Tokyo: My Superpower Refreshes Every Week-Chapter 591 - 589: Now It’s the Mexico Dream

South District, the old apartment was filled with that strong floral fragrance.

Greer felt like she was going to throw up again, exhaustedly lying on the bed, not even wanting to put clothes on.

The trash bin by the bed was already packed with cream-covered bags, which were the main source of fragrance in the apartment.

Why is it like this?

She stared blankly at the ceiling of the apartment, recalling the past, and then thought about the recent news from Mexico.

It's said that the new president Nied is a very capable person.

Not only did he solve the flour cartel that's been entrenched locally, but he also cut away the corrupt practices with bold moves, supported local agriculture, and secured numerous factory orders from foreign enterprises.

Mexicans aren't lazy; on the contrary, they are more willing to hustle than anyone.

Among the lowest-paying jobs in the United States, Mexicans are the majority.

Greer liked to browse TikTok or YouTube, watching videos of Mexico now, seeing people from her hometown working busily, fulfilling a beautiful four-year plan.

She felt a genuine envy in her heart, wanting to go back, yet unwilling to return like this.

When she left, she was the pride all the girls in the village envied.

If she returns with nothing, deported by the U.S. Immigration Bureau as an illegal immigrant, how would she tell her parents she's been working as a mistress in the US, not a star?

Greer doesn't want to see her parents' disappointed eyes, nor does she want to see the disdainful, contemptuous looks from those around her.

Those looks make Greer unwilling to be discovered by the immigration officials, nor does she want to be deported.

The sound of knocking on the door echoed again, and Greer sighed, feeling there was no end to a future like this.

She casually put on a thin garment, making it convenient for those guests to proceed.

To her, it was also quite effortless.

Greer walked to the door, opened it, and outside were two police officers in uniform.

She hesitated slightly; it wasn't that she hadn't served guests in this profession before, but having someone in uniform come directly to the door was a first.

"You're Greer Whitehead, right?"

The white officer on the left asked, and quickly said, "Your uncle Luola Rivera got involved in a gang murder and was killed in the street.

Sign this document first, and we'll take you to see the body."

After several years of struggle, Greer was no longer the naive girl she once was; she understood well that what the police were doing was not following procedure.

But she did not protest.

Because Greer feared that if they investigated, her identity as an illegal immigrant would be exposed.

Greer took the pen and signed her name on the document, saying, "I've long anticipated this day, you can handle his body as you see fit."

The white officer hesitated slightly but didn't say anything, and nodded, "Alright."

If we talk about responsibility for this death, the Los Angeles Police Department is indeed involved.

Considering there's a police car not far away with two officers on duty.

If the killer had been armed, they could claim the situation was too dangerous, and police must prioritize personal safety over that of the surrounding people.

They're not obligated to protect those people.

But the absurdity in this case is that the killer used a knife to commit murder.

If the victim's family truly sued in court, hoping the judge would determine through cut and burn marks that the killer had dangerous weapons surpassing police firearms from a distance, it would clearly be impossible.

The Los Angeles Police Department would most likely lose the case and be blackmailed for a sum.

The officer was already prepared mentally to deal with crying and commotion, including the chief.

Yet the situation turned unexpectedly easy.

He could imagine receiving praise and recognition from the chief, and saw that this woman probably intended to take her uncle's inheritance without saying a word.

The inheritance tax they paid was none of his concern.

He was more than happy to accommodate.

Greer quickly closed the door, urgently changing into a set of clothes for going out, then left this apartment.

She immediately hailed a cab heading straight to Luola's house.

Greer was well aware of Luola's suspicious nature; he didn't marry, nor did he trust banks, all of his assets were kept in a safe at home.

She had once cleverly obtained her uncle's safe password, but never had a good chance to steal the money from the safe.

Now the opportunity was here.

As for Luola's property left in Los Angeles.

Greer had no thought of selling them, as long as she could take away Luola's savings accumulated over the years, she could return to the US.

She was sure it was a substantial amount.

Because Luola lived very simply; if he wanted to find a woman, he would directly ask the women below for a free seafood feast.

With Luola's years of earnings, Greer could return home in glory, saying goodbye to the American dream.

Now she's going for the Mexican dream.

She was contemplating in the taxi about how she could carry a large amount of US dollars to return home.

...

Los Angeles Police Department.

Under the dark night, the entrance of the police station was lit with bright white lights, and the always busy chief Roderick Hanna had hurried back to the station after receiving a call from his subordinates.

Before entering the door, he started shouting loudly, "This is Los Angeles, my territory, everything has to go through my approval!"

He was very fat, but with a height of 1.96 meters, this fatness exerted a strong sense of intimidation.

The director's suit looked as if it could burst from the flesh inside.

With Roderick's unrestrained thoughts, the thumping footsteps echoed in the police station hall, like a boar crashing through the forest.

He widened his eyes, sweeping a look at the two federal agents from the FBI standing before him, and with a look through his nostrils, he said, "Do you have any business here?"

"Director Roderick, regarding the Luola case, we need to examine his body and the entire process."

The young federal agent spoke up.

This statement received a blatant sneer from Roderick's face. He knew well that in this incident, the Los Angeles Police Department was undeniably negligent; how could they hand over the handle to the higher-ups?

If he easily sold out the officers below, then what authority would he, as the director, have in the department?

No one would respect him.

Even if the officers in the department made mistakes, he would cover for them if necessary.

"Cases occurring in Los Angeles are under my jurisdiction. Since when is it your FBI's turn? I've never seen you run wild here before, thinking I'm easy to bully?"

Roderick roared, impatiently saying, "Just wait patiently for our report; don't think about anything else."

"Director Roderick, this is an order from the President!"

"Haha, don't try to intimidate me with the President; this is Los Angeles, not Washington D.C.!"

Roderick aggressively poked the young agent's chest with his fingers, displaying an arrogant and overbearing demeanor.

Here, he was the undisputed boss.

The people from the Los Angeles Police Department surrounded the FBI agents, saying nothing, just supporting the director's actions with their eyes.

Whether it's illegal or not is secondary; the key is that you can't casually sell out your brothers.

Today, you sell out Becker and the others; tomorrow, who knows who in the police department you'll sell out.

In this line of work, how could you not make mistakes?

This is Los Angeles, after all.

The high crime rate has conditioned the police to judge any slight disturbance as needing a full clip emptied.

Mistaken killings are unavoidable; it's better someone else dies than oneself.

The young agent was furious and wanted to say more.

Beside him, the older federal agent placed a hand on his shoulder, then turned to the director, saying, "Director Roderick, let's talk on the side."

Roderick nodded slightly; he preferred speaking with agents who understood the rules.

...

The two walked to the corner of the hall.

"Director Roderick, I'm not concerned about whether there's any negligence in this case by the Los Angeles Police Department, nor will I concern myself.

We only want the body and the case process.

You should know about the recent happenings with the Different World; we suspect this case is related to it."

"I see."

A look of realization crossed Roderick's face as his phone in his pocket rang again. He gestured to excuse himself for a moment, dropping the previously arrogant behavior towards the young agent.

He answered the call, received the report, then hung up, smiling, "Good, I hope you remember your promise. You can take the body; I'm not the kind of person who's unreasonable and disregards rules."

"Pleasure to cooperate."

The older agent extended his hand. Roderick smiled and shook it, then turned to his subordinates and shouted, "It was all a misunderstanding, let them take the body.

Becker and the others were also influenced by the monsters from the Different World; let them take a couple of days off at home to rest. Everyone else, back to your posts."

His words dispelled the tense atmosphere within the police department, and the officers who had gathered dispersed.

"Tom, lead them to where Luola's body is stored."

"OK."

The young officer smiled and led the way.

...

At the mortuary, the two federal agents quickly got to work, photographing the body thoroughly, and reviewing the forensic report and the case details.

All of this needed to be documented.

The local police department and the President are always separated by a layer, far less trustworthy than the FBI.

The two of them left the Los Angeles Police Department.

The young agent took a deep breath, looking at the deserted street, and couldn't help but say, "The Los Angeles Police Department people are really too arrogant, completely disregarding us FBI, and don't even care about the President."

"Haha, you're still too young. The Luola case is special; the LAPD people would never allow us to investigate their faults."

The older agent displayed a calm expression, advising, "In the future, when handling cases, always remember.

When encountering intense non-cooperation, never mistake it for stubbornness or foolishness.

Behind it, there must be some interest driving them to act that way.

What you perceive as foolish behavior is considered beneficial in their eyes.

Roderick's stable position as director, and the admiration and support from his officers, is no mark of an arrogant brute.

I dare say, if you had tried to reach for your pocket earlier, they would have a hundred percent shot you, claiming self-defense."

"Yes."

The young agent nodded, putting away his previous arrogance, planning to learn from his senior these career experiences and avoid encountering a 'shot eight times in the back while committing suicide' situation.