Working under tense circumstances for a few days, Jimmy finally received a call from the Cleaner, indicating that the matter with the IRS had been taken care of.
By the weekend, Jimmy had arranged to meet with the part-time accountant and one of Justin's people, transferring a large sum of money from the company's ledger—of course, it was all handled as a business transaction, something the accountants had ample experience with, so Jimmy didn't need to deal with it himself.
Jimmy's own tax filing for the year 2000 was also entrusted to the part-time accountant; all Jimmy needed to do was pay an extra fee to get it done. This accountant's part-time work was for Jimmy's company, and taking on an additional personal task naturally warranted an additional payment.
With the IRS issues behind him, Jimmy found himself broke again. His current salary was not high; even with overtime, it amounted to only about $70,000 a year. In this era in Arkansas, that was quite decent, but compared to before, since he could previously make purchases using the company account, Jimmy didn't consider his salary very important.
Now that the original plan to buy a house had fallen through, Jimmy had no choice but to continue living in his apartment. Since his identity as a police officer had become well known around the area, many of his neighbors had changed during this time. Looking on the bright side, at least most of the current apartment residents were ordinary folks.
Living in an apartment with potential criminals was a source of significant stress for Jimmy. Although he wasn't afraid of them causing trouble, it was still best to avoid any if possible.
Now that they had left, the remaining neighbors didn't mind having a cop living in the same building. This made life easier for everyone; Jimmy no longer had to be as vigilant with his neighbors as if they were thieves.
Police work remained as tedious as ever; inexplicably, the serious crime rate in the area during the months of March and April had dropped significantly, with even shootings becoming scarce. Most of the cases Jimmy supported were simple misdemeanors or pursuits of suspects fleeing the police.
Jimmy also took advantage of this time to study more; his exams were set for the end of May. If all went well, he could have his diploma by winter of this year, which would benefit him whether it be for a promotion, a raise, or something else.
Of course, Jimmy still frequented the bar, partly to maintain a good relationship with Justin and partly to relieve some personal stress. Still, the same old problem persisted—despite being the state capital, Southern belles interested in a Chinese guy like him were rather scarce.
While daydreaming at the police station, Jimmy suddenly got a call from Justin, asking him to meet right away. Jimmy headed straight to the bar in his police uniform.
Justin gave him an address, urging him to get there quickly and bring someone out. The reward was a Gold Coin.
It was the first time Jimmy had received a task from Justin, and he was quite intrigued. It was time to find out whether this side job could last. Besides, with the prospect of earning a Gold Coin, he could use it to pay for tasks in the future rather than cash as before.
Jimmy returned to the station and checked the map in the police car. The address Justin had given was a villa in the woods on the outskirts of South District—no wonder these people liked going there. Previously, the marijuana farm was in a warehouse in the South District woods, FBI dealings took place in a villa in South District woods. Now he had to extract someone from the South District woods again.
Jimmy notified the dispatch center with a code 7, indicating he was going on a temporary break, then drove towards the destination in his police uniform and patrol car.
Given how urgently Justin had called him, it must be related to Jimmy's identity as a cop—wearing the uniform and driving the police car might help. If it were unrelated to his identity, Jimmy didn't believe Justin would have trouble finding someone else for the task.
Jimmy navigated using the map, searching amid the roads that wound through the woods without the frequent road signs found in the city. With just a road name and house number to go on, it was quite difficult to pinpoint the location, but he finally spotted the house number he was looking for on a mailbox at a T-junction.
Jimmy turned at the junction and reached the villa's entrance. It was a modest two-story building, but unlike other villas hidden in the woods, it had a surrounding wall enclosing the front, with only a big gate for entry. Once out of the car and at the gate, Jimmy realized there was a serious problem.
From the outside, everything looked normal, but once at the gate, Jimmy saw three men lying down or crouching in the yard, with blood around them—likely gunshot fatalities. All three were in civilian clothing, and next to two of the bodies lay handguns.
Jimmy scanned the vicinity of the gate, needing to ensure there were no surveillance cameras—he was in uniform, and being recorded could complicate things.
The cameras of the time were fairly large, not the tiny ones from a future era. After confirming there were no obvious cameras near the gate or down the villa's pathway, Jimmy pulled on gloves from his pocket. The gate was ajar; he pushed it open and entered, his right hand already drawing his 92F pistol—he had chosen not to use a revolver in order to avoid leaving distinguishing marks.
Activating Heart Eye, Jimmy saw four human shapes inside the first floor of the villa; three were either lying or crouching on the ground, while the fourth was by the entrance, sitting and leaning against the wall. There were no figures on the second floor, indicating it was likely empty.
He also checked all the corners of the house and didn't find any protruding cameras. Relieved that the absence of surveillance sometimes played in his favor, Jimmy proceeded.
Once sure there was no one else in the house, he called out, "Emil, are you still alive?"
"Yeah. I'm inside, come quickly." The man sitting against the wall turned his head toward the door and lifted his right hand, pointing at the entrance with a handgun. He couldn't see Jimmy through the door, but Jimmy had seen his action.
"Justin sent me to pick you up. If you're sure you need help, put down the gun. Let's not have any unnecessary misunderstandings," Jimmy spoke from beside the wall on the right side of the door. The last thing he wanted was to be shot upon opening the door.
"You've finally arrived, come in,"
Jimmy watched as his right hand moved down before cautiously opening the door nearest to him, still hiding to the side, not walking directly to the doorway.
He placed the handgun on his left hand, aiming at Emil from the doorway and then moved to the entrance, observing as he walked into the house.
Emil was a Caucasian, not very old, probably in his thirties, with short hair, and clean-shaven. He wore a black suit, but it was now clearly stained with blood in many places, the fabric of both the clothes and trousers was soaked.
Emil was startled to see a policeman coming in but managed to suppress his impulse, putting his handgun back in the holster at his waist.
Seeing him holster his weapon, Jimmy let down his guard, secured his handgun, and walked over to Emil to do a quick check on him.
He had taken a bullet in his left calf and there was a cut on his right thigh that looked like it could have been made with a small knife or a dagger, as the trousers were also slit.
The left calf was already bound with a tourniquet, while the right thigh had a belt used on it, indicating that the tourniquet and the belt had been swapped around at some point; there were clear signs of twisting on the trousers.
He took a gunshot to the left side of his abdomen, a through-and-through wound. Hemostatic powder or something similar had been used, resulting in a scab mixed with blood powder. The wound was no longer bleeding, nor was it bandaged.
Emil was tough, these injuries looked severe, and yet he managed to hold on for so long. It took almost half an hour for Jimmy to get there, not to mention the time before that when Justin contacted him to give the address at the bar. All things considered, it had been over forty minutes.
Jimmy, "Can you stand up?"
Emil, "No, I can hardly feel my legs."
Jimmy reached out and pulled Emil's right hand, helping him up, supporting him, then carried him on his shoulder and dragged him out to the front door where he placed Emil in the back seat of the patrol car. The back seat of the patrol car was a plastic integrated seat, which, even if it got blood on it, would be easy to clean.
Jimmy left the door ajar, drove away from the villa, and once he was on the highway, he used a prepaid phone he'd bought earlier to call Justin.
Jimmy, "Justin, I've got him out. He's been shot, needs a doctor."
Justin, "That's great, as long as he's not dead. Pass the phone to Emil."
Jimmy passed the phone through the partition's hole to Emil in the back seat.
Emil, "I've been shot, need a doctor, blood type A1B. Okay. Here's the phone."
Emil handed the phone back to Jimmy through the partition.
Justin gave Jimmy an address, instructed him to take Emil there, and assured him that the rest would be taken care of by others.
Jimmy drove Emil to a pet hospital in the South District, parking the patrol car in a small alley behind the pet hospital. He helped Emil out of the car where a stretcher was already prepared. They entered through the back door of the pet hospital, where a doctor had the operation table ready.
Although it was ostensibly a pet hospital, the operation room Jimmy saw hardly seemed suited for animals; the operation table wasn't the small kind used in pet hospitals, but a larger one meant for humans, with an assistant already dressed in surgical attire, readying the equipment by the table.
Jimmy moved Emil from the stretcher to the operating table and then left the operation room.
While supporting Emil earlier, he had been particularly careful not to let his own uniform rub against any blood. The yellow uniform would show blood stains too clearly, making them hard to explain later.
As for the blood on the back seat of the car, that was easy; Jimmy found a parking lot, fetched some water to clean the back seat, and planned to send the car to a cooperating garage for a thorough wash after work. If there were no obvious blood stains left, it should be enough to pass scrutiny. It was normal for a patrol car to get a bit messy, even with suspects occasionally soiling it.
After cleaning the blood, Jimmy drove back to the police station, notified the dispatch center to adjust his status, and continued to be on standby at the station.