3 Chapter 3 Bill Was Shot.
A car pulled up outside a bar, with neon lights outlining a playful bunny girl. The bar was named 'Bunny Bar'.
The two walked in, and Hardy noticed that it was much livelier than the taverns he had been to back in the town.
The hazy dim lighting, jazz music, scantily clad women, bustling voices, and the smell of marijuana in the air.
All the women were dressed as bunnies, with tight fitting bikinis accentuating their figures, stockings on long legs, tall bunny ears—one straight, the other bent, and a fluffy round ball on their backsides, looking very cute.
A pretty bunny girl approached, "Bill, what can I get you?"
"Start with two beers."
Bill playfully patted the bunny girl's bottom and exchanged a few teasing remarks before leading Hardy to a booth.
The bunny girl brought two beers, and Bill and Hardy clinked glasses and took big sips. They chatted about their military experiences and then moved on to their current situations.
"You joined the gang?" Hardy asked in surprise.
Bill shrugged.
"When I left the army, I only got a few hundred dollars in retirement pay. You know I have a big family, parents, and five siblings. That money was nowhere near enough."
"I also wanted to work hard and make money. I've worked in factories, done odd jobs in stores, washed cars, and drove transport, but the income was just enough to get by. Now prices are soaring, but wages are being squeezed by those damn business owners. The newspapers say the country is prospering, but unemployment has skyrocketed with no one reporting on it."
"What exactly do you do?" Hardy asked.
"Deliver alcohol, collect debts, maintain order!"
"The gang runs underground casinos, loan companies—all needing debt collectors. There's also private cigarette and alcohol businesses, supplying liquor to neighborhood bars and nightclubs. This nightclub is under my responsibility."
No wonder everyone here is familiar with him.
They clinked glasses again. Bill looked at Hardy and said, "Jon, let's do this together. With your smart head and skills, we can definitely get ahead."
Hardy shook his head.
He didn't want to join the gang.
In a previous life, Hardy had also been successful in business but was later framed and fell from the peak.
With memories from his past life and knowledge extending decades beyond this world, he believed that as long as he found the right path, he could definitely make big money in the future.
But the underworld was a thorny path.
"I plan to find a stable job," Hardy said.
Bill shrugged, not trying to persuade Hardy further. "Okay, stay at my place for now."
He handed Hardy a wad of bills, over a hundred dollars.
"Use this money. You'll need a proper suit for job hunting, and it's getting cold—you'll need a nice coat. Buy yourself some tomorrow."
Hardy was currently broke, with only a few dollars on him. He didn't refuse Bill's kindness, pocketing the money.
Seeing Hardy not declining, Bill was very happy. The two continued drinking and chatting until late into the night. It was drizzling outside, and the weather had turned chilly. They drove back to Bill's apartment.
The car stopped in the yard, and Bill arranged a room for Hardy, telling him where the bathroom was. Hardy took a comfortable bath.
Coming out drying his hair, Bill beckoned Hardy, moved the sofa in the living room, revealing something underneath.
"Jon, there are two guns here, along with a few clips. Help yourself if needed."
Hardy smiled. The two guns were Colt M1911s, standard issue for the U.S. military. Jon Hardy had used a Colt M1911 during his service and was very familiar with this type of gun.
"I'm planning to find a legitimate job, I won't need a gun," Hardy said.
Bill shrugged, "Who knows."
Bill poured them another drink, and they continued chatting in the living room until late into the night.
The next morning, Bill and Hardy greeted each other and went out busy with their own affairs. Hardy quickly packed up and left.
He bought a new suit and coat on the commercial street, looking much more refreshed and handsome. He also bought a newspaper to check job listings—factory workers, accountants, drivers, hotel staff, laborers...
He checked for a while but found either the wages were too low or the positions weren't suitable.
In the afternoon, he tried a few recruitment agencies. As Bill had said, although the economy seemed good, there were more job seekers, and many places simply had Hardy fill out a resume and then went silent.
In the evening, he returned to Bill's home. Bill asked about Hardy's job search, and Hardy replied somewhat helplessly, "It's not going smoothly; there are too many job seekers, and I lack education and professional skills. There aren't many suitable jobs."
"It's just the beginning; don't rush it."
In the following days, Bill went out to do his own thing, and Hardy continued searching for a job but with little success.
Mainly because he didn't want to work in factories doing repetitive labor—those jobs had no development opportunities and didn't align with his thoughts. Jobs with growth potential were hard to come by.
One morning, Bill left, smiling at Hardy, "I'm going to collect a debt—five thousand dollars. This is a huge sum. If I can get it back, we'll each get a tenth. Let's go out for a big meal when I return."
A tenth would be $500—enough for one person's two months' salary in this era.
Bill left, and Hardy continued his job search outside.
By noon, he bought a hot dog and a cup of tea on the street and sat down to eat. In the afternoon, he continued looking for work.
Even by late afternoon, he had little to show for it.
Dragging his tired body back to Bill's apartment, Hardy suddenly felt a dangerous vibe as he entered. His body stiffened, subconsciously wanting to leave, but the door suddenly closed, a gun appeared, its dark muzzle aimed at Hardy's head.
There were two men in suits in the room.
One in front and one behind.
The man in front held a revolver, pointing it at Hardy's head, just about two meters away.
The other stood by the bedroom door, hands in pockets, ready to draw his gun at any moment.
"Don't move!" the man with the gun pointed at Hardy said in a deep voice.
Countless thoughts raced through Hardy's mind.
Thief? Robbery?Or enemies of Bill's? "Who are you?"
The man with the gun took a step forward, the revolver still pointed at Hardy's head, now just half a meter away, almost touching his head.
Hardy suddenly moved.
His body swiftly dodged aside, avoiding the muzzle, then quickly stepped forward, hands grabbing the revolver held by the man.
The man was startled.
But before he could react, Hardy flipped his hands, forcibly seizing the revolver.
The man was shocked.
The person by the bedroom door was scared into drawing his gun.
But Hardy was faster, spinning around, his left hand gripping the man in front by the neck. The next second, the revolver was pressed against the man's temple.
"Don't move, or I'll blow your head off!"
The man in Hardy's grip was immediately terrified and dared not move.
The person by the bedroom door hesitated, unsure of what to do, only pointing his gun at Hardy, realizing the situation had drastically changed with his partner being controlled.
"Let Sean go!"
The person by the bedroom door shouted sternly.
"Drop your gun, or I'll kill him first!"
Hardy shouted, pressing the gun against the man's temple.
The person in Hardy's grasp was visibly trembling.
The person by the bedroom door hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, only gritting his teeth and pointing the gun at Hardy, the two sides facing off.
"Tell me, why are you in my house? What's your purpose?" Hardy asked sternly.
The person in Hardy's grip was taken aback.
"Your house? Isn't this Bill's place?"
"I live here."
The person in Hardy's grasp immediately realized something and quickly said, "There must be a misunderstanding. We're Bill's companions. Are you Hardy? Bill told us he has a friend named Hardy staying at his place."
