HLM -Chapter 1221 Who Doesn’t Obey

Wang Bo’s actions were nothing if not fierce. Sam, who had rushed to support him, was trembling just watching.

The young man kept yelling, “You’ll regret this!” Wang Bo yanked him up and said, “Whether I’ll regret it is for later. Right now, you should be the one regretting!”

“I’ll definitely have my lawyer sue you! Just wait, you’re doomed!” the young man whined.

Wang Bo sneered, “You’d better ask your lawyer first what charges apply for assaulting a police officer—especially multiple times!”

The young man scoffed, “Who did I assault? I just didn’t see who you were. I thought someone was robbing me. After all, the car I drive tends to attract unwanted attention.”

And indeed, he was driving a luxury car—Wang Bo had noticed it long ago. An Aston Martin DB9, powered by a 6.0-liter V12 engine with 517 horsepower, capable of 0–100 km/h in 4.5 seconds.

This car was on their watchlist, which explained why Wang Bo had been so aggressive.

Hearing the young man’s explanation, Wang Bo replied disdainfully, “A crappy car, worth what? A few hundred thousand? Even under a million, and you dare act arrogant in front of me?”

He handcuffed the young man and pushed him toward Sam. “Check his blood alcohol level. He’s probably driving under the influence—maybe even drunk driving.”

Anyone daring to treat police like this while sober was either recklessly arrogant or had such a big background that no one in all of New Zealand could touch them.

There were still cars attempting to flee; one even recklessly charged toward the rocky seaside. But the police had deployed helicopters—no one could escape.

Wang Bo busied himself inside while the elite team took over the arrests. He didn’t need to make arrests himself, only handle registration.

“Name.”

“Bill.”

“Do you have no first or last name? Gender?”

“Can’t you tell with your eyes?”

Wang Bo saw this kid was full of himself. As the saying goes: “A tree left untrimmed grows crooked; a person left unchecked grows arrogant.” He flipped the youth over and snapped the handcuffs tighter.

The young man screamed in pain, his arms nearly pulled off. Wang Bo rolled up the registration book and shoved it into his mouth, silencing him; all he could do was muffled whimpers.

“Now do you know your name and your gender?”

The young man nodded quickly—he clearly wasn’t one to stand his ground.

Sam came over to advise, “Don’t, man. You could get in trouble for this, people might file complaints.”

Wang Bo said, “Let them complain. I won’t indulge these assholes’ bad habits. Look at what they did—speeding while drunk, racing with girls. If they want to risk their lives, fine, but they even tried to drag others to hell with them!”

Sam shrugged. “Be reasonable. There are cameras filming.”

Wang Bo knew that, of course. He had been clever; he acted when the cameras weren’t focused on him. Nothing would be recorded.

Besides, he wasn’t afraid of complaints—Wellington couldn’t control him. The Sunset Town Police report directly to Auckland; any complaints would have to go there.

By past midnight, the operation finally ended. It had been a busy night—everyone had been registered, and those with detectable alcohol levels were taken into custody.

The Aston Martin’s owner was Sandy Dullinger, a rich second-generation heir. His father was the well-known owner of the AirStar hotel chain in New Zealand, and his mother a high-level bank executive. No wonder he was so arrogant.

Wang Bo didn’t care about such minor connections; he would have arrested the prime minister’s son if needed.

Before leaving, he specifically told the police: keep a close eye on Sandy Dullinger. Wang Bo reserved the right to prosecute him for assaulting a police officer.

This meant that even if the Dullinger family tried to use connections to have him removed officially, it would require Wang Bo’s consent. Otherwise, Dullinger would face the courts and the police.

The Dullinger family acted quickly. Soon after returning to the Police Academy, a call came in during the early morning hours.

Wang Bo had just fallen asleep and groggily answered, hearing a respectful voice say, “Hello, is this Mayor Wang?”

Thinking it was a call regarding Sunset Town business, he mumbled, “Yes, that’s me. Can we talk tomorrow? I’m too tired right now.”

It had been a long night—he was indeed exhausted.

The voice apologized quickly: “Sorry, Mayor Wang. I’m Rachel Dullinger, father of Sandy Dullinger. I need to trouble you with something…”

Hearing the identity, Wang Bo lost interest immediately. He cut him off: “Anything you need from me, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Rachel Dullinger understood and didn’t call again. The next day, the call came from a key Green Party figure, Westin Reid.

Westin greeted, “Hi Wang, I heard you’ve been in Wellington. How are you adjusting to life and training there?”

Wang Bo guessed the purpose and said, “It’s fine. The training is heavy. I’m about to head back now. Mr. Reid, please get straight to the point.”

“Alright, I’ll be direct. Last night you participated in a capture operation, correct? There was a kid named Sandy Dullinger…”

“Yes. Sandy Dullinger. I remember him. He almost ran me over with his car, and then attacked me after getting out. I will prosecute him.”

Westin smiled wryly. “I think there must be some misunderstanding. Maybe he didn’t recognize you because of the low light, and inadvertently offended you.”

Wang Bo spoke firmly, “No. He didn’t offend me personally—he offended the law and the dignity of the police. I don’t care about the others, but this guy is going to prison to learn a lesson.”

If not for the police car being sturdy, with the Aston Martin backing into him, Wang Bo would have been in serious danger. In a worst-case scenario, the child could have lost his father permanently.

Westin asked, “No room for leniency?”

“None,” Wang Bo answered crisply, then hung up and continued training.

During training, some trainees were roughhousing. One shouted, “How dare you hit me? Do you know who my dad is?”

“Who your dad is is your mom’s secret!” another teased.

Wang Bo was a little embarrassed. “How do you know that line? Who told you? Was it the instructor?”

No—Uncle Bing and the others wouldn’t gossip. Atulu was just greedy but didn’t talk much.

The ‘sweet guy’ chuckled: “Who else would tell us? Your capture operation was broadcast as news last night, and that’s your scene we saw.”