicate Moro; that's why we're focusing on him now."
Jimmy inquired, "Are there any other materials?"
Ruiz responded, "We have to wait for feedback from the office. We can't access information on this computer."
After viewing the photos, Jimmy gave the spot back to Ruiz and continued to sit by the back door.
So ti passed, and after Ruiz gave a few instructions, he took Jimmy out of the surveillance van. Since the intelligence hadn't arrived yet, staying there would be a waste of ti. Surveillance could be handled by the professionals.
Jimmy and Ruiz walked back the way they ca to the parking lot, got into the car, and left the Bronx, heading back to Manhattan.
Since it was already noon, Jimmy suggested they have lunch, so the two sat down in a roadside restaurant. Of course, Jimmy was quick to pay the bill. Despite being a big shot, since it was his first ti working with Ruiz and not knowing his temperant, treating him to a al was surely not a mistake. It was a way to build rapport, after all.
In the afternoon, back at the office, Jimmy managed to get a spare desk near Ruiz's area. Since he was only temporarily transferred, Jimmy didn't even have a computer assigned to him. He took so gang files from Ruiz and started to go through them slowly at his desk.
Truth be told, addressing gang issues certainly felt more thrilling than dealing with Peter's art thefts; however, when looking through these files, Jimmy could not help but feel his blood pressure rise.
Although he had seen plenty of gangster films and TV shows, those had been dramatized by screenwriters. The FBI files, on the other hand, contained raw information. This entire stack of files almost felt like a complint when referring to Hell on Earth.
All sorts of cris were listed—rely writing down the nas seed like polluting the reader's eyes, to the point where censorship might be warranted.
Gangs ultimately are gangs, their business and money-making thods are built on cri and gang warfare. Whether intentionally or not, ordinary people get caught up in their activities; large-scale shootings were just a part of life, and in a massive city like New York with several million inhabitants, it was all too common for innocents to be hard or go missing.
Whilst looking at these files, Jimmy clearly felt none of the casual detachnt he experienced when reviewing the art theft files—just reading them made him want to draw his gun and go after the criminals.
"Jimmy, co in," Ruiz called him into the office. Jimmy's desk was right outside Ruiz's office, and it was evident that Jimmy was still highly regarded.
Jimmy entered the office, "What's up, Ruiz?"
Ruiz asked, "You were previously with the Arkansas Plaskey County Police, right? When did you join?"
"2000, two and a half years ago," replied Jimmy.
"Co take a look, do you know this guy?" Ruiz asked.
Jimmy walked over to Ruiz and looked at the monitor.
A middle-aged Caucasian with short hair, Reina Franjes, a forr county police officer.
"Reina, I don't rember him," Jimmy said looking at Reina's photo. "Based on the timing, he had already left when I joined the police departnt, so I never worked with him."
Ruiz said, "It's okay if you don't recognize him, we have his photo and his file; we can definitely find him. You can go now."
Jimmy turned and left Ruiz's office, returning to his own desk to continue reviewing a file.
Jimmy had lied just now. The mont he saw the na Reina, he had rembered. There had been a kidnapping case before, which was later resolved by Chief Jas by letting a forr Sergeant nad Reina release the hostage and leave.
Since it was nightti, Jimmy hadn't seen Reina's face clearly, so he couldn't have recognized him from the surveillance photo. But the information just now ntioned that Reina had worked at the Plaskey County Police, which matched up.
Jimmy tried hard to recall, but it had been two years, and he didn't have much of an impression at that ti; now, he couldn't rember the details.
Jimmy looked towards Ruiz's office, then got up from his desk, walked to a secluded spot, and called Jas.
"Hey, Jimmy, you haven't called in a while, how's it going?" Jas answered.
"Everything's normal here. What about you?" Jimmy said.
"What's the matter, you called?" Jas asked.
"Jas, there's a person's information I want to inquire about, a forr Sergeant nad Reina," said Jimmy.
There was an obvious pause on the other end, and Jas didn't speak for several seconds. Jimmy didn't rush him, just waited for Jas to respond.
"Jimmy, what's happened?" Jas asked.
"We were monitoring a mafia boss and discovered that he had connections with the gang. After getting surveillance photos and coming back to check the files, we found out he was a forr Plaskey County policeman. I don't have much of an impression, so I'm asking you," Jimmy explained.
"Reina, that son of a bitch, has actually run off to New York. Jimmy, you must catch him if you get a chance; he still owes us a life," Jas said.
"Jas, tell the details," Jimmy urged.
"A few years ago, we arrested a drug dealer. He was hijacked while a patrol officer was taking him back to the police station, the drug dealer was rescued, and we lost an officer. When we investigated for a mole, we found Reina, but due to pressure from the Dixie family, we could only let him resign and leave in the end. We've never forgotten that debt."
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