The Emergency Department of Chicago First Hospital always smelled like a mixture of disinfectant and despair.
As Bruce walked through the double automatic doors, the scent hit him like a physical force, mingled with faint cries and the electronic beeps of medical equipment.
Kevin Atwater and Kim Burgess stood in the waiting area.
The two patrol officers’ uniforms were crumpled, and there were still uncleaned bloodstains on their faces and bodies.
“What’s the situation?” Hank strode over, his raspy voice echoing in the hallway.
Atwater’s face was full of lingering fear, having not yet recovered from the recent attack: “Sergeant, while we were patrolling the intersection of 71st Street and Western Avenue, we found a white female, completely naked, covered in blood, waving a steak knife around wildly.
Her stomach…
OMG, her stomach looked like it had been haphazardly sewn up and then ripped open again…
her intestines were spilled all over the ground.”
As he spoke, Atwater seemed a bit physically uncomfortable, closing his eyes and mouth to suppress the urge to vomit.
Burgess, standing nearby, took over the conversation, her voice also revealing panic: “We tried to calm her down verbally, but she suddenly rushed at us.
While Kevin was struggling with her, I saw her eyes were completely dilated—not from alcohol, but a drug reaction.
So we used the Taser and called an ambulance.”
Bruce observed the two patrol officers.
Atwater’s hands were trembling slightly, his eyes were tightly shut, and he was swallowing hard; Burgess’s hair was a mess and her face was pale, but she stood straight.
“Where is she?” Hank asked simply and directly after hearing their report.
“Resuscitation Room Three,” Atwater replied quickly, feeling a bit better now.
“The doctor said there’s…
something in her stomach that needs emergency surgery to remove.”
Hank nodded and gestured for the Intelligence Unit to follow.
As he passed Burgess and Atwater, he stopped to pat them both on the shoulder, indicating they could go change their clothes first.
Passing through the busy emergency area, Bruce’s [Hearing Positioning] captured the sounds inside the resuscitation room: the rhythmic beeping of the EKG monitor, the pace of the ventilator, the low whispers of doctors, and a woman’s unconscious groans.
The attending physician was a tired-looking middle-aged man whose name tag read “Rajani, Emergency Medicine.” The woman who had been brought in lay on the hospital bed, still unconscious and groaning involuntarily.
Dr.
Rajani saw the police enter and took off his blood-stained gloves.
“Are you here to handle the ‘drug mule’?”
“‘Drug mule’?” Hank frowned slightly.
Dr.
Rajani pointed to an X-ray light box nearby and flipped the switch.
The image was cruelly clear: a female abdomen with the intestinal outline filled with neat, oval objects, like a deformed pearl necklace.
“Thirty condoms,” Dr.
Rajani’s voice was calm, as if he had seen it all before.
“Each one is filled with high-purity cocaine, with a total estimated value of over fifty thousand dollars.
One of them ruptured, leaking the drugs directly into her bloodstream.
That’s why she went crazy—acute cocaine poisoning.”
The members of the Intelligence Unit stared at the X-ray.
Thirty of them, each condom about five centimeters long, stuffed into the stomach and intestines.
They had to be swallowed or inserted by other means.
The process was agonizingly painful and extremely risky, yet the profit…
fifty thousand dollars wasn’t much to a drug dealer, but for a young woman, it could be a life-changing amount of money.
“When will she wake up?” This was Katherine’s primary concern; they could only get information once she was conscious.
“Not for the time being,” Dr.
Rajani shrugged, unconcerned about whether the police could solve the case.
“We performed emergency surgery to remove them, but the drugs have already caused irreversible damage to her heart and nervous system.
It’s best to keep her in this state for now; otherwise, you’ll only get the testimony of a madwoman.”
Rajani hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Her abdomen has crude suture marks.
It wasn’t a medical procedure; it looks more like the work of an amateur.
The wound is severely infected.”
Hank’s face turned grim.
“Do we have a name?”
Hearing this, Dr.
Rajani had a nearby nurse bring over the woman’s personal belongings.
“Amber Morris, 19 years old, a student at Chicago Central University.
Erin Lindsay had already pulled out her tablet and started searching: “Amber Morris, sophomore Art major, lives in the school dorms.
No criminal record, middle-class family background, parents are in Ohio.”
“How does a good student suddenly become a drug mule?” Jay Halstead wondered.
“That’s not our concern right now,” Hank interrupted Jay, beginning to assign tasks.
“Erin, you and Antonio contact the girl’s parents and have them get to Chicago as soon as possible.
Old Ai, you and Ruzek go to the school and talk to people to find out about her social circle.
Bruce, Katherine, and Jay, you’re with me to search her dorm…”
“Hank,” Bruce raised his hand to interrupt Hank’s assignments, “I personally think we also need to check Amber’s travel records.
Such an extreme method of smuggling isn’t the style of a local dealer.”
Hearing this, Hank thought for a moment and gave an appreciative look; he didn’t mind his subordinates offering suggestions.
“Change of plans.
Erin, you contact Amber’s parents alone.
Antonio, you and Jay head to the Department of Transportation to check where Amber has been these past few days.
Everyone else, proceed as planned.
GO!
GO!
GO!”
…
Chicago Central University Dormitory.
The dorm manager, Shirley Bates, was a Black woman in her forties with a glasses chain around her neck and a serious expression: “Miss Morris is a quiet girl who rarely causes trouble.
But she hasn’t been back to the dorm for the past week.
I thought she went home to visit family.”
“Did she have any visitors?
Particularly men?” Katherine asked.
Bates thought about it.
“Yes, a young man came to see her a month ago.
He had tattoos and spoke rudely.
I told him to sign in, and he just wrote ‘fuck.’ I warned Miss Morris to be careful then, but she just smiled and clearly didn’t listen.”
After a brief inquiry, Bruce and Katherine entered Amber’s room.
It was tidier than a typical college dorm.
Art exhibition posters were on the walls, and unfinished sketches and drawings sat on the desk.
Bruce opened the closet, his eyes keenly catching an anomaly.
Several pieces of summer clothing were hanging at the very back with the tags still on, all in a tropical vacation style.
“Look at this,” Bruce then pulled a crumpled boarding pass from the bottom of the closet.
“Cabo San Lucas Airport, Mexico.
Return time was yesterday.
She just got back from Mexico.”
Katherine was also checking the desk drawers.
“Passport’s here.
Mexican entry stamp, exit stamp.
Wait!
There’s no US re-entry stamp!”
Bruce leaned in to take a look; indeed, that was the case.
The passport showed Amber left Mexico yesterday and even checked in for her flight, but there was no record of her returning to the United States.
Standing nearby, Hank summarized the findings of his two capable officers.
“So, Amber didn’t come back through official channels.
Or rather, she was taken from the airport—possibly smuggled in, along with the drugs.”
Just then, Hank’s phone vibrated.
It was a call from Antonio.
Amber Morris went to Mexico four days ago, and she wasn’t alone.
Sarah Haynes, Megan Benson, and Alisha Davis were with her.
Four girls from the same school bought tickets to Cabo San Lucas together.
Return flight records show they all boarded, but US Customs has no record of them entering.”
“Four girls?
None with entry records,” Bruce analyzed, rubbing his chin after hearing Antonio’s words.
“Amber had an average of thirty bags of cocaine in her body.
What about the other three?”
Katherine’s face instantly grew tense.
“If they have them inside too…”
“Then they’re in danger,” Hank understood as well.
At that moment, Old Ai and Ruzek arrived and reported on their interviews with the students.
It was similar to what Antonio had found: a small group of four who were usually inseparable.
Led by the dorm manager Shirley, the Intelligence Unit searched Sarah, Megan, and Alisha’s rooms.
They were mostly like typical college dorms, with the only unusual thing being that a Mexico travel guide was found in each of the three rooms.
Bruce also captured a segment of surveillance footage from the apartment building’s security room.
The footage showed that last night, the four girls were picked up from the apartment’s underground garage by two men in a vehicle.
The license plate was obscured, but the model was a black Chevrolet Express van.
With all the clues in hand, Hank issued his orders.
“Everyone, back to the district.
Let’s pool the information we’ve gathered.”
…
Half an hour later, in the Intelligence Unit office, everyone had returned one by one.
Erin was still in the reception room comforting Amber’s mother, who happened to be in Chicago and had arrived quickly.
Hearing about her daughter’s ordeal, the middle-aged woman wept uncontrollably, constantly murmuring, “How could this happen, how could this happen…”
Lexi watched this scene from outside the door, only then realizing how hateful her own words had been today.
Drugs truly destroy people.
On the other side, Sheldon projected the surveillance footage Bruce had brought onto the whiteboard.
The four young girls were seen smiling as they got into the van, looking like they were on an ordinary weekend trip, except for their slightly stiff gait and pale complexions.
“Enlarge the driver’s seat,” Hank ordered coldly.
Sheldon quickly operated the controls, his fingers clicking away, and the screen clearly displayed the driver’s face.
It was a white male in his thirties with short hair and a snake tattoo on his neck.
“Sean Collins,” Sheldon pulled up the personal file directly without waiting for Hank’s command.
“31 years old, has a drug record, runs a tattoo shop called ‘Underground Ink’ in the Cicero District area.
His brother, Brandon Collins, 28, also has a drug record and is currently a tattoo artist at the shop.”
“The tattoo shop is definitely a front,” Antonio said immediately upon hearing this.
“It’s actually a drug distribution point, and possibly involved in human smuggling.”
To this, Hank began deploying his team.
“Old Ai, take Adam and go surveil ‘Underground Ink.’ Don’t alert them.
Antonio, take Jay and Erin to track the van’s route.
Bruce and Katherine, you’re with me to find Sean’s uncle.”
“Uncle?” Bruce asked in confusion.
Beside him, Katherine waved her hand, indicating she didn’t know either.
“Gavin Collins, I know him,” Hank said in a low voice, offering a rare explanation.
“Leader of a small gang in the South Side, runs several strip clubs.
He raised Sean and Brandon.
If his nephews are in trouble, Gavin will know.”
Hearing this, Bruce and Katherine said no more and followed Hank toward the garage.
In the stairwell, they saw Old Ai talking to Lexi.
Seeing Bruce come down, Lexi’s face turned red, and she lowered her head slightly.
Old Ai saw this and smiled without saying anything.
His daughter had just solemnly apologized to him; she realized her mistakes and her naivety.