North America Gunman Detective

The time approached 12 noon, and gradually people entered the restaurant. Karen and Annie started to serve customers, while Jimmy sat by Erica at the cashier's desk. When the kitchen finished a dish, a bell would ring, and Karen would pick up the food to deliver it to the tables. Jimmy paid attention to the table numbers marked on the order slips and the path Karen took.

In his spare time, Jimmy closely examined the restaurant's menu. American menus are entirely different from Chinese ones, named mainly after the main ingredients and the method of cooking in the dish, such as Deep-Fried Chicken and Bacon Rolls, Roasted Lemon Marinade Chicken Leg with French Fries—such long names, just recording them from the menu was quite a task.

There weren't many customers at noon, with at most only four tables occupied at a time. It was quite relaxed. From chatting with Erica, he learned that most of the customers came in the evening, mainly local residents, many of whom were regulars.

Nearing 2 PM, as the restaurant was about to break for the afternoon, two burly men entered. It was September and still very hot, yet they were wearing leather jackets with big beards, and their jackets were adorned with various studs and chain accessories, making them look quite daunting at first glance.

"Jimmy, don't stare at them," Erica said with a pat, speaking softly.

"You know them?"

"They're from Hell's Angels. See the tattoo on that bald guy's head? A skull with wings."

"Hmm." Jimmy turned back towards the kitchen.

"What will you two have?" Karen walked over and handed them menus.

"Fried filet with Brown sauce, medium rare, mashed potatoes and a vegetable salad. Two orders."

"Just a moment." Karen returned to the cashier's desk and relayed the order to the kitchen.

With only that one table of guests remaining, Karen and Annie also rested at the cashier's desk. Jimmy had nothing to do for the moment, so he turned and went to the restroom.

...

"Ah!" A scream sounded from outside. Jimmy washed his hands and came out of the restroom.

Indeed, there was trouble at that one table; one of the men had slapped Karen on the buttocks as she served their meal, startling her into screaming.

Hearing Karen's scream, everyone came out, especially Jacob and Daniel, who emerged from the kitchen holding a kitchen knife and a spatula.

Jimmy rushed to Karen's side, pulling her behind him.

"Relax, relax, it was just a joke. Sorry," the man said, raising his hand in a gesture of apology.

"Karen, go take a break." After arranging this, Jacob turned back to the kitchen. The midday service was almost over, and they still needed to clean up.

The two "Hell's Angels" members quietly finished their meal, paid, and left. Jimmy followed them to the door, watching as each got onto their motorcycles and drove away.

...

When Jacob finished up, he told everyone, "I still think there's some problem here. Jimmy, could you go ask Jon to come here for a moment?"

"OK."

Jon came out of the manager's office, and Jacob explained the situation to him.

"The key issue is they were too quiet. They are Hell's Angels, after all. They didn't do anything, and it ended just like that?" Jacob expressed his concerns.

Jon thought for a moment, "Let me give James a call." Jon then went to the manager's office to make a call.

"Jacob, who is James?" Jimmy asked.

"The county police chief." "Oh."

"Everyone take a break, we'll continue operations at 5 p.m."

After Jon made the call, he came out to arrange for everyone to rest, sitting at the entrance waiting for the county police to arrive.

Soon, a police car arrived, and the officer found Jon in the shop to communicate, while Jimmy lay on the long bench in the staff room, sleeping.

...

Half-asleep, Jimmy heard the siren ringing but didn't care—it definitely wasn't for him.

With a loud bang, he was startled and fell off the bench, hurried outside to see that not far from the restaurant's entrance, a police car had collided with a pickup, both stopped on the roadside grass—the police car's front end was smashed, and the pickup was lying on its side on the ground.

Jimmy ran over, pulled open the driver's door of the police car; the airbag had already deployed, pinning the officer in his seat.

"Hey, officer, are you alright? Do you need help?" Jimmy lightly tapped the officer, watched as he opened his eyes, and quickly asked.

"Help me out, pull me out," the officer said, pushing away the airbag and moving toward the door.

Jimmy observed that, aside from some blood on the officer's face and around his mouth, there were no other clear signs of bleeding on his head—it seemed the blood was from his nose, hit by the airbag, though a concussion or other internal head injuries couldn't be ruled out.

He reached out to help the officer out; the officer was unsteady on his feet and sat down on the ground, struggling to get up but couldn't, only managing to lean against the police car and gasp for breath.

Jimmy asked, "Are you injured? Do you need me to check on you?"

The officer ignored Jimmy, picked up his radio to contact headquarters, "Code 50 (a car accident), ambulance needed, ambulance needed. I can't move, can't assess the status of others, need assistance from other officers."

"Officer, you'd better undergo some basic checks, please cooperate with me a little."

Jimmy extended his right forefinger, held it before the officer's eyes, "Look at my finger," he slowly moved his finger left and right twice—the officer's gaze followed the movement too.

"Please hand me the flashlight, officer." Jimmy took the officer's flashlight, adjusted the light, and flashed it before the officer's eyes, checking his pupils. Pupil reaction was normal, and there were no visible blood spots in the whites.

"I don't see any obvious anomalies for now, but you should still go to the hospital for a checkup, there could be a slight concussion."

Jimmy gently checked the officer's limbs, good news, there were no signs of fractures.

"No fracture in the right leg, but there probably is severe bruising, you shouldn't move it for now."

After some checks, Jimmy handed the flashlight back to the officer.

"Check on the driver in that truck, please," the officer said, leaning against the police car, unable to move.

"Alright." Jimmy approached the pickup, just glanced at the driver's seat, and immediately gave up.

"Sorry, officer, he might be dead, better wait for the medical team to confirm," he said.

"Thank you, please wait here for a moment, others will take a statement from you."

...

Jimmy sat nearby, staring blankly at the car accident. He didn't expect that even in the next life, skills from his former career would still come into play. As a firefighter, he was trained in first aid, used for emergency rescues in fires or traffic accidents.

Seeing the accident, he had rushed to help, no longer a member of the fire brigade, yet that moment completely erased his memory of that fact.

More than ten years in firefighting, some things are deeply ingrained in the bones.