By 2 a.m., the morphine had failed, some time since Aubrey had left the place. He had only had an injection before 10 o'clock www.biquge.info, in other words, the pain-relieving effect of morphine lasted less than four hours.

The pain came back piecemeal, first in the left diaphragm, then in the right a few minutes, and then spread to the back, and then spread throughout the body.

The pain was sharp and piercing, like a greedy vulture pecking and tearing at his internal organs.

He lay on his tall bed, staring at the nightlight and the glow reflected on the white concrete ceiling, shadows of strange shapes, as cold and tiresome as a hospital room.

The ceiling is not flat, but curved into two shallow arches, making it feel very far away. The ceiling was indeed quite high, over twelve feet, and it was as old as everything else in the building. His hospital bed was in the middle of the stone floor, and there were only two pieces of furniture: a bedside table and a straight-backed wooden chair.

The curtains of the room were not fully drawn, and the windows were slightly open, and the night breeze blew into the room through the two-inch-wide slit, and the air in the room was cold and fresh, but he still felt that the smell of rotting flowers on the bedside table and his sick body made him suffocate and want to vomit.

He didn't fall asleep, just sober and silently thinking about one thing, the effect of the painkiller was almost over, he had to thank Vivien, if she hadn't escaped, without her explanation to the police, Aubrey would have a nervous breakdown in a short period of time, endless nightmares, endless psychological torture, not ordinary people can endure, and in the end he was saved.

It's like a mysterious man, don't look at the naked neck now, he was almost collapsed at the beginning......

On the other side of the city, just the night before.

The lid of the trunk popped open, and a pungent smell poured into the cool morning air. The smell of weapon oil applied to the burnt blue barrel could be smelled for several meters. Not to mention not just a weapon, but a whole car.

Sarah, like her colleagues, filled the car to the brim. It's 7 o'clock in the morning. Our four inconspicuous cars quietly drove up the asphalted parking lot at 6:58 a.m. There were no sirens and no flashing lights on the roof.

Fat seagulls screamed and circled overhead, looking at the group with distrust. The smell of weapon oil in the trunk left them helpless. In this area, once the car doors are opened, the smell of hamburgers, jitu burgers, hot dogs and marshmallows is usually emitted.

But the group didn't look like the people who usually get off here. They're not fat kids who keep stuffing sweet treats into their bellies, or they're not pot-bellied parents with cigarettes in their mouths and lemon juice.

They wore black field uniforms, sneakers on their feet, and three white capital letters on their backs stood out.

FBI

Until now, no one has noticed them except seagulls. It was probably not the letters that confused the circling sharp-eyed birds, but the smell of their strange costumes and what they brought.

When Sarah took the submachine gun out of the trunk, the first seagulls turned and left.

They're probably experienced, and they've seen their kind of people with thumping shotguns and feathers falling to the ground and never flying again.

The hungry birds flapped their wings and flew far away towards the Hudson River. Despite the fact that it was early in the morning, the first boats were already faintly visible on the waterway. But there may not be anything to eat there.

The Harbor Police Department's colleagues were dressed in civilian clothes and looked like loafers, and it was not clear from their speedboats that they belonged to the famous LAPD, the Los Angeles Police Department, but there were more powerful guys below deck and behind the cabin windows than what was in their luggage compartment. In addition to light weapons such as submachine guns and grenades, they are armed with light machine guns, rocket launchers and mortars.

As a result, they can smoke or blow targets to pieces, and they can also use these weapons to scare the bad boys, such as firing tracer bullets with accuracy, or blasting doors open with unerring accuracy.

If they wanted, they could start a war in the marina below.

The fact is: they don't want war.

They just want the guy who lives on the family boat.

If they could come out voluntarily, they wouldn't have fired a single shot. But I don't think it's possible.

The action plan reads:

Appropriate armament is required, and it is estimated that only the use of light armament will complete the arrest plan. Arrestees may resist with arms.

Beautiful and unrealistic official. The people at the desks in the agency are good at playing official. There are also these people in the FBI, and they do chores for them. They can express anything in an official voice. That way, they won't be startled by accidents and won't be disturbed when they doze off at work.

The gangsters don't shoot nonsense.

They do not shoot at all moving targets.

They don't sweep at them with dense artillery fire. They are not at all unpredictable.

No, they put up armed resistance. That's how the perfect official tone is played.

So it sounded like no danger, as if they were going for an early morning walk in a scenic part of Manhattan.

They were careful not to rattle the gun. The parking lot is located in a long green belt on the north side of one of the viaducts in Santa Monica, so they don't have to worry about curious people watching. It was quiet, less than 100 meters from the marina in a straight line, and the sound of cars on the bridge was only faintly audible, as there was a slope between them and the riverbank, and the actual distance was estimated to be 150 meters.

But the sound of water is different from the noise of high-rise buildings in downtown areas, it travels far farther than hope.

Therefore, if they want to achieve unexpected results, they have to be careful.

Sarah and James were driving a black Buick in an FBI convoy. The car is clumsy and resembles a jaguar. Sarah left her red Jaguar car at home, and it was too expensive to use it for a mission.

When driving the jaguar for a weekend, there are girlfriends (within the normal range) who are thrilled because it is one of the most expensive British racing cars and has a lot of charm.

Not to mention James's own charm, of course, this is a narcissistic statement, and Sarah will not lend him a car.

The warrant was stuffed in a leather sleeve and placed in the pocket of my field uniform.

Four arrest warrants.

The four small leaders of the local gang happened to get together.

Last night they celebrated a big festival on board. Their eavesdropping and surveillance experts were overjoyed. It's rare to see so many gangster celebrities get together.

They should be caught all of them.

A few hours earlier, they had enough videotapes, photographs and witnesses to arrest the gang leaders. They were supported by the District Attorney General and the examining magistrate in charge of the case. They easily got the arrest warrant.

James prepares his submachine gun, loads two clips of ammunition, a long-range scope, and a laser sight. They can do without a muffler.

They carry other things they need on their shoulders. The equipment was the same as that carried by colleagues at the Wharf Police Department, but on a smaller scale.

Spare ammunition for submachine guns. Smith pistol bullets are in a bag, the gun is pinned in the holster, and it can be pulled out at hand. There are also handcuffs, various grenades, protective mirrors, multi-function knives, and walkie-talkies.

Colleagues signaled to them. They were concentrated next to the black Buick to the watch. After checking the watch, I turned on the intercom and called the NYPD's chief of operations.

"Bantam calls the eagle."

There was an immediate response.

"The eagle calls the bantam." A stiff man's voice came from the small speaker.

“9-9-1。” I replied that it was the agreed code of "start the action".

“9-9-1。 understood" the other party repeated.

Sarah turned off the walkie-talkie and inserted it back into her holster.

Colleagues on the speedboat familiarize themselves with the details of the program. They immediately began to observe them, and watched as they advanced to the banks of the river, and took their places. The rest depends on how strong the "armed resistance" will be - or whether it will happen.

"Have they already brought the coffee to the table?" Sarah nodded towards the marina. The white and blue boat looked like a big monster, moored between a slender white motorboat and a surf boat.

"They didn't tell them they were coming for breakfast." James replied with a sneer. Look at Sarah and then look at the others. "If I'm not mistaken, they'll turn them off."

Colleagues snickered.

"They drank all night last night and won't get up before 12 o'clock." Steve said.

"How old is that boss?" Augustus asked.

"50 years old." Joe replied.

"Otherwise, he wouldn't have celebrated with everyone for two weeks in a row, and he would have feasted even the lowest people." Another member added.

"Typical gangster swagger." Phil waved his hand and commented, "These guys want to compete with each other. ”

"Now that vice-captain is going to be so jealous at the headquarters that his face is pale." James snickered and said, "As long as he can do this, I think he should be satisfied." ”

"I won't want to play his tricks anymore from today." Phil prophesied.

They had no premonition of what tricks the gang boss was going to play and what cruel surprises he would bring them.

They swooped out into the man-high jungle next to the parking lot......

Anne woke up, confused, not knowing where she was, or how she had woken up, and the only thing she felt was her head, and her head was buzzing, as if thousands of demons wanted to pop out of her head.

Then she gradually remembered. One night and one night - oh my! Champagne and cocktails flowed into the river. Anne couldn't remember how many guys she had in his cabin before Quinn pulled her into bed.

Wrong. He was the one who asked her to go.

Because he didn't ask her by name, he just wanted to ask for a *** who was charged on time, and he just happened to have a free *** He sent his favorite **Lisa to find someone. Lisa is a blonde. She came to Hollywood when she was 16 years old. 10 years have passed in the blink of an eye. She's gone from a runaway girl to a full-fledged bitch who lets everyone involved with the gang get between her legs.

That's how she got her fortune.

There's no reason for a woman like Lisa to think she's superior. Perhaps she never had such a reason. Regardless, she's fair-skinned, blonde-haired, from the Midwest, and once dreamed of being superior.

At that time, she looked down on girls like Anne. Anne is a girl from South America who sells her body to the gangsters in Los Angeles and is a second-rate woman.

Theresa and her ilk feel like top notch in themselves.

But that was a long, long time ago.

To be exact, the old, golden-haired girl was reluctant to grant Quinn's wish, because she knew what was going to happen. Quinn wanted to with two women at the same time, and after doing it, he commented that the second one was better than the first - more passionate and whimsical in bed.

That's it.

Anne pounced on Quinn, giving him no time to think about it. She couldn't let go of such an opportunity. She might be able to make herself his sweetheart. Then he might take her out of the water brothel and keep her by his side forever.

She dreamed of a day when the sun was shining and the sun was shining, and she sat next to Quinn in a white Mercedes Benz and swaggered through New York.

Anne finally opened her eyes.

Reality told her coldly that it was still kilometers away from the dream.

Cold......