[Chapter 742: Happy Arica]
"Gunfight broke out near Lemurt Park. Are there any patrol officers nearby?"
Upon hearing the call over the radio, a beefy white man scoffed, clearly unimpressed.
Andrei had already settled in Arica for a while, and he was quite content with his life. As for the petty troubles happening around him, he didn't give them a second thought.
"Vasily, tell them to hurry up. The officers are on their way, and I don't want to stir up any trouble."
"Sir, there aren't any officers close by. It'll take them an hour."
"Idiot, we're so close to USC, and they're all rich kids in there."
"Cough, cough, it'll be over soon, at most five minutes. You said it yourself -- don't make it outrageous."
Such scenes at Lemurt Park were far from uncommon in Los Angeles. The influx of newcors dominated the area, and aside from Beverly Hills and so wealthy neighborhoods, gunfire and violence were quite ordinary, even in the downtown area.
In LA, the difference between a good neighborhood and a bad one was like heaven and hell. In safe areas, it didn't matter whether you locked your door or not; in the dangerous ones, it didn't make a difference either. To sum it up: chaos or order completely depended on where you lived!
Angel City, ha, this angel was clearly cohabiting with the devil.
Two hours later, three police cars screeched to a halt.
Ha, if this were in Beverly Hills, it would've been unthinkable. Fifteen minutes after calling for help, and they still hadn't shown up; you'd be lucky if they even considered your complaint. Here, getting any police presence was a blessing.
...
"Master, well, there was a minor scuffle, but they've already settled it."
"Ha, I saw the news. I thought it was a war zone."
Back in the day, gang culture hadn't been widespread in Arica; the only ones with a bit of tradition were the Sicilians. After continuous crackdowns, their power had significantly diminished. The most significant issue was that with prohibition gone, their major source of inco had disappeared.
All that getting knocked down was just fluff; as long as you had a stack of greenbacks, soone would always help you smooth things over.
"Master, I don't know what's going on, but gangs from all over the world seem to be converging on Los Angeles."
"Ha, I knew it. Hey, Tanner, just watch -- this is only the beginning. Europe is in chaos, Africa is in chaos -- where do you expect these folks to expand? By the way, Hawkeye could help find so new recruits from this ss."
"Alright, master, after this fight, those little punks will know better."
In reality, those punks didn't understand anything; they were scared out of their wits. Professionals were just that -- professionals, clearly different from these wannabes.
...
"These idiots -- how could those guys possibly be refugees?"
"Chief, I don't know, but Luis said he checked it out."
"Where the hell is that punk? I'm going to skin him alive."
"Uh, Chief, he got whacked right at the start."
At the sa ti, this gang, which had remained relatively low-key, successfully declared its presence. Ladies and gentlen, unless you wanted a fight, it was best to steer clear of us. When they called themselves a fighting nation, they truly ant it.
Looking at the three bodies just brought in, Sheriff Hunter felt quite annoyed. Here were typical nobody types -- no immigration records, no social security numbers, no close relatives.
As for whatever new boss had concocted that ridiculous healthcare plan, looks like it wouldn't do them any good.
"These guys are insane; this is already the third shooting this week. What's going on?"
"Chief, ever since that last incident, police presence has been weak in the southwest of LA. As for this ti, it's just about territory."
Sheriff Hunter felt like he might just throw up. Although he wasn't as formidable as the cop from the TV shows, he was determined to maintain so semblance of order.
And now, three more bodies turned up. If the brothers flipped out again, he genuinely wouldn't know what to do.
Of course, thinking too much was unnecessary.
Yes, so gangs could be relentless, and because they lost a few mbers, they dared open fire at will in the community.
Such things had indeed happened in LA's history. Conflicts between gangs often spilled into the public. In the end, anyone who crossed their path beca a target.
However, not this ti -- if they dared act like that this ti, most would end up getting wiped out.
Many people didn't understand; if gun violence was rampant, wouldn't Texas be the worst? When it ca to per capita gun ownership, California was rely average.
At the end of the day, it wasn't really about the guns. The growing divide between the rich and the poor was the greatest issue.
Of course, overly lax gun controls did amplify these tensions. Why was LA so chaotic? Because decent people disliked guns.
So people loved Arica because it felt like paradise. Others hated it because it felt like hell. In truth, they were both right; Arican cities mirrored the nature of its people -- utterly divided.
Those who said it was like paradise likely had plenty of cash. Conversely, if you were in Arica just to make money, you knew where you stood.
You see, the automatic locks on cars were incredibly useful in the U.S. Just imagine waiting at a red light and suddenly soone yanked your door open, gun aid at your head.
Believe , such incidents were all too common.
As for the scenes on television, anyone who believed them must have been naive. Driving a Ferrari around to impress? At night, no less.
Such scenes were often portrayed on TV, right?
Never try it out, though -- getting robbed two or three tis in just ten kiloters was perfectly normal. Even in the relatively safe Beverly Hills, it wasn't wise to test your luck at night.
...
The plane taxied quickly, leaving the earth's grip behind. William White, nestled in his armchair, had a smug look on his face; this chapter was wrapped up, and he was headed to Europe to capture so stunning visuals.
"Dear, is it true about MJ? Is it real or just gossip?"
"Ugh, Nastassja, I'm not Doraemon; why do you ask everything?"
"Co on now, you live so close to them; if not you, then who?"
"How could it possibly be true? Just a bunch of greedy punks. But this ti, it's going to be a huge ss."
"Haha, no wonder your company had so many rules."
"Okay, I'm not exactly a saint, you know, at a certain age, it's hard to assess people just by sight."
"Pfft, you have such unsavory tastes." Nastassja rolled her eyes, clearly not buying his explanation.
"Please, don't point fingers at . When dealing with those young upstarts, it's best to tread lightly. For money, they'd say anything."
Nastassja scoffed; she had no interest in those guys. Plus, there was still a jealous one lurking nearby.
In truth, Nastassja was overthinking it; William White had no intention of restricting her freedom. What he found uncomfortable was having to squeeze into public transport. Even if it wasn't a private car, at least it should be a hired one.
[T/N: Vehicle or transport refer to a woman.]
*****
spatreon/Sayonara816.
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