Chapter 47: Two Abstract Moves in Succession (Please Keep Reading)

Early the next morning, Ao Xi drove back to the police station. On the way, the radio was airing the news:

San Francisco Daily reports: Kamala Harris, former San Francisco District Attorney, former California Attorney General, and current Democratic Senator of California, has proposed a bill.

San Francisco ranks as the city with the highest number of drug users in the United States, bar none.

"Junkies" inject drugs openly in the streets, needles litter the sidewalks, and deaths from overdose occur frequently in public. Harris stated that her own sister died from an overdose on the streets, and she is determined to address this crisis.

She thus formally submitted a proposal to the San Francisco city government, requesting the city council's review. The bill calls for the government to fund the establishment of "legal drug injection rooms," where certified drug injection professionals, trained by the government, would administer "safe doses" of drugs to addicts, ensuring they do not overdose and die in the streets.

It is said this bill will cost twenty million dollars. Harris claims it will greatly reduce the number of overdose deaths among drug users in public, demonstrating American respect for human rights and life.

The San Francisco city council has stated it has received the bill and will schedule a vote; they are optimistic about its passage.

Republicans have fiercely criticized the proposal, accusing it of wasting taxpayers' money and hurting the feelings of those who never use drugs.

Ao Xi quickly switched off the radio. Hearing such surreal news first thing in the morning was truly hard to stomach.

He sped all the way to the station, went straight to Carlisle’s office, and asked outright, “Were those shooters really released?”

Carlisle paused, realizing Ao Xi was referring to those men involved in the Austin shooting. “Yes, they’ve been released. By now, their people should have picked them up.”

“Why?”

Carlisle took out his phone and pulled up a video for Ao Xi. On screen, a woman stood at a podium. “I am Cristina Villareal, spokesperson for the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office. Today, I speak on behalf of the DA regarding the shooting in the Austin community.

The DA’s office has decided to drop murder and aggravated assault charges against the three suspects arrested in the Austin incident; they will be released without charge.

The reason is that all suspects claim the conflict was mutual and voluntary, an equal fight. After careful consideration and review of available evidence, the DA finds there is insufficient evidence for conviction, and so this decision has been made.

That concludes today’s press conference. There will be no questions from reporters.”

The video ended with a noisy commotion and arms waving in protest.

Ao Xi shook his head, reeling from two consecutive blows; he was truly at his wit’s end.

“I really don’t understand what ‘insufficient evidence’ means. More than ten of us saw them exchanging gunfire. One was already dead on the spot, they refused to surrender, fired at us, and there’s footage online from residents at the scene. What other evidence do they need?”

Carlisle stood up and pressed Ao Xi into a chair, poured him a glass of iced cola. “Ao Xi, I know you have a strong sense of justice, and everything you said is exactly right. But the DA’s office isn’t in our system. Their decisions are beyond our control; we can only carry them out. That’s reality.”

“Did they take money?”

“Don’t go making wild accusations. I can only say I don’t know, can’t confirm—maybe.”

“They let criminals go, yet during my internal review they hunted for every loophole? Do they think I’m easy to bully?”

“That’s political correctness, Ao Xi. Political correctness helps win over swing voters, and politicians don’t have to pay any price. They live in safe neighborhoods with tight security. Only the streets and ordinary people bear the cost, and hassling police is part of the political correctness package.”

Despite Carlisle’s patient explanation, Ao Xi felt only a little better. He mused that next time he’d have to be more ruthless—leave no one for the DA to release.

He finished Carlisle’s iced cola, tossed the bottle back at him, and listened as Carlisle started shouting again behind him, finally feeling a bit satisfied.

Ao Xi changed clothes and set out. Driving the Dodge patrol car felt quicker and easier to handle than the Ford Taurus, but what he really coveted were the station’s Ford Mustangs and Camaro high-speed pursuit vehicles—sleek looks, big horsepower, the roar when you hit the gas.

Unfortunately, Carlisle said he wasn’t authorized to assign those cars, telling Ao Xi to see Robin, who managed administration and vehicle assignments. Ao Xi knew better than to bother him. If he wanted a shift change or a new assignment, Robin might agree, but demanding something he didn’t need would only disrupt the balance and make trouble for himself.

Ao Xi cruised the streets, now barely motivated even to hand out tickets.

“Adam388, someone reported hearing a baby crying inside a dumpster. Please respond and confirm.”

“Adam388, received.”

Ao Xi sped to the address. A middle-aged woman approached the patrol car window anxiously. “Officer, I made the call. I live in the apartment building nearby. I came down to throw out the trash, and as I walked up to the dumpster, I heard a baby crying inside. So I called the police right away.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Please stay here while I check the dumpster.”

Ao Xi opened the little care package prepared for him by Zhuo Ning—disposable gloves, masks, wet wipes, disinfectant, and other supplies. He put on a pair of gloves.

As soon as he approached, he heard faint crying from the dumpster. He quickly opened it and found a heap of garbage and a black plastic bag.

Ao Xi untied the bag. Inside lay a newborn, still wrinkled, crying weakly from time to time, his body already frail, covered in bloody filth, with the umbilical cord still attached.

“Oh my God!” The middle-aged woman came over and gasped in shock at the sight.

Ao Xi had never been a father; the situation was clearly dangerous. He dared not move the baby, so he radioed dispatch, requesting emergency medical response.

Soon, an ambulance arrived. One paramedic supported the baby’s head and hips, another held the umbilical cord, and together they carefully lifted the infant from the dumpster.

A third paramedic spread a blue blanket on the ground, and once the baby was placed on it, wrapped him securely.

They carried the child back to the ambulance, needing to rush to the hospital to cut the cord and perform a full check-up. The dumpster was filthy, and they needed to determine whether the child suffered from congenital illness or other harm.