vncnus Page 43
Page 43
Viktor said, enunciating each word clearly, "Frank, for the sake of your bunch of kids, I'll count to five."
Frank's face twitched, and he seemed to sober up considerably in an instant.
He raised his hands and slowly backed away. “Calm down, friend. We’re just seeking shelter. Look at these women and children, the Chicago winter will kill them, you can’t—”
"This is a crime against humanity! We should be helping each other even more in the South District!"
Frank's voice began to tremble.
The crowd began to stir, and several women pulled their children back.
The beads of sweat on Frank's forehead glistened in the setting sun.
"Okay! Okay! Let's go!"
Frank suddenly shouted, staggering backward, "But you'll get your comeuppance, Victor! God will punish you for this selfish act!"
Victor smirked: "If you die and see God, ask him how many pounds he can punch!"
Frank turned to the crowd and made an exaggerated gesture: "Come on, family! This fascist doesn't deserve our friendship! New Fiona! New Lip! New Ian! New Carl! Let's go!"
Victor frowned.
These names sound like some kind of clumsy imitation.
He noticed that there were indeed a few young people in the crowd—a red-haired girl, a boy who looked intelligent, a tall, thin blond youth, and a dark-haired teenager who looked irritable—Frank seemed to be using them as some kind of substitute.
As the crowd began to disperse, Frank suddenly turned around, a sly glint in his eyes.
“You know what, Victor? You and I are no different. We both only care about ourselves.”
Viktor pulled the trigger.
The bullet grazed Frank's ear and left a smoking bullet hole in the wall behind him.
Frank screamed and fell to the ground, his pants instantly soaked.
"I won't miss next time."
Victor said coldly, watching Frank scramble away.
The crowd screamed and scattered in all directions.
Viktor watched them disappear around the corner before putting down his gun, turning around and walking into the building. He slammed the reinforced metal door shut and locked it with three locks.
Did you think it was quiet?
No, the two lesbian women from next door came out and actually stood on Victor's flowerbed.
Victor fired a shot into the air, scaring them away.
The South District is really chaotic.
Chapter 35 How to Spend the Money?
“Victor, you are entitled to carry a gun, but you cannot shoot anyone.”
Tony is warning Victor.
Victor pointed to the surveillance footage: "They, they, illegally intruded. And I was just issuing a warning."
Tony gasped, Chicago had warmed up a bit: "But why do you carry a gun with you? Are you prepared to shoot at any moment?"
Victor, incredulous, pointed around: "Come on, Tony, I'm in the South Side. There are a lot of black gangs here. I have to speed on my way home, otherwise I won't feel safe."
"Alright! That's enough!"
Tony put away his notebook: "I know, I live right here, and I speed on my way home too!"
"Then what are you asking?"
Victor couldn't understand why Tony would do something so pointless, so Tony explained: "I'm telling you, Miss Six Shots is too weak. You should at least have an 11-round Glock, then you only need to pull the trigger once, and you can buy a shotgun at home."
"Thank you for the suggestion."
·······
When Michael opened the door to his home, the muscles in his shoulder were still throbbing.
The chase a day ago caused him to be hit on the left arm with a stick, and now he feels a dull pain every time he raises his arm.
Ethan followed behind him, casually tossing his dusty coat onto the coat rack by the door, where two other equally dirty jackets were already hanging.
"We're back,"
Michael called out to the empty living room, his voice tinged with exhaustion and relief after completing his mission, "Victor? Where are you?"
A metallic clanging sound came from the kitchen, followed by Victor's signature light footsteps.
Welcome home, warriors!
He appeared at the end of the corridor, holding two extremely suspicious-looking plates. "I've prepared a welcome feast."
Ethan wrinkled his nose, while Michael took a half step back.
The plate contained a thick, green, semi-fluid substance with an eerie sheen. Several pieces of meat of unknown color floated in it, while a few wilted vegetables drifted listlessly on the surface like drowning people.
“Mazu! Victor,”
Michael gagged. "We're starving, and you're going to torture us like this?"
Viktor shrugged dramatically, but a mischievous smile played on his lips.
"Hey, this is the best I've ever made!"
He deliberately scooped up a spoonful of the green substance, which stretched into long, thin threads that trembled and swayed in the air. "According to Michael's description, it's rich in protein, fiber, and... uh... other elements."
Ethan made a gesture of refusal. "I'd rather take two more punches from Ian than eat this."
"How could the two of you not be able to beat him?"
Victor suddenly became serious and placed the plate on the coffee table. "You sent Ian to a mental hospital?"
Michael slumped onto the sofa, rubbing his temples wearily.
"Frankie delivered it personally and even extended his 'treatment' for another six months."
He put the word "treatment" in prominent quotation marks. "The place looks like a medieval prison, no, like Hitler's project, but Ian deserved it anyway."
Ethan's focus was different: "He's so fierce in Gotham, how can we possibly beat him?"
"Hahaha!"
Victor's expression turned serious: "Speaking of Franky, Fiona came to see me today."
"Fiona?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "She's really shameless! Old Joe rejected her outright and said she shouldn't be in the South District."
"Obviously, the agreement has limitations."
Victor curled his lip. "She wants me to put in a good word for her brother in front of Franky, saying something like 'past misunderstandings' or something like that."
Michael sneered, "You refused, didn't you?"
Victor shrugged. "Weren't you guys having a lot of fun?"
All three of them laughed. Ethan picked up the remote and turned on the TV, randomly switching to a channel that was playing an old movie.
The background noise made the room feel less empty.
"Honestly,"
Michael suddenly sat up straight, pulled a bulging envelope from his backpack, and threw it on the coffee table. "We have so much money on hand, we should do something about it."
Ethan whistled, picked up the envelope, and weighed it in his hand.
"That's quite a lot. Franky was very generous this time, giving us back every penny of our bet."
How's the investment going?
Michael suggested, "We can't live off this kind of work forever."
Victor's expression immediately turned wary: "Investment? What kind of investment? Stocks? Real estate? Or those damn cryptocurrencies?"
He shook his head. "Too risky. I'd rather keep the money under the mattress."
"Located under the mattress?"
Ethan stared wide-eyed in disbelief. "Victor, this is the 1980s, not Prohibition! Why didn't you buy grain and store it in the cellar?"
"At least my money won't disappear because of some Wall Street bastard's bad mood!"
Viktor stubbornly retorted.
"You're even more stubborn than Joe!"
"Because it's very difficult to make money from foreigners!"
"Then there's no need to save money. Can money produce offspring? Only investing can guarantee you won't lose money!"
Michael raised his hands to signal a pause.
"Alright, alright, let's calm down."
He thought for a moment, “Victor is right, investing is risky. But Ethan is also right, money left unused is a waste.”
"So what do we do?"
Ethan asked, "Buy lottery tickets?"
The three of them fell into a brief silence.
The sounds of gunfights from an old movie playing on the television contrasted sharply with the quietness of the room.
Suddenly, Viktor burst out laughing.
"Do you realize that?"
He pointed at the three of them and gestured in turn, saying, "None of the three of us know how to make proper investments."
Michael paused for a moment, then burst into laughter, and Ethan laughed along with him.
Laughter echoed in the living room, dispelling the tense atmosphere from before.
"My God, we are truly pathetic,"