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Police in Los Angeles

In a stitched-together world of episodic American TV dramas, we are invited to step into the protagonist's shoes and rescue characters who were unceremoniously written off. The aim is to rationally amend the absurd plot twists concocted by capricious screenwriters. This includes, but is not limited to, shows such as The Rookie, Castle, and Hunter. Future additions may encompass Person of Interest, Knight Rider, Bones, and even various police-themed movies. Excluding the protagonist's "System", there are no supernatural elements. All cases and narratives serve the novel's storyline, with some creative modifications. Readers are advised not to take these changes too seriously.

Mutter · TV
Classificações insuficientes
216 Chs

Chapter 176: The Stalking Sparrow

The two exchanged a glance, both looking pleased. However, Jack, worried Charlie might misunderstand, quickly clarified his identity.

"We're not trying to use your children to threaten you or Paul. I work for the IRS, and Reacher's brother is a Secret Service agent who was almost killed investigating Klein."

"I can tell you honestly, the Klein family is finished. What we need to do is save as many innocents as possible before this monster falls."

Charlie was not a traditional American housewife. After hearing Jack, the previously gentle demeanor vanished.

"We're packed and ready to go. Please, make sure they are protected."

"It's all of you. Roscoe will be with you in the car. Don't worry, leave everything to us. We have people on their way to help," Jack reassured her.

As they spoke, the three returned to the living room. Reacher walked over to Roscoe, looked down at her, and said softly.

"They won't dare act in town, nor do they know our destination, so they can't intercept us ahead. Drive the girls and stay safe. We'll follow behind. If anything happens, don't stop and don't look back."

Roscoe didn't speak, just looked up into his eyes. After a while, she seemed to make a decision, stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, and gently kissed his bruised cheek.

"Take care. See you in Atlanta."

"How could you do that? I didn't even have time to cover the kids' eyes."

Jack—being a playful atmosphere-ruiner—grumbled while helping the girls with their backpacks, covering their eyes dramatically, making them giggle.

The previously tense atmosphere lightened a bit.

"Let's go. Do you need another car?"

Charlie looked at the old JEEP Jack drove, knowing they would be the rear guard. She opened a drawer in the hallway.

"There are two more cars in the garage. You can use both."

Jack and Reacher exchanged glances, took the keys, and followed her to the garage. Besides the Jaguar sports car they had seen before at the prison gate, there was also an Aston Martin Vantage.

"Paul really likes British cars," Charlie tried to explain, seeing their shocked expressions.

"We can see that!" Jack and Reacher said in unison, silently cursing the wealthy family.

"Let's go!"

The Bentley led, followed by Reacher in the Jaguar, with Jack bringing up the rear in the Aston Martin. The three connected via Bluetooth for a conference call.

"The other side has three cars, at least six people. When is your backup arriving?"

As soon as they left town, Klein's men tailed them, openly sticking close to the three luxury cars. Reacher glanced at the rearview mirror, a bit worried.

It was already night, and the road was nearly empty. Jack looked at the location Hannah sent him and replied, "Roscoe, how's your driving? Can you hit 100 mph?"

"No problem. Since Finley arrived, I've been patrolling the streets, often assisting the highway patrol in chasing late-night speeders." Great, the girl was a wild one.

"Good. Stay safe. We'll block them. In fifteen minutes, start moving. Keep at least two kilometers between us."

As Jack finished, the sound of Reacher chambering his Desert Eagle could be heard over the phone.

As time passed, they got farther from Margrave, and the road became more deserted. Eventually, the only vehicles were the three speeding British luxury cars and the three Mercedes closely tailing them.

Jack and Reacher drove side by side, blocking the Mercedes from passing. Seeing the Bentley getting further away, the armed thugs inside the Mercedes lost patience and began accelerating, closing in.

One of the braver thugs unbuckled his seatbelt, trying to lean out the window with an UMP submachine gun to shoot at them.

After two defensive PIT maneuvers, Reacher grew impatient. At this speed, shooting back was impossible. Their high-performance luxury cars, designed for speed, were no match for the heavier Mercedes in a collision.

"Jack! How much longer?" Reacher's steady voice unusually raised in pitch.

Jack ignored him. "Roscoe, see that water tower in the distance?"

"Yes, it's a water tower."

"Get ready to slow down. There's a small road there. Turn onto it, go under the water tower, turn off your lights, and park. Wait for my call. I'm hanging up now, Reacher, get ready."

Jack hung up and speed-dialed a pre-saved number. Almost instantly, it was answered. "Darling, we're here."

There was a moment of silence before Braxton's deep voice replied, "I see you, darling."

"Fuck, why is it you?" Jack felt like he'd swallowed a fly.

"Your darling is up on the water tower. She took my big toy again," Braxton complained.

"Sorry."

Before Jack finished, sparks flew from the right front tire of the Mercedes behind him. The next second, the familiar sound of a sniper rifle pierced the air.

"Whiz... boom!"

The leading Mercedes lost control, veering to the right, then flipping, rolling through the air.

Sharp-eyed Jack saw in the rearview mirror as the thug who had tried to shoot them was flung out, flying higher than any tank turret he'd seen ejected on a battlefield.

The tables had turned. Almost simultaneously, the two luxury cars in front braked hard.

Reacher's driving might be slightly inferior to Jack's, but his reaction was just as quick. With screeching tires, the Jaguar and Aston Martin both performed a 180-degree turn, facing the oncoming threat.

"Bang bang bang!" The Desert Eagle and FK 7.5 fired continuously, turning the second Mercedes' driver's compartment into a beehive. The car swerved off the road.

The third Mercedes' driver, skilled and quick-witted, did a successful, albeit clumsy, 180-degree turn to escape.

At that moment, an old Crown Victoria with a crash bar "flew" out from the roadside, crashing into the Mercedes' front end. The impact spun the Mercedes another 180 degrees, its hood popping up as the engine smoked.

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