Luke: "nypd."
This was the address that had to be given. Although he reversed the order of pulling out the gun and pointing it at the man's head and giving his address, he still gave his address in the end.
The middle-aged man who was being pinched by him was obviously stunned: "NYPD?"
Luke: "Tell me, who is in there?"
The middle-aged man suddenly shouted, "DEA! We are DEA agents. My ID is in my chest pocket. You can take a look."
The voices in room 6b suddenly quieted. Luke frowned, the gun still pressed against the back of his head. He loosened his left hand that was pinching the man's neck, felt around his chest a few times, and found a police badge.
Just one glance and he knew it was probably true.
But whether these "DEA agents" are real or fake is still unknown.
Or maybe it would be even more troublesome if they were really agents.
The middle-aged man who was being pointed at by him felt his neck loosened and immediately said, "We are carrying out a secret arrest mission. I am Brass Bolton and the person inside is my colleague."
The words were still very loud.
Luke narrowed his eyes, vaguely understanding what was going on.
As Brass-Burton spoke, someone in the room finally spoke up: "We are from the DEA. Who is outside? Brass."
Brass quickly called out, "It's a police officer from NYPD."
As he spoke, Luke had already retracted his gun and retreated to his position at the stairs.
He didn't trust the DEA agents in the room at all.
Finally, a man poked his head out of the door and took a quick look outside.
After making sure that only Blass was at the door, he quickly stuck his head out again and looked at Luke: "Dude, what are you doing? Pointing a gun at a colleague is not a good idea."
Luke smiled, but his expression didn't change. "Excuse me, I was notified of a heavy gunfight here, but you didn't show your badges."
Having said that, the muzzle of the gun in his hand was still pointed at the door of room 6b.
The other person's expression was obviously not very good.
Luke could sense the panic beneath the seemingly calm exterior of the man who spoke to him at the door, and someone behind him was whispering instructions on how to deal with him.
The noise in the house started to get louder again.
After Luke said this, he walked a little further down the stairs, hiding most of his body below the ground level.
He then took out his phone and called the information center at headquarters.
Luke reported his identity and police number and explained the situation. Headquarters said the patrol would arrive in five minutes at most.
There was constant movement in room 6b, and Luke's keen hearing and brain reaction ability kept grasping the information in the other party's sporadic language.
"What should we do with this thing?"
"McGee, you take it out later. If we get caught, just say it's confiscated illegal drugs."
"What about here? How do you explain the dead body of that little kid?"
"Think about it yourself."
"ah?"
…
It was said to be five minutes, but it took fifteen minutes before two patrol police cars arrived downstairs.
Luke showed his police badge to the four NYPD patrolmen who came upstairs to identify himself, and then explained the situation over there before leading them to the door of room 6B.
The patrol officers stood on both sides, holding their guns in their hands, and began to shout loudly: "NYPD, listen up, everyone inside, put down your weapons, come out and show your ID, otherwise we have reason to be suspicious of you."
It was quiet inside for a moment, and finally four people came out one after another.
They didn't have guns in their hands, but they just put them back into their holsters. Everyone had a DEA badge on their body or hand.
An eagle with spread wings stands on the police badge with an octagonal circle, which can be distinguished from the NYPD police badge at a glance.
The patrolmen stepped forward one by one, checked their badges and IDs one by one, and nodded to Luke.
Luke wasn't surprised either.
The identities of these DEA agents are real, but only they themselves know what they are doing here.
Luke knew almost everything, but there were some things that could not be accused without solid evidence.
While the patrolman was communicating with several DEA agents, he walked into the room.
The body of a short and fat man was lying near the door, but the six bullet holes on his back and a long bloodstain behind him caused by crawling were very unusual.
Avoiding all the bloodstains, he took two steps inside. At the end of the right passage, a young girl was also shot in the back and died there.
Luke looked silent, took two steps, and looked towards the bathroom with the door open on the right.
A woman was wearing headphones and soaking in a bathtub. There was a big hole in her chest. The water in the bathtub had turned red with blood, and there was a large red stain on the ground.
Luke sneered in his heart: A woman who was bathing in the bathtub with headphones on, did he need to be shot through the chest with a shotgun? Even SWAT was not so rough when facing the air force.
After taking a few looks, he took a few more steps and another corpse appeared at an intersection of the passages.
Luke's face darkened.
This was a little boy, no more than four or five years old, who had been shot in the chest and was no longer breathing.
Except for the man at the door, the three people who died here were unarmed women and children.
These dealers are crazy!
After stopping for a moment and determining the direction from which the bullet that hit the little boy came, he walked into another room.
The room was a mess, with bullet holes everywhere, and they were caused by more than just the same gun.
This should be the location where the fierce gunfight took place as mentioned in the police call.
The body of a man in a plaid shirt was lying at the door. The smell on his body showed that he had a lot of contact with several other people. He should be a member of the DEA group.
There were only five people dead in the room.
The man dead at the door should be the man of the house, the one in the bathtub is the woman of the house, and the young girl and the little boy are the children of the family.
Scanning the room, his eyes fell on a picture frame.
It was a picture of a dead young girl and little boy, but in the lower center there was a silhouette of the picture pasted there.
She was a little girl about eleven or twelve years old.
As Luke looked around the room, a middle-aged man in a beige suit was also looking at him with a slight smile on his face: "Detective, this is our case."
Luke looked at him. This time he didn't even have a polite smile on his face. He just said calmly: "Two minors have died here. With your method of handling cases like this, are you planning to launch an air raid or a massacre?"
The man in the suit's face changed. "What do you think the traffickers are? Are they just devout believers who pray in church every day? They can pull out their guns and shoot you at any time."
He raised his hand and pointed at the dead body of the man in the flowered shirt at the door and yelled, "Only one of my buddies died, and you're already making fun of me? Oh, by the way, did you see that fat guy ruined my new suit!" Then he pointed at his left shoulder.
There was indeed a shot there.
However, Luke could see that the shotgun shell did not hit the target completely, but was only grazed by one or two bullets, otherwise the guy's left arm would have been unable to move.
He nodded: "As long as you are happy." Then he turned and left.