WWII military commentator? Even a dog could be one.

33 Strange Stars

Sean rolled down the car window and looked at the police officer by the door. The officer had a star on his shoulder patch, indicating that he was a first or second-class police officer.

He was wearing a blue police uniform, a peaked cap, and a Colt pistol tucked into his waistband.

Across the road was an old-fashioned Ford police car, its blue and white exterior resembling a clumsy, chubby panda, unlike the black and white cars of later generations.

The car has two huge headlights, and the hood bulges up like a big bump on the head, giving the front of the car a bit of an old man's appearance.

Sean knew that cars of this era were mostly of this style.

The other person was wearing a badge on their chest.

A blue background with a national flag.

In the middle is a family, with men, women and children.

A scale runs through the home; this badge was used by the Los Angeles Police Department in the 40s.

Unlike modern ones, the scales represent judicial fairness.

The family represents protection and order.

But in reality, gangs are rampant in Los Angeles now.

Irish, Sicilian, Mexican, and Haitian.

The police's equipment was simply no match for them.

"Sir, please get off the bus."

Seeing that Sean did not respond, the officer spoke politely.

Sean got out of the car and glanced regretfully at his Daimler.

"Is my license plate wrong?"

"Yes, this is not a Los Angeles license plate."

The police officer looked at the strange luxury car with suspicion, even placing his hand on the butt of his gun.

"Is this your car?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Sean."

"Where do you live?"

Vincent Street next to Union Station.

The officers' suspicions deepened. "Please wait a moment."

The officer walked back to his patrol car and picked up his walkie-talkie to call the control center.

"Code 2 indicates a suspicious Mercedes-Benz Daimler vehicle has been detected, license plate number XXX, without the need for additional support!"

"That's the license plate of the German consulate."

Damn.

The officer drew his pistol. "Sir, I'm sorry, you may have to come with me."

Why?

"Because this isn't your car."

"This is my car."

This was the first time the police officers had ever seen such an arrogant thief.

"I already told you this isn't your car. Are you German?"

"No. I'm from California!"

"Then tell me why you have a car with German consulate license plates?"

Sean wanted to swear.

Where is your driver's license?

"No." In this day and age, many people drive without a driver's license.

Sean honestly replied that, based on his experience watching American TV shows, he knew he had to back down at this point.

"Okay, come with me to the police station. We may charge you with dangerous driving and illegal vehicle theft, and you may face fines and prosecution."

Not really.

Sean sat obediently in the police car and soon arrived at the Los Angeles police station.

Following Officer Sean upstairs, everything here was unfamiliar to him.

The old-fashioned building has wooden floors that creak when you step on the stairs.

Burglary department?

What's going on?

Sean was led inside, where the ceiling fan overhead was spinning and making a creaking sound.

The light and shadow flickered on the ground.

"Detective Phelps, this guy was driving around in a Mercedes Daimler with the German consulate's license plate."

Phelps, a veteran detective who used to work in the traffic division, looked at his former colleague and put down his cigar. "You should be watching the paint dry every day, not running around enforcing the law, kid. You could die from a gunshot wound."

The young police officer smiled, unconcerned. "Someone has to do the job and uphold justice."

Haha.

Phelps, that old fox, smiled faintly and slammed a huge notebook down in front of Sean.

"What's your name?"

"Sean Wayne".

"age."

"21 years old."

"Hmm, nice name. I think I recognize this name. Where was this car stolen?"

"It wasn't stolen, it's mine."

"Haha," Phelps laughed, revealing a set of smoky, yellow teeth. "Mercedes-Benz Daimler, what model?"

"770V!"

"You stole a car from the consulate? Kid, you're going to get a severe sentence. I swear!"

"It really is mine."

"Really? Do you have the purchase receipt? Does Mercedes-Benz still offer special license plates with car sales these days?"

"It was a gift from someone."

"Really? Your friend is so generous. Could you introduce me to him?"

"What's his name?" Phelps thought Sean was a sly little devil. Someone else gave him a license plate, a consulate plate? That car is very expensive.

"Adolf."

"Is your friend Adolf a European immigrant?"

Yes, he lives in Berlin.

"Are you still a transnational smuggling ring?" Phelps perked up; this was a big case.

If we're talking about a group, it's quite large.

"What is your friend's position in your organization? How do you make contact? I mean, how do you contact each other? How many people are there in Los Angeles? Do you usually sell stolen goods like this? Do you have any car repair shops that modify cars?"

Phelps was somewhat smug. The guy in front of him looked like a rookie, not at all like a gangster, and answered all his questions.

"Your Majesty."

"Head of State, this position is quite special. Say it again, are you kidding me? Or do you think I'm stupid?"

"I'm telling the truth, this is a gift from the German Führer."

Phelps smiled. Emotionally, the United States at this moment did not have any aversion to Germany; on the contrary, it was a good business partner.

"A gift from Little Mustache? Are you serious? Why didn't he give one to me?"

That's a good question. I don't know.

Sean shrugged helplessly.

Seeing the other person smiling with pursed lips, Phelps thought this guy was a little too calm.

You can actually laugh.

"That's not funny."

"I'm telling the truth."

"Hahaha!" Phelps laughed loudly. "Then how will you prove it? By calling Berlin?"

"I can't do it." I don't even know the number, let alone an international line.

In those days, people crossed oceans by telegram.

Sean really didn't know how to prove it; this wasn't modern times, and you could find the answers online.

"Well, it seems you're not planning on getting a reduced sentence, Sean Wayne, is that right?"

"Yes."

"Let me ask you a very stupid question: why would he give it to you?"

"I have no idea."

"So you're kidding me, right?"

"Maybe, I mean maybe."

"What could it be?"

"They called me, the American hero of the Empire."

"An American hero of the Empire?" Phelps was stunned. "Don't you think your title is strange?"

"I think so too, because I am the only American to receive the Knight's Cross."

"Haha, wait a minute, you're Sean Wayne, that critic?"

"Yes, I have medals at home to prove it."

"Now that the Norwegian defenders are determined to hold out, how many days do you think it will take for Germany to completely conquer Norway?"

Phelps pushed aside the files on the table and looked at Sean curiously.

"After the defeat in Norway, what will Germany do next? Belgium? Or France? Can they defeat the powerful French army?"

"Oh my god, it's Sean Wayne!" The detectives around them ran over one by one.

"Hey Sean, what's your take on the naval battles between Britain and Germany?"

"Will they attack France?"

"What about Romania?"

"How far will it ultimately develop?"

Everyone around me wants to talk to me.

Sean looked up speechlessly at the group of curious detectives beside him.

"Shouldn't we be dealing with the case now?" Sean asked, looking at Phelps.

"We'll talk about that later. We'll check with the German consulate later. Don't worry, but you might be fined, and it could be a lot of money, since you don't have a driver's license."

However, we will plead for you, since your attitude is very sincere.

And the judges all like you because they always like to talk about Europe.

"Are you guys serious? You can't be serious, can't you focus on the case first?"