Brooklyn, the Silver Rock Group.
In an office on the seventh floor of a high-rise, Liu Ren was flipping through the financial records in his hands. As he went over each entry, his expression grew somber.
Most of the company's current revenue came from the Garand rifle. To Liu Ren, that was hardly good news.
After all, no one ever complained about having too much money, and more than that, he wanted to become the underground emperor of this city!
Don't assume being in the "Mafia" meant ending up badly; prior to the twenty-first century, the fortunes they amassed rivaled entire nations!
Most importantly, Liu Ren needed a massive amount of cash.
While the Silver Rock Arms Factory could bring in plenty of money, those funds were out in the open on the books. He needed vastly more wealth to acquire companies, consolidate the supply chain upstream and downstream, and take total control!
Closing the ledger, Liu Ren turned his head and asked, "How's the situation with the Irish?"
"Same as always!"
Shrugging helplessly, A Chao was also feeling rather disappointed by now.
Relying on the Irish and the Jews to go to war had turned out to be far too naive!
One side would take a swing today, and the other would toss a bomb tomorrow—it was practically playing house, a complete and utter disappointment!
"I thought they were wicked, but I never expected them to be this stupid!"
Sneering with contempt, Liu Ren's gaze turned dangerous.
He had given them plenty of chances, yet things had dragged out like this.
That left Liu Ren with no choice but to take matters into his own hands.
He despised procrastination of any kind—the single good habit left over from his days as a courier.
Any issue, any problem, had to be dealt with immediately, or he would grow irritable!
His slender fingertips tapped against the desk, producing a steady, dull rhythm.
Slowing the cadence, Liu Ren asked, "Did you track down the Irishman's address?"
"Already taken care of! But are we really getting our own hands dirty?"
Looking at Liu Ren dubiously, A Chao wasn't refusing, but if they jumped into the fray themselves, things could easily spiral out of control.
After all, the people of Brooklyn were deeply wary of them. In their eyes, Liu Ren was an "outsider," and a dangerous one at that!
Hearing A Chao's concern, Liu Ren threw his hands up in exasperation. "I gave them every chance, and how did they repay me? No dead bodies, no bloodbath, not even a damn firefight! Is this Brooklyn? This is practically God's Garden of Eden! Fuck!"
Seeing Liu Ren lose his temper, A Chao's eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
For the past two weeks, they had watched the two sides shooting it out in the streets. To Liu Ren, that was just playing house?
Failing to understand what level of carnage Liu Ren needed to be satisfied, A Chao asked reflexively, "So what do you plan to do?"
"First, we find a hardliner among the Irish and whack him!"
Flashing a bright smile, Liu Ren couldn't help but whistle.
"What? Target a hardliner? Aren't you picking the wrong guy?"
A Chao stared at him, taken aback.
"What do you know? Once the radicals disappear, the moderates will become even more radical than the extremists ever were!"
Wearing an enigmatic smile, Liu Ren's eyes gleamed with malice.
***
Manhattan, Broadway Theater District.
A car pulled up to the curb. Stepping out, Liu Ren smoothed his suit, looking perfectly composed.
Beside him, A Chao looked on with mild confusion. "Song and dance? Since when are you into this kind of thing?"
"We're about to be high society. When you meet people, you talk about art—you don't open your mouth and threaten to wipe out their whole family. It's bad manners!"
Liu Ren gave A Chao a measured, long-suffering explanation.
Stunned, A Chao spread his hands. "Between the two of us, who's the one that's always threatening to wipe out entire families?"
"You!"
Pointing at A Chao, Liu Ren naturally refused to admit it. Who was he, after all? A fine, upstanding young man of the highest moral caliber!
What were those morals? The traditional Chinese virtues, of course: benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and fidelity!
As for virtue and morality? Don't ask—they were still dripping with blood, resting as an axe inside his Storage Space!
Buying tickets and entering the theater, Liu Ren took in the surroundings with novel curiosity; it was his first time here.
He had heard about Broadway in his previous life but had never visited, so this checked off an old dream.
Once inside, however, Liu Ren couldn't help but frown. The decor left much to be desired—perhaps simply because his twenty-first-century tastes were too discerning.
After watching a graceful ballet performance, Liu Ren sat with his chin resting on one hand, silent for a long time.
When the show ended and they stepped out of Broadway, Liu Ren remained quiet.
"What's wrong with you?" A Chao asked curiously.
"I just wasted the most precious hour of my life! Watching this so-called ballet isn't half as good as going to a strip club! At least that place has some energy!"
Complaining in complete exasperation, Liu Ren concluded that he simply had no artistic talent. Aside from the performers and their costumes catching his eye for a moment, he had spent the entire hour wondering who he was, where he was, and why on earth he was sitting there...
Just as Liu Ren finished speaking, gunfire erupted in the distance.
Several men fiercely brandished firearms, pulling their triggers at a man dressed in a sharp suit. Surrounding pedestrians screamed and scrambled in panic.
Watching calmly, Liu Ren lit a cigarette and slowly blew out a thick plume of smoke.
When A Chao saw the man collapse, he instantly matched the face from memory—that was Langdon, the most radical hardliner among the Irish!
But why was he gunned down here on Broadway? And who were those shooters?
As A Chao turned his head in disbelief, a sinister smirk played across Liu Ren's lips.
He had come here tonight specifically to witness the countdown on the man's life.
After all, a damn "Mafia" mobster spending his evening watching Broadway—wasn't that dripping with romantic irony?
Emptying their magazines, the gunmen scrambled in a panic and melted into the crowd.
Before long, detectives arrived on the scene, immediately nursing headaches as they recognized the victim as well.
"Let's go. The show's over!"
Patting A Chao on the shoulder, Liu Ren snapped his fingers.
A Chao nodded. Though he didn't ask, he knew exactly what this sudden hit was all about.
***
By the Hudson River.
The men who had carried out the job earlier that evening stood together, seemingly waiting for something.
Moments later, a black sedan pulled up.
Stepping out of the car, A Chao wasted no words. He drew a revolver and squeezed the trigger.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Sharp gunshots tore through the darkness, dropping the men like felled trees.
Tossing the revolver to the subordinate beside him, A Chao gestured toward the corpses. "Double-check them before tossing them in."
"Yes, Chao-ge!"
At A Chao's command, the man drew his gun to confirm the kills.
Returning to the car, A Chao wiped his face. "You planned to silence them from the start?"
"What else? Leave a bunch of loose-lipped fools alive? For money, they had the guts to touch the Irish. Why would you think they wouldn't sell me out?"
Patting A Chao's shoulder, Liu Ren smiled faintly. "As farm tools, they need to prove their value. Otherwise, why call them farm tools?"
Chapter 31