Los Angeles DEA, in an office.
After logging into the intranet using Deputy Director Clett's clearance...
Stansfield finally confirmed that the people who rented the apartment on the fourth floor and installed surveillance on Michael's home were indeed the FBI.
Through the intranet, he could only see some basic information.
But for Stansfield, that was enough.
"Good. Very good!"
"So it is the FBI!"
"Since you want to mess with me, don't blame me for dealing with you."
Stansfield was already a bit crazy.
Over the years, he had climbed from being one of Deputy Director Clett's "black gloves"...
Step by step, to where he was now. Although on the surface he was still just a Senior Agent at the LA DEA...
Relying on the massive amount of black money earned from selling drugs, Stansfield had built a huge network of power and interests centered on himself.
As the core of this network, he enjoyed vast wealth and power that he shouldn't have possessed.
Consequently, Stansfield had long lost himself.
As a DEA agent, he not only knowingly broke the law and committed all kinds of evil...
He had even become addicted to drugs himself.
By now, he was completely dependent on them.
Not only did he have to use several times a day, but the dosage was also increasing.
Long-term drug abuse had severely corroded Stansfield's body and health.
It also caused problems with his mental state.
In his early years, Stansfield was cunning, insidious, and resourceful.
Now, aside from threats and intimidation, his favorite method was violence.
Simple and direct!
But if mishandled, the consequences could be severe.
However, right now, Stansfield's rationality was heavily influenced by drugs and bad news.
So much so that he didn't put much thought into the investigation.
He simply confirmed that the ones watching Michael's apartment were indeed FBI agents.
Feeling his authority and interests were being challenged by the FBI, Stansfield was instantly furious.
He quickly pulled out a rarely used burner phone and dialed a number.
Shortly after, the call connected.
A man with a heavy Mexican accent answered: "I told you, don't contact me unless it's urgent."
The voice was very impatient, but tinged with helplessness.
Stansfield swiveled his office chair and propped his leather-shod feet up on the desk in front of him.
"Find a few of your men—ones who can keep their mouths shut—to do a job for me."
Trying to keep his tone calm, he ordered the person on the other end: "After you do this for me, your Mexican gang can reduce the monthly tribute by 10% for the next year."
Stansfield was contacting the boss of a Mexican gang in Los Angeles.
As the secret boss of the LA DEA responsible for drug raids, he dealt with drug lords frequently.
Mexican immigrants were spread all over the US, and Mexico was one of the world's largest drug producers.
Therefore, various Mexican gangs formed by immigrants... treated the drugs produced in their motherland...
As "welfare," bringing them into the US through various channels.
Stansfield had dealt with several Mexican gangs in LA over the years; almost all of them were secretly trafficking drugs.
As the mastermind behind the DEA curtain, Stansfield had done many things in secret over the last decade.
Many of the drugs currently in his possession came from those who feared his status...
Or were threatened by Stansfield in the past, or had their dirt caught by him, forcing them to pay monthly tribute.
It was no exaggeration to say his money was robbed directly from these drug lords.
Therefore, Stansfield's relationship with these drug lords naturally wasn't good.
They were only tolerating him temporarily out of fear of his status and power.
On the other end of the line, the man was silent for a while before answering: "Tell us briefly what needs to be done first."
Stansfield's feet kept shaking on the desk, and his voice began to sound a bit floaty (high).
"Get a few guys and go to an apartment building at the address I give you."
"Have your men take care of a few people in an apartment on the fourth floor."
"Then rob a few random families, kill or injure a few people, and escape quickly."
"Keep it clean. If anyone finds out I ordered you to do this, you know the consequences."
The Mexican gang boss on the other end breathed rapidly for a moment, suppressing his anger.
"Got it. Give me the address. I'll have my men handle it."
"But remember what you promised."
"Don't worry. I keep my word."
Hanging up quickly, Stansfield thought for a moment, then took out another SIM card from his inner pocket.
He popped open the back of the phone, inserted the SIM, and dialed another number.
"It's me. Send a few guys with some gasoline and explosives."
"Come with me to Michael's place later."
"That kid dared to swallow my goods. Since he doesn't want to live, I'll grant his wish."
After hanging up again, Stansfield, thinking he had arranged everything perfectly, leisurely picked up his headphones and Walkman from the desk.
After selecting his favorite music, he put on the headphones and listened leisurely and contentedly.
At the same time, near the FBI Los Angeles Field Office.
Outside a surveillance blind spot, having successfully shaken off the FBI agent trailing him...
Hunter, who had dyed his hair and applied makeup to disguise his true face, had quietly arrived near the FBI branch.
He waited patiently for a while until he finally saw a black kid passing by alone, looking about ten years old...
Hunter's eyes lit up. He immediately disguised his voice and called out to the kid: "Hey, boy, come here for a sec."
Seeing the black kid look over, he pulled out a treated twenty-dollar bill.
"Boy, do me a small favor."
"Help me deliver this letter inside. Just give it to anyone."
"Then this twenty bucks is yours."
The black kid was indeed attracted by the money. His eyes lit up.
But after looking Hunter up and down carefully, he shook his head and said, "That's the FBI office. My parents won't let me go near there."
"Unless... you give me a Grant."
US dollar bills feature different portraits.
$1: George Washington (1st President).
$2: Thomas Jefferson (3rd President).
$5: Abraham Lincoln (16th President).
$10: Alexander Hamilton (1st Treasury Secretary).
$20: Andrew Jackson (7th President).
$50: Ulysses S. Grant (18th President).
$100: Benjamin Franklin (Founding Father/Scientist).
In the US, because citizens hold multiple credit cards...
Most transactions are done via credit card. People only carry $1-$20 bills for small items or tips.
$50 and $100 bills have low circulation domestically.
Thus, $50s and $100s are often colloquially called "Grants" and "Franklins."
Hunter was prepared. He looked at the black kid with amusement.
But he still took out a similarly treated fifty-dollar bill and handed it to him.
"Greedy kid. No problem."
After taking the fifty dollars, the black kid kept his promise.
He took the letter and ran straight toward the FBI Los Angeles Field Office. Hunter quickly changed his position and slightly altered his makeup.
But his eyes remained fixed on the FBI building.
Five or six minutes later, he saw two men in plain clothes walking out of the FBI branch with the black kid.
The three stood at the entrance, pointing toward Hunter's previous location for a moment.
Then, one of them walked toward that spot with the kid, while the other went back inside.
Seeing his goal achieved, the smile on Hunter's face deepened.
He quickened his pace and soon disappeared into the streets.
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