Los Angeles Legendary Sleuth

A few hours earlier.

In a patrol car, a black female officer was seated in the driver's seat, while a middle-aged white policeman sat in the passenger seat—none other than the veteran rookie John and his partner, Officer Afra.

John, sitting in the passenger seat, had an expressionless look on his face, as if he was in a daze.

Afra glanced at him, "John."

No response.

The corners of Afra's mouth drooped, "Rookie."

"I'm here, Instructor," John snapped back to reality, giving Afra a look, "Didn't you promise not to call me 'rookie' anymore?"

"You also said you wouldn't make any more rookie mistakes.

Daydreaming on duty; only a rookie would make that kind of basic error."

"Sorry, I had some issues at home... they distracted me."

"What issues? Tell me about them, maybe I can help."

John shook his head with a wry smile, "No, no, no, you can't help me."

"What's with that look? Don't forget, I am your instructor. Tell me, maybe I can give you some advice."

"OK." John nodded, "My son is getting married."

"What did you say?" Afra thought she had misheard.

"That's right, my son is getting married."

"Er... how old are you exactly? Your son is even getting married."

"I'm only 41 this year.

During college, my first love got pregnant by accident, I decided to take up the responsibility of fatherhood and dropped out of college to start working in construction.

Last year, my son went to college, too. He met a girl and this summer they came to Los Angeles to visit me, then they told me they've decided to get married.

That's right, early marriages are a tradition in our family," John said with self-mockery.

"His girlfriend is pregnant, too?"

"No, no, no, she's not..." John was in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widened as if something dawned on him, "They shouldn't be, they didn't tell me anything."

Afra retorted, "Did your ex-wife tell your dad the moment she got pregnant?"

"Oh my god!

This can't be happening, absolutely not. No one knows better than I do how hard it is to drop out of school and raise a child; this cannot happen..." John leaned back in his seat, a worried look on his face.

Just then, the radio crackled to life, "7A15, Sato Supermarket reports receiving counterfeit bills, address 2756 Villa Street."

"Roger that."

"Understood," Afra responded, and turning to John at her side, she said, "Rookie, perk up."

The car sped off, turned down a street, and stopped in front of a supermarket. John and Afra stepped out of the patrol car, and as soon as they entered the supermarket, they saw a white clerk coming towards them holding a twenty-dollar bill.

John asked, "Did you call the police?"

The white clerk held up the bill in his hand, "I just received a counterfeit twenty-dollar bill."

John took the twenty-dollar bill to look at it, "Are you sure it's counterfeit?"

The white clerk tore a corner off the bill, revealing white paper inside.

Afra got straight to the point, "Describe the suspect's appearance."

The white clerk led them to the entrance of the store and pointed at a black Ford sedan across the street, "It was the black driver in that car."

"Are you sure?"

"I have CCTV footage." The white clerk pulled out his phone and played a video of a black man checking out.

The black man was tall, wearing a gold necklace, and carrying a bag of items, paying with the twenty-dollar bill.

Afterward, John and Afra crossed the street, one in front of the other.

John had his right hand on his gun and his left hand knocked on the car window, "Knock knock, sir, please open the door and put your hands on the steering wheel."

The black man inside the car did not comply and seemed emotionally unstable, swinging his hands around as if he was busy, but it was difficult to hear him through the glass.

John yanked the door open, pulled out his gun with his right hand, and pointed it at the black man, "I told you, let me see your hands!"

The black man raised his hands, "Sorry, sorry, please don't shoot!"

"I said, put your hands on the steering wheel."

"Why are you doing this? I'm a good person."

"Did you use counterfeit money?"

"I didn't use it; you must be mistaken," the black man said, his hands waving, his emotions running high.

"Put your hands on your head and step out of the car slowly; we need to conduct a routine search."

"You can't do this; I'm a good person, wu wu..." the black man suddenly started to cry.

John sensed the man's emotions were abnormal, "Are you on drugs?"

"No, I never use drugs, you can't frame me."

"Put your hands on your head and step out of the car."

"Do you have an arrest warrant? Why are you arresting me?"

"Nobody is arresting you; it's just a routine frisk. Please cooperate and don't make things difficult for us."

"Please, don't shoot me, I beg you."

"I won't shoot, now come out."

"Please, don't shoot, I just want to find my mother..." the black man cried plaintively.

"Stop the nonsense and come out now."

"Are you going to shoot?"

"No, I won't shoot, now come out," John said as he grabbed the man's arm and pulled him out.

Afra stood by, gun in hand, keeping watch.

John and the black man had a standoff for quite some time before John finally dragged him out of the car and handcuffed him, "Lean against the wall and sit down facing me."

"Why are you arresting me? You've got the wrong person; I'm a good man."

"Have you been to this supermarket to shop?"

"I haven't."

"There's surveillance footage at the store; you're lying."