Black-Haired Internal Revenue Service SWAT Agent - Chapter 257



Only Krnovel

Operation to track down the former president

After getting off work late in the afternoon, I was taking a nap at home when the sound of my phone ringing woke me up.

Judging by the ringtone that was the “SpongeBob” song, it was FBI bestie Nick Torres.

Torres was in hot water last night from his superiors, including the Chicago office chief, for failing to apprehend the men and nearly crashing the FBI’s newest operational helicopter.

So, the guy was determined to catch these dreamland villains.

He seemed even more venomous as it was soon time to decide whether or not he would be promoted to the head of the organized crime unit in the Chicago branch.

And I have a feeling that because of that poison, I’m going to get tired too.

“Hey, Nick! I’m just chilling after work. If you want to work overtime, you’re the FBI. I’m the IRS, IRS!”

“Okay, so the IRS is happy to sell. So, does that mean we can take home $2.1 million, Kim?”

At those words, I made a “tsk” sound and got up from the bed.

As I was getting up, I heard a rustling sound and Torres started talking to me soothingly.

“I’m in front of the house, so come down for a moment.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll be so surprised you’ll lose sleep.”

“Just say nothing, I’ll strap you upside down in my Mustang and drive you to Trump Tower.”

“Come on, Kim! There’s no time!”

I put on my slippers without socks, took the Glock 23 out from under the pillow, and put it in my hoodie pocket.

Then, before going down the stairwell, I looked at the CCTV footage showing the front of our house and then went down.

As I was going down the stairs, I heard that damn recorder sound again. It seemed like Youngjin was playing the recorder in front of Torres again.

A moment later, as I opened the door, I snickered.

Youngjin and his girlfriend, a white kid named Rachel who lived three blocks up the street, were playing a recorder together.

By the way, both of them are holding recorders up to their nostrils and making sounds.

As I approached, Torres rolled down his driver’s side window and watched this ridiculous sight with a look of admiration on his face.

He looks like he’s trying hard to hold back his laughter.

I stretched out behind the kids and looked around the street, which was empty due to the cold weather.

As the closing time approached, all stores except restaurants were closed or preparing to close.

Finally, the children’s performance ended and Torres clapped, barely holding back laughter.

Then, when the two street performers look at Torres without saying a word, Torres looks at me, not knowing what to do with the kids.

I shouted, making an annoyed gesture.

“Give the kids two dollars! That’s not about showing off some fancy tricks. They call it street busking. So, if you give them at least two dollars as a token of your appreciation, they’ll go.”

At those words, Torres looked dumbfounded and handed each of the kids a dollar.

But the kids don’t take the money and just stare at Torres.

Torres, who has figured out the mood of the children, now has a beggarly look on his face and gives them two dollars each, and only then do the children accept their money.

“Thank you, Mr. FBI!”

Yeongjin greets the banana muffin lover and passes me, heading toward home.

But at that time, the sound of Youngjin and his girlfriend whispering really hit me in the head.

“Why is FBI Pops (Mr.) so stingy, Kevin (Youngjin)?”

“Oh! Federal workers are basically poor people who don’t make a lot of money. So, let’s give them a break!”

The mentality of children these days is not only scary, it’s downright awe-inspiring.

After we gather and catch the kids from Dreamland and put them away, we need to have a serious conversation with Man-wook, Yeong-sook, and Yeong-jin about their education.

“What’s wrong? I’m not wearing socks, so my feet are cold. Tell me quickly!”

“Get in! The owner of the blood stains on the truck driver’s jacket has been identified.”

“You mean the guy in the Bill Clinton mask? Why are you bringing that to me now? Huh?”

“Okay! Get on, I said!”

As I got angry, Torres, who was holding a tablet PC, pointed to the passenger seat with his chin.

And as soon as I get in the car, he hands me a few printouts and a tablet PC at the same time.

Before I could ask what it was, the guy started explaining.

“This is a federal search and arrest warrant. The subject of the warrant is ‘Matt Sheldon,’ the CEO of a security company currently operating in Chicago, Illinois.”

“The CEO of a security company? The CEO wore a Bill Clinton mask and robbed the Chicago Mafia’s cash vault and hacked trailer trucks?”

“That’s not all, take a look at his career inside the tablet PC!”

The 63-year-old man, as of 2019, had a long military and CIA career that required him to flip his tablet PC screen up twice.

“Fuck, he’s not just some 60-something pops, Kim. He was a US Army Special Forces agent in the 80s, rescued US embassy hostages in Iran, trained Contra rebels in Nicaragua, served as a military adviser in El Salvador and Honduras, trained Mujahideen in Afghanistan until the Soviets withdrew, and then moved to the CIA Special Operations Division (SAD), where he’s been around the world for almost a decade, although the details aren’t out yet. The details are confidential, but he’s been in the Philippines, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Turkey, Nigeria, Libya, Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, etc. He’s been around the world.”

As I read through the tiny letters in the biography of a man named Matt Sheldon, Torres picked up his takeout coffee cup and said,

“He retired during the Bill Clinton administration because he had some problems with the State Department. I guess that’s why he wore the mask of President Bill Clinton… Damn, I don’t even want to know what kind of pasts the rest of the Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush masks have.”

I put down my tablet and looked at the warrants signed by federal judges as I asked Torres.

“But, we’re doing a joint investigation with the Chicago police detectives, so can we just pick up the federal warrants and set them up first? Even if we have to catch these masked men to find evidence of Russell Campbell’s money laundering and hacking business, we still have to work with the Chicago police.”

Torres responded with a grimace on his face.

“I came here to discuss that with you and then make a move.”

“what?”

“The Chicago Police Department is not trying to arrest Russell Campbell for money laundering and dealing in illegal funds, but for hacking crimes, organized crime, murder, and attempted murder.”

“Yeah~. That’s what we originally said we would do. Even the FBI agreed.”

Torres raises his voice and waves his hands, as if he doesn’t like my response.

“But we, the FBI, will take Russell Campbell, and then we will find out from the IRS that his money laundering proceeds were going to the Outfit (Chicago Mafia), and we will destroy the Outfit with that.”

“Damn, I didn’t say this was going to be a full-blown investigation into the Chicago Mafia. What’s the point of escalating this investigation like this? Our IRS designed this investigation for Russell Campbell’s money laundering and hiding. Who the hell are these Outfit guys, thinking they can go in on Russell Campbell? Don’t you know what kind of accountants the Outfit has? They’re fucking magicians who can make numbers dance on printed documents. It’s going to take months of planning to take them down and take the Outfit down, for fuck’s sake.”

As I poured out my words, Torres, who was listening, seemed to shrink.

While I was reading the warrant, Torres spoke again cautiously.

“Hey, Kim! Even if the Chicago PD just rounds up Russell Campbell and his cronies, it’s not a very satisfying result for you IRS. Besides, how can there not be some guys within the Chicago PD who are in league with the Outfit? Have you forgotten about the trouble you and your team got into because of those corrupt CPD cops?”

Who could forget, Guillermo Vega turned downtown Chicago into a war zone?

I glance at Torres at those words, then he closes his mouth again and looks at me.

But before I can even sort out my complicated thoughts, the sound of a toilet flushing comes from my smartphone.

Now, with our Irish inspiration, Chief Fisher, calling, it seems clear that the FBI and our IRS CID are already in communication regarding the warrant that Torres brought.

“This is Kim.”

“Is Agent Torres with you?”

“Yes, Jake.”

“Then do as he says. We’ve already discussed it on our line. And Gold Team, who received a briefing from Coulson, is already out and moving.”

“Chief, but still, regarding the Chicago police and the contents of this warrant….”

As I was talking, my inspiration hung up the phone again.

Phew~.

Seriously, this guy is an inspiration.

I really don’t understand why a guy who is over 60 years old by Korean age wears a former president mask like he usually wears on Halloween and goes around robbing the Chicago mafia.

But, what the hell is this politics of the Chicago police and our federal agencies?

My SWAT team and I are caught in the middle of it all, doing stupid things and getting beat up again, but we’re not the ones who will take responsibility.

I threw the warrant at Torres and asked him.

“Hey, then why don’t you just bring in your agents and FBI SWAT to arrest this guy? Why did you bring in our team?”

Then Torres answers with a mischievous smile.

“There are still CPD financial crimes liaisons at our FBI office. That’s why I came out myself to sneak up on them. I went to the presiding judge after federal court hours to get the information so that the Chicago police wouldn’t hear about it. The Chicago police said they’ll apply for warrants for Russell Campbell at their local courthouse tomorrow morning, so if we move first today, the Chicago police will eventually have no choice but to follow us.”

I said, wagging my finger at Torres.

“Hey, by tomorrow morning there’s going to be a war between the Chicago PD, the FBI, and the IRS. What are you going to do about that? In the meantime, Russell Campbell will get all his money laundering staff out of Chicago and erase all traces of them…”

As I continued to wiggle my finger, Torres grabbed my finger with one hand.

Then he speaks calmly.

“The FBI will handle that issue. You, the IRS, just help us execute the warrant and recover the $2.1 million from these masked men and find out where it came from. Then, we’ll take care of the rest.”

I took a long breath and stared at Torres.

The Banana Muffin Man soon asks if I look real.

“How is it? You’ll help me?”

“We’re only investigating this warrant and the money laundering related funds. Beyond that, we’re not even putting new staples in a stapler. The FBI takes care of everything.”

Torres smiles at those words and says,

“There’s no time. Go and change into your shoes. What kind of slippers are you wearing in this freezing cold, man?”

I threw the tablet PC to Torres and got out of the car.

I couldn’t finish the day quietly today, I couldn’t.