4 Chapter 4 Taking revenge for a brother
Misunderstanding cleared.
Hardy now knew that the guy who had just been disarmed by him was named Sean, and the one standing at the bedroom door was called Reid. They were both Bill's men.
"What exactly happened?" Hardy asked urgently upon learning that Bill was badly injured.
"When we arrived, Bill was still undergoing surgery. The situation didn't look good. We got some things for him and now we are going back. Shall we talk in the car?" Sean suggested.
Hardy immediately followed them into the car.
Reid drove while Sean and Hardy sat in the back. On the way, Sean informed Hardy that Bill had been shot three times and was now being treated in a private hospital; the situation was grim.
They had gone today to collect a debt from a Spanish gang boss named Cook, who operated in the Austrian gang territory. Although the Austrians gang didn't deal with drugs, there was always a demand for them. After negotiations, the Spanish gang was allowed to sell in the Austrian gang's area, and they would share the profits.
Cook was responsible for selling in Bill's district and had five or six men under him. Bill, accompanied by Sean and Reid, found Cook. Cook was stalling and even trying to default on the payment. Bill threatened him, but unexpectedly, Cook pulled out a gun and shot Bill several times.
Afterwards, both sides exchanged gunfire, and Cook and his men fled. Bill's group quickly took Bill for medical treatment.
"Before coming here, we found out that Cook lost a lot of money in the underground casino about half a month ago, roughly around ten thousand dollars. He probably lost his share, which is why he couldn't pay up," Sean explained.
At this point, Reid interjected from the driver's seat, "I suspect Cook was high on drugs at the time, his judgment seemed impaired. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been so reckless."
Hardy recalled that Bill had mentioned earlier today about collecting a large sum of money—five thousand dollars. It must have been this share.
Unexpectedly, things took a turn for the worse.
The car soon arrived at the private clinic.
The three entered, and Sean stopped a passing nurse. "Miss, how's Bill doing?"
"The doctor is still in surgery, removing the bullets from his abdomen. He has lost a lot of blood; we're not sure if he'll make it," the nurse replied.
They waited for about half an hour. Finally, the door to the operating room opened, and a middle aged doctor and two nurses wheeled out a bed.
Bill lay on the bed, pale and unresponsive, with closed eyes.
"Dr. Murphy, how is Bill?" Sean asked.
Dr. Murphy adjusted his glasses and glanced at Bill. "We've removed all three bullets and treated the wounds, but his condition is critical. He's lost too much blood; his chances of survival are probably only thirty percent."
"I've done everything I could. Now, it's in God's hands," Dr. Murphy added.
Hardy looked at Bill, his face as pale as paper. They had fought together for three years; Bill was his best friend.
He felt terrible knowing Bill was in this state. He had persuaded himself to come to Los Angeles for a better life, and now he was on the brink of death because of someone else's actions.
Once the nurse had attended to Bill, she glanced at the three men in the room and impatiently said, "You all need to leave. You're no help here and might bring in germs."
The three were ushered out of the room.
Outside, Sean handed Hardy a cigarette.
"Do you know where Cook lives?"
Hardy asked after taking a deep breath from his cigarette.
"I know, B43-79 Brown Street, a two story building." Sean said.
Hardy took a deep drag before asking again "What dose Cook looks like?"
"Bald, around forty, easy to spot. Why do you ask?" Reid inquired, looking at Hardy.
Hardy didn't explain.
After finishing their cigarettes, Sean turned to Hardy. "We need to report back to the boss about Bill. What about you, Hardy?"
"You guys, go ahead. I'll stay here with Bill," Hardy replied.
Sean and Reid drove off.
It was now completely dark outside.
Lights were turning on around them.
The wind had picked up, cooling Hardy's face.
Hardy returned to Bill's room. The nurse had left, leaving Bill alone in the room, lying quietly on the bed with shallow breathing and a pale face.
Hardy approached the bed.
He gently patted Bill's cheek and said in a low voice, "Bill, hang in there. You've survived the battlefield; don't let a thug take you down."
"Brother, rest here in peace. I'll finish what you started. I'll make them pay" Hardy promised.
He hailed a taxi and quickly returned to Bill's place.
He moved the sofa aside, revealing two Colt M1911 pistols underneath.
He loaded the magazines and pulled the slide back with force.
Click.
The bullets were loaded.
He placed the two guns on the coffee table.
Turning off the lights.
Hardy sat silently on the sofa in the living room.
He didn't know how long had passed.
Ding dong.
The old clock chimed.
Twelve times in total.
It was exactly midnight.
Hardy stood up, grabbing the two guns from the coffee table and tucking them into his waistband. He also took two spare magazines and tucked them into his pockets.
He picked up a hat from the coat rack and put it on, slightly pulling it down, then opened the door and walked out.
Brown Street.
In the shadows.
Hardy looked at the small building across the street.
It was now one-thirty in the morning, and the surroundings were eerily silent.
Hardy approached the backyard fence, placed his hand on it, and leapt over silently, landing on the lawn inside.
He reached the back door, turned the handle gently, and pushed it open.
Unlocked.
He approached a window and saw a faint light inside—it must have been a lamp in the living room. He tried pushing one window, then another; the latter slid open with a slight creak.
Carefully, Hardy lifted himself through the window, landing inside by the kitchen stove.
Beyond the kitchen was a corridor with several rooms on either side. Hardy listened at the door; heavy snoring came from within.
Stealthily, he made his way towards the living room. The room was lit but empty. Hardy unlocked the front door latch for a quick escape.
He hung his hat on the coat rack.
Drawing two pistols from behind him, he released the safety and loaded the bullets. Hardy opened one of the room doors.
A man lay asleep in the bed.
He raised the gun.
Bang!
The bullet pierced through the man's head, staining the sheets with a burst of blood.
The gunfire woke others; several men rushed out from other rooms, armed. But as soon as they opened the doors, they were met with a hail of bullets.
Bam bam bam!
Bam bam bam bam!
Inside the villa, gunshots rang out as four individuals rushing from the rooms fell to the ground, struck in the chest and abdomen.
Hardy glanced at these men but none were bald; it seemed Cook wasn't among them.
Just as Hardy was thinking of Cook, a faint noise suddenly came from upstairs, causing Hardy to instantly tense up, sensing danger.
Without hesitation, he immediately dropped to the floor.
Bang!
A huge gunshot resounded, blasting a large hole in the wall beside Hardy, showering him with debris.
Cook was upstairs sleeping. Due to numerous enemies, he was always very vigilant. Upon hearing the gunfire, he woke up immediately, rolled out of bed in one swift motion, and reached for the lever action rifle on the cabinet.
It was a Winchester M1887 lever action shotgun, using 12-gauge shells, extremely powerful. It had once dominated the Wild West and in the Terminator movie, Schwarzenegger used this gun to deal with the T-800 robot.
Straining with the lever, the bullet clicked into place as Cook, dressed in pajamas, rushed out of the room.
Through the gap in the staircase, he spotted a figure and without hesitation raised his hand to fire, but cursed as the guy managed to dodge just in time.
"You bastard, I'll definitely take you down!"
Bam! Bang!
Cook fired repeatedly as he descended. Hardy, taking cover in the corner, found himself suppressed by the intense gunfire.
His mind racing, Hardy looked at the body on the ground.
He grabbed one of the guys and hurled him out forcefully. Cook saw a figure dart out from inside and immediately aimed and fired.
Bang!
The shotgun hit the body, sending blood and flesh flying.
In the dim light, Cook couldn't make out whose body it was.
Drawing Cook's attention, Hardy finally found his chance. He darted out from the corner, firing several shots toward the stairs.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Ahh!"
A painful cry.
Cook was hit by two bullets.
One struck his abdomen, and the other hit his gun-holding arm. Cook fell to the ground, the shotgun slipping and rolling down the stairs.
Hardy stood up, gun raised, walking toward Cook.
Cook finally saw the assailant clearly—a young man he didn't recognize, his eyes cold with intense malice.
"Please, don't kill me!"
Cook pleaded in pain, clutching his stomach.
Looking coldly at the bald Cook, Hardy said, "Bill Pitt send you his regards."
Cook finally realized who was killing him.
"I can give you money, all of it, just don't kill me."
Bang!
Before Cook could finish, Hardy blew his head off with a single shot.
He had no interest in exchanging words with the enemy.
Looking around the room,
Blood was everywhere in the hallway, on the walls, and between the stairs, with six bodies lying scattered, making it look like a battlefield.
Having killed six people, Hardy felt no discomfort. In fact, the recent fight had heightened his adrenaline and left him somewhat excited.
Over the past half year, Hardy's soul had fully merged with Jon Hardy's soul, who was a guy who had experienced real war and slaughter. The current situation was nothing more than a minor scene for him.
Arriving at Cook's room, Hardy turned on the light, pulled open several drawers of the boss's desk, and found a stack of money in one of them.
