What?
Don't call the police?
Why shouldn't he call the police? Finding the police when encountering difficulties is a universal rule.
Furthermore, this was even more true in the States, especially for a wealthy taxpayer like Locke who paid his taxes on time and whose tax amounts were by no means small. He was a highly qualified taxpayer who deserved to enjoy the highest standard of protection.
If someone planted listening devices in his home and he didn't even contact the police, then what was the point of the New York Police Department's existence? More importantly, what was the point of a high-ranking Police Captain like George Stacy?
After all, taxpayers paid George's salary so that he would actually work, not spend all day with nothing better to do than chase the Peerless Assassin around for fun.
Thinking about it this way made Locke feel even more annoyed.
Twice in a row—basically both times—George's promotions had happened because Locke directly served up massive accomplishments right to his mouth.
And how did George repay him?
From a certain perspective, George was drawing a salary funded by Locke's tax money, yet he still wanted to arrest him?
Speechless!
Locke thought to himself that it was high time to find some proper work for George to do. George needed to stop dreaming about catching him all day long. Dreaming occasionally was fine, but dreaming every single day was bad for one's health.
...
Soon.
Almost exactly three minutes after Locke hung up from reporting the crime.
Two officers who happened to be driving their night patrol on Fifth Avenue arrived at the scene.
Locke held the counter-surveillance equipment in his hand and explained,
"The device informed me that someone planted listening devices in my home again, so I called the police directly."
The two officers exchanged a look.
"Again?"
Locke nodded. "Yes. Last year, personnel from Homeland Security planted bugs in my home without any judicial warrant. I sued them for it."
Looking at the young man with gold hair dressed in a sharp suit, the two officers seemed to remember something. They immediately grabbed the radios on their shoulders and began shouting orders.
...
"What?"
At home, George was finishing his dinner and sipping some whiskey from his glass when he suddenly spat it out with a loud *pfft*. Under the watchful gazes of Gwen and Helen, who were cleaning up the dining room, he coughed repeatedly and said in disbelief,
"What? Wiretapped again? Did he find them?"
After a moment, George muttered, "I'll be right there," and set down his phone and glass.
Helen and Gwen exchanged a look from the kitchen.
Gwen asked curiously, "Dad, you're already a Police Captain. I think you should learn to delegate. If it's about catching the Peerless Assassin, we support you, but why do you need to personally go for a wiretapping case..."
Putting on his coat, George looked at Gwen, who was trying to persuade him, and replied in a flat, indifferent tone,
"Your boyfriend called the police. He says someone planted bugs in his home again."
Gwen was instantly at a loss for words. Then, she blinked. "What? Locke?"
A faint smile forced its way onto George's face. "But since my daughter is so concerned about me, I won't go. It's not like it's the Peerless Assassin anyway, and it's not like every single case requires—"
Before George could even finish his sentence, Gwen had already slipped on her shoes with a swift *swoosh*, snatched George's car keys from the side, and opened the door with a tense expression.
"Dad, hurry up."
George opened his mouth. Hadn't she just said that a minor wiretapping case didn't require a Police Captain to show up?
What changed?
Over by the counter, Helen looked at George's expression and shook her head with a trace of helplessness. It had been so long, yet George clearly still didn't have a realistic understanding of his current ranking in his precious daughter's heart.
Seeing George standing frozen in place, Gwen grew anxious. She walked straight back, grabbed the unshod George, and dragged him out the door.
"Let's go, Dad, there's no time."
George fell into a brief daze, finally acknowledging that his once snugly warm down jacket of a daughter had completely transformed into a drafty, cold-hearted piece of outerwear.
By the time George snapped back to reality, his mouth was twitching as he watched Gwen drive. He couldn't help but say,
"Slow down. Officers are already there. He's not going to die."
Gwen turned and glared fiercely at George.
George felt thoroughly intimidated and pointed at the road ahead.
"Slow down, slow down, watch the road!"
Gwen snapped her attention back, realized she was about to tail the car ahead too closely, turned the steering wheel, and shifted straight into the left lane before letting out a sigh of relief.
George didn't want to talk anymore. At the same time, he felt a bit dazed, finding the whole situation rather bizarre.
Who targeted that wild boar this time?
Then again...
'Can that wild boar really court that much trouble? How is he the only one getting wiretapped day and night? Who does he think he is? Aside from being a bit handsome, wealthy, and highly knowledgeable, what qualifies him to be wiretapped by others?'
'Could it be Homeland Security again?'
George froze for a moment, pulled his phone from his coat, and dialed the number of Homeland Security's Special Agent in Charge, Commander Victoria Hand.
When Commander Victoria Hand heard George's purpose for calling, she also fell into a brief daze.
What on earth?
"Locke Broughton was wiretapped again?" Victoria Hand frowned. "To my knowledge, there is no active surveillance operation. For any surveillance action, we obtain warrants from the federal court."
George asked suspiciously,
"Really? If it wasn't you, then who was it? Langley?"
Wait.
Langley?
George suddenly thought of that Mister NoName who seemed to have intentions toward Locke. Could this wiretapping operation be Langley conducting an evaluation on Locke?
But... before the operation could even yield results, Locke had directly flipped the table. How would that be resolved?
On the other end, Ms. Victoria Hand shook her head.
"I am not entirely clear on that. However, if permissible, could Homeland Security send someone over to inspect the scene?"
"No!" George snapped back to reality. "I won't misunderstand you, but I'm afraid Locke will assume it's you again. If Homeland Security gets dragged to court once more, I think even if you deny it, the jury will assume it was you. You have a prior record for this."
Ms. Victoria Hand: "..."
...
At the Star Tower.
Locke sat at the bar counter, drinking vodka from his glass that was perfectly disguised as cold water.
This wasn't to match the mood. It was simply because vodka looked like water. If Bourbon were transparent, Locke would absolutely be drinking Bourbon instead.
Over a dozen police officers were using scanners throughout the residence, sweeping the place like mine-clearers to locate the listening devices.
'The KGB must be completely paralyzed with shock right now,' Locke thought to herself.
He wasn't an amateur; his home had been wiretapped once before, so possessing dedicated counter-surveillance equipment was entirely logical, and the purchase date lined up perfectly.
If the KGB assumed that even if he discovered the wiretaps he wouldn't contact the police, then they had clearly overcomplicated his thought process. Locke's way of doing things had always been simple and direct.
Regardless of whether this biological mother of his was truly a KGB agent or not, even if she was, what did it have to do with him? Locke wasn't a KGB agent. An upright person had nothing to fear from shadows. What was a seventeen-year-old kid supposed to do upon finding wiretaps if not call the police?
Launch a counter-assassination? Don't be ridiculous.
Therefore, Locke felt zero psychological pressure about calling the police.
Just then, Gwen walked in from outside, calling his name before running quickly toward the bar counter. She threw her arms around him in a tight embrace.
"Are you alright?"
Holding his vodka, Locke glanced at George, who had also walked in, and nodded with a smile. He said to the visibly tense Gwen,
"I'm fine. After I got home, I turned on the detector and noticed something was off, so I reported it immediately."
Gwen looked deeply concerned.
"The security at Star Tower is truly awful. It feels like they are completely useless."
The corners of Locke's mouth twitched.
He felt exactly the same way, but the individuals breaking into his home were performing at a diamond rank, while the security guards at Star Tower were at best gold rank. Thinking about it from that perspective allowed Locke to let it go.
This wasn't the fault of Star Tower's security. The intruders were either from S.H.I.E.L.D., the League of Assassins, or this time, the KGB. All three groups could utterly outclass regular building security; there was no comparison.
"George."
"Beckett?"
George, who was about to walk over to question Locke about the situation, suddenly heard someone call his name. Looking toward the source of the voice, he saw Kate Beckett walking down the spiral staircase from the second floor. He frowned.
"Are you responding to this call?"
Beckett explained, "I happened to be downstairs trying to bring an author back for coffee because he stole my evidence, so I came up to see what was happening."
A case she had been investigating over the past few days caught the involvement of a mystery novelist, Richard Castle, who had actually taken her evidence while invited for questioning. Since that constituted a crime, Beckett had stormed straight to Star Tower to escort him back to the precinct.
"Here." Beckett walked over and handed an evidence bag to George. "Spy-grade quality. Standard detectors wouldn't stand a chance of picking these up."
To be precise, standard, cheap detectors wouldn't pick them up.
Fortunately, Locke had purchased the most expensive model available, manufactured by Stark Security Industries. Products from Stark were guaranteed quality; the salesperson back then had even used the CIA's latest listening equipment for the demonstration, and it showed up plain as day before the detector.
George took the evidence bag, inspected the spy-grade transmitter inside, and nodded. He then looked at Locke with a look of intrigue.
"What did you get yourself into this time?"
"Dad!" Gwen immediately snapped, visibly displeased.
"How could it be Locke courting trouble? Someone must be trying to frame him. It has to be the FBI! They must be holding a grudge and waiting for the dust to settle before giving Locke a piece of their mind. If Locke were just an ordinary person, they probably would have thrown him into Guantanamo Bay by now. That's exactly how they operate."
Standing right by the entrance, FBI Senior Special Agent Colin: "..."
***
We're halfway through the goal, bonus at 100 stones like usual.
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