Jimmy returned to the police station, Chief James had already received the news, and he asked Cage to take over the case from Jimmy.

Jimmy had no objections, he had never dealt with a drug case before and had no experience with them whatsoever. It was better to let Sergeant Cage handle it.

Instead of continuing on patrol, Jimmy went back to the break room, took off his gear, and relaxed for a bit. The recent incident was kind of thrilling; scenarios like being struck by a driver during a stop were not uncommon across the United States, and Jimmy's reaction was quick. He had stepped back the moment he noticed the driver's hands weren't on the steering wheel.

Thanks to Heart Eye, he was certain the driver was indeed holding a gun, which also eliminated the possibility of being deceived by the suspect, maintaining the standoff while waiting for backup.

The reason the suspect ultimately surrendered was actually due to the arrival of the second police car. Alone, whether choosing to drive off or to shoot, the suspect had a certain chance to escape. But with two police officers and two patrol cars, there was virtually no hope.

Jimmy took a shower, as the sweat from earlier had soaked through his undershirt. By the time he came out, Cage had already processed the suspect and detained him in the interrogation room.

Now they had to wait for the lab results of that packet of white powder. If it was drugs, the quantity was not insignificant; the person involved could end up spending many years in prison. If it turned out to be something like flour or starch, Jimmy would only be able to release him.

Jimmy chatted with Cage to get a general understanding of the procedure, which counted as experience. Waiting for the lab results was Cage's responsibility, so after resting for a while, Jimmy put his gear back on and set off again to patrol.

County police could handle drug cases, but usually only for small fry. In cases involving big fish, it was necessary to contact the DEA. If the lab results were confirmed, they would definitely notify the DEA; the packet of powder was conservatively estimated to be over 1 kilogram.

So, whether Jimmy waited for the results or not, the end result would not be related to him or even the police station. Receiving a case notification would be the best outcome.

Jimmy continued patrolling the roads. He had just received some interesting news from Cage: Asian carp were overrunning the Mississippi River, and when they were off duty, they would go fish shooting for relaxation. This was literal fish shooting, with bows, crossbows, or spears, a real stress-reliever. Apparently many of the Asian carp were over 70 centimeters long and weighed more than 15 kilograms.

The size of these Asian carp significantly altered Jimmy's perception of carp; he had eaten carp before and had seen them in the market, but they were small, about twenty to thirty centimeters, and only a few kilograms. He had never encountered ones as large as Cage described.

Jimmy had already arranged with Cage to join them the next time they went, to see it for himself.

Having caught a suspect today, Jimmy wasn't looking for more excitement. He drove down the highway aimlessly, sticking to the 45mph speed limit, and there was no need to stop unless someone passed him.

The rest of the shift passed without incident; Jimmy went home safely after work.

Jimmy had received news from the police station's affiliated repair shop that he could get a good deal on a used car. For a few months now, he had been carpooling or taking cabs to and from work, so it was about time he had a car of his own. He had already convinced the apartment manager to rent him a parking space nearby.

Jimmy had made an appointment to see the car, a 1992 Mercury Tracker, a brand he was unfamiliar with, but it seemed everyone else knew it well. He liked the car at first sight; it was blue, with four doors, a small spoiler on the trunk, a 1.8L naturally aspirated engine, and an automatic transmission.

In a private sale, the repair shop helped Jimmy with the title transfer process, and they only charged him $2000 out the door. There must have been something wrong with the car for that price, but as the beneficiary, Jimmy didn't mind. He just had to wait two days before he could drive it away, and he was very satisfied.

Two days later, Jimmy successfully got his own car, and the insurance company associated with the police station also gave him a discounted rate for vehicle insurance.

By the way, American police stations generally have various discounted insurances for officers, including medical, health, personal safety, property, etc., especially medical and unemployment insurance. The police department pays the full insurance premium, which is essential for a police officer's profession. Accidents can happen on duty, and having an insurance company's backing provides peace of mind.

When Jimmy drove to the police station, he received new information: the driver they had caught a few days ago had been turned over to the DEA. However, the news from there was a bit disheartening; the driver really was just a driver. He picked up shipments from designated locations to other specified places, without contacting anyone throughout the process. The lack of sufficient surveillance meant that they couldn't identify the people involved at either end of the transactions.

While it was a significant case, it was also a useless one.

Jimmy's chance for commendation was gone, with all he could claim was the credit for arresting a drug dealer. But it wasn't a big deal; the major credit would inevitably go to the DEA anyway, and no one from the station could touch it unless they came here to investigate and needed the county police's assistance.

Jimmy drove the patrol car out, and since he had issued quite a few tickets recently, he planned to rest by the roadside today so as not to look too greedy. Noah and the others averaged only 10-15 tickets a week, while Jimmy had at least 3-4 daily, so taking a day or two off wasn't a big deal.

Jimmy parked the patrol car on a side road and went to smoke under the shade of trees, also taking out bullets to practice loading his revolver. Without using a speed-loader, he would grab a handful of bullets and push them into the chambers one by one, then use the ejector rod to push them out and reload, repeating the process. The goal was to be able to reload quickly in combat to maintain firepower.

This kind of training was time-consuming, not something that could show results immediately, so Jimmy practiced whenever he had downtime. If he had to respond to a call, he just made sure the chambers were loaded before slipping the gun back into its holster.

While Jimmy was practicing, his phone suddenly rang, showing a number he didn't recognize.

"Hello, who are you looking for?"

"Hi, is this Officer Jimmy? I'm Das Moro from Summerfield, you came by last time to deal with my neighbor's late-night renovations."

"Oh, I remember you. What's up?"

"Yes, I'm not sure if I should call the police, but there's a van that has been parked at the corner for three consecutive days now. It doesn't have local plates, and none of my neighbors are truck drivers."

"Has the van stayed in that spot this whole time? Has it moved at all during these days?"

"No, it hasn't moved at all, at least not for the past three days."

"OK, I'll come over and take a look first."

Jimmy started the patrol car and headed towards Summerfield; he had a vivid memory of the place because someone suspected of being a CIA agent lived nearby.