"And then what, keep worrying if the second line shows up clearly or if there's an error?"
Jack, the friend to all women, wouldn't let this silly girl hesitate any longer. He directly dragged her to the central hospital and found Jaris.
Half an hour later, Jaris stood before them with a lab report, smiling.
"Though I'm not an obstetrician, based on your hormone levels, I can confirm that you are indeed pregnant, Angela. Congratulations to you both."
"Ah!" Angela screamed with joy, hugging Jack tightly and almost kissing him.
"Heh heh heh!"
Jack awkwardly pried her arms off. Congratulations, my foot. Jaris was joking, and now you, the person involved, were joining in the fun too.
Jack called the real culprit, Wesley, to come to the hospital. While he waited, his phone rang. The call was from Smitty.
"Hey kid, I found your guy at a motel. But are you sure this Sassel guy is just a scumbag? Did he sleep with some gang leader's woman or something? There are professionals looking for him. You'd better hurry, or you might only find his body."
Jack was surprised by how reliable Smitty turned out to be, finding the guy in less than a day. He quickly jotted down the address, bid farewell to Jaris and the lovey-dovey couple, and drove to the motel.
After checking his gun and spare magazine, Jack walked into the front office of the "Santa Monica" motel.
"Someone said they saw this person here. Can you tell me his room number?"
Jack showed a photo to the disheveled, overweight middle-aged manager.
"Wow, uh... Officer Tavor, that's not how it works. Either you have a warrant, or..."
The motel manager's jowls wobbled as he grinned and held out three fingers, making a counting motion.
Jack wasn't in the mood to waste time with this jerk, especially since he only had five twenties on him, which he still needed to give to Smitty.
He tapped his gun holster. "If you don't want cops here every week, you'd better tell me. Smitty is waiting for my apple pie. If I'm late and he has to watch tonight's game with cold pizza..."
The manager shrugged and pointed to a ground-floor room in the parking lot.
"Room 1108, right over there. Two guys were asking about him ten minutes ago. They were much nicer and even gave me twenty bucks."
"Damn!"
Jack felt the situation slipping away and hurried outside. Before he could reach the parking lot, someone was thrown out of the window of the room, followed by sounds of a struggle. The door burst open, and a Middle Eastern man with black curly hair ran out. It was the IRS undercover agent in the photo.
"Hey, LAPD, stop!"
The warning was useless. The IRS agent bolted. The man thrown out the window, a skinny Latino covered in tattoos, staggered up, his face bloody from the glass shards.
Seeing the tattoos and the teardrop ink, indicating at least one kill, Jack's hand moved to his Glock.
Another large, tattooed black man charged out of the room, chasing the agent.
"Hey, drop your weapon!"
The Latino thug's eyes glinted with malice as he reached for his waistband. Jack shot him down and turned to the motel manager, who was trying to squeeze his bulk behind the counter.
"Call 911! Now!"
Jack kicked the struggling thug unconscious, handcuffed him to let him bleed out, picked up the thug's gun, ejected the magazine, and tucked it into his waistband before giving chase.
Taking down one gang thug had cost him a bit of time, but he wasn't too worried. The two men ahead had barely covered 150 meters.
If it was a short sprint, Jack couldn't guarantee catching them immediately. But over 800 meters to a kilometer, with his current physique, even Liu Xiang and Usain Bolt would have a hard time outpacing him.
"7-A-26, 'Santa Monica' motel, shots fired. Requesting backup. Suspect injured. Call for an ambulance."
Jack called into his radio as he sprinted, keeping his focus on the large black man chasing the agent. Any sign of the man drawing a weapon, and Jack would shoot to kill.
That IRS agent was a walking $300,000 to Jack. Anyone threatening him was threatening Jack's reward.
The IRS agent ran onto a pedestrian bridge, realizing he couldn't outrun his pursuer. He stopped a quarter of the way across, climbed over the railing, and seemed ready to jump.
Jack's heart nearly stopped. He kicked the large black man unconscious, holstered his Glock, pulled out a zip tie to bind the man's hands behind his back, and hurried to stop the agent.
"Hey! Alejandro Mesia, right?"
The agent paused, hearing his real name, and looked at the uniformed Jack.
"King sent me. Ray King, your boss. He said he trusts you and sent me to find you and ensure your safety."
Jack stepped on the gang thug's back, reaching out to stop the agent from doing anything rash.
"I don't know you."
Alejandro Mesia looked suspicious but stopped moving.
"He gave me a number to call him once I found you. Want to call him yourself?"
Jack pulled out his phone, pretending to hand it over.
Just as Mesia reached for it, the rusty railing creaked.
"Oh no, don't do this!"
Jack lunged but missed Mesia's hand. Just like a scene from countless movies, their fingers brushed past each other, and Jack watched helplessly as Mesia fell from the bridge.
My iPhone 6... no, my $300,000!!!
Jack leaned over the edge, watching Mesia crash onto a car roof, coughing up blood.
"Everyone move back!"
Jack waved the crowd away and jumped down after a running start.
"You jumped from up there? Are you crazy?"
John, arriving for backup, pointed at the five-meter-high bridge, shouting.
Jack, holding the shattered remains of his phone, nodded tearfully.
___________________
Read Ahead
P@treon.com/Mutter