Chapter 4: If You Have Grudges, Don't Repay Non-Brothers
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The misunderstanding was resolved.
Hardy also learned that the man he had just shot was named Sean, and the one standing at the bedroom door was named Ryder. Both were Bill's men.
"What happened?" Hardy asked urgently, knowing that Bill was seriously injured.
"Bill was still undergoing surgery when we arrived, and his condition was critical. Give him something and then go back. Should we get in the car and talk?" Sean replied.
Hardy immediately followed them into the car.
Ryder 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. His situation was very serious.
They had gone to collect a debt that day. The debtor was a Spanish gang leader named Cook. The Jewish gang, which didn't deal in drugs, had permitted the Spanish gang to sell their goods in their territory, taking a cut of the profits.
Cook was responsible for selling goods in Bill's territory. With five or six men under him, Bill, along with Sean and Ryder, confronted Cook. Cook tried to delay the payment and even wanted to renege on the debt. Bill made a harsh remark, and unexpectedly, Cook shot him several times.
After a brief exchange of gunfire, Cook and his men fled, and Bill was rushed for treatment.
"Before we arrived, we found out that Cook had lost a lot of money at an underground casino about two weeks ago—around $10,000. He likely lost all his share and can't come up with the money," Sean explained.
Ryder, who was driving, added, "I suspect Cook was either drunk or out of his mind. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been so reckless."
Hardy recalled that Bill had mentioned a large sum of $5,000 that morning, which was likely the amount in question. He hadn't anticipated an incident.
The car quickly arrived at the private clinic.
The three of them entered, and Sean stopped a passing nurse. "Miss Nurse, how is Bill?"
"The doctor is still performing surgery, trying to remove the bullet from his stomach. He's lost a lot of blood. I can't say if he'll make it," the nurse said before heading back to the operating room.
After about half an hour, the door to the operating room opened, and a middle-aged doctor along with two nurses wheeled out the bed.
Bill lay on the bed, pale and unresponsive.
"Dr. Murphy, how is Bill?" Sean asked.
Dr. Murphy adjusted his glasses and glanced at Bill. "All three bullets have been removed, and the wounds have been treated. However, his injuries are too severe, and he has lost too much blood. I'm afraid there's only a 30% chance he'll survive."
"I've done everything I can. Now, it's up to fate," the doctor added.
The nurses pushed the bed into the next ward, and one began an infusion.
Hardy looked at Bill with a pale face and felt deeply unsettled. They had fought together for three years; Bill was his closest friend.
Bill had called him to Los Angeles to help him, but now he was injured and in critical condition.
Once the nurse left, she told the three men to leave, stating they might bring germs and were of no use to the patient.
The three were ushered out of the ward.
Outside, Sean handed Hardy a cigarette.
"Do you know where Cook lives?" Hardy asked after taking a deep breath.
"Yes, B43-79 Brown Avenue, a two-story building," Sean replied.
"What does Cook look like?" Hardy inquired.
"Bald, in his forties, easy to recognize. Why do you ask?" Ryder asked.
Hardy didn't answer.
After the three smoked, Sean said, "We're heading back to report to the boss about Bill. What about you, Hardy?"
"I'll stay here with Bill," Hardy said.
Sean and Ryder drove away.
It was completely dark outside now, with the streetlights on. A chilly breeze brushed Hardy's face.
Hardy returned to Bill's ward. The nurse had already left, leaving Bill alone. He lay on the bed, his breathing weak, his face pale.
Hardy approached the bed, patted Bill's face, and said solemnly, "Bill, hang in there. You didn't risk your life on the battlefield only to die at the hands of a scumbag."
"Rest easy. I'll finish what you started and make sure they pay for this."
After speaking, he turned and left the ward.
He flagged down a taxi and quickly returned to Bill's house.
He opened the sofa to reveal two Colt M1911 pistols underneath. He inserted the magazines and pulled back the bolts.
"Click!"
The bullets were loaded.
He placed the two guns on the coffee table, turned off the lights, and sat quietly on the sofa.
Time passed.
"Ding-ding-ding~~!"
The clock struck twelve times, marking midnight.
Hardy stood up, took the two guns from the coffee table, and tucked them into the back of his waistband. He grabbed two additional magazines and pocketed them.
He donned his hat, adjusted it, and stepped out the door.
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**Brown Street**
In the shadows, Hardy watched the small building across the street. It was 1:30 a.m., and everything was quiet.
Hardy approached the back fence, climbed over, and landed silently on the lawn.
He reached the backyard door, turned the knob gently, and found it unlocked.
He moved to the window and saw a faint light inside, likely from the living room. He tried to push the window open but it was stuck. He moved to another window, which was the kitchen. He pushed the sliding window open.
Quietly, he climbed through the window, stepping onto the stove and landing inside the house.
A corridor extended from the kitchen, with several rooms on either side. Hardy listened closely at each door and heard strong snoring from within.
He cautiously made his way to the living room. It was lit but empty. He unlocked the front door to allow for a quick escape.
Removing his hat, he hung it on the coat rack by the door.
Drawing his pistols, he opened one of the room doors.
A man was asleep on the bed.
Hardy raised his pistol.
"Bang!"
The bullet penetrated the man's head, and blood splattered onto the sheets.
The sound of the gunshot woke others, who rushed out of their rooms, but they were met with a barrage of bullets.
"Bang, bang~!"
"Bang, bang, bang~!"
Gunshots echoed through the villa as four men were hit and fell to the ground.
Hardy surveyed the scene. None of the dead were bald, so Cook wasn't among them.
Just then, Hardy heard a noise from upstairs. He tensed, sensing danger.
He dove forward without hesitation.
"Bang~!"
A bullet struck the wall next to him, sending debris flying.
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Cook, sleeping upstairs, was highly alert due to his many enemies. He awoke immediately to the sound of gunfire, reached for his Winchester M1887 lever-action shotgun, and loaded it.
Cook, in his pajamas, rushed out of his room.
He saw a figure through the stair gap and fired, but the target had already moved.
"Damn it, I'll kill you!"
"Crack~Boom!"
"Crack~Boom!"
Cook fired as he descended, blasting a hole in the corner where Hardy had just escaped. Cook's fire suppressed Hardy's movements.
Cook then used a body as a shield, shooting it to draw Hardy's fire.
"Bang~!"
The shot hit the corpse, sending flesh and blood flying.
In the dim light, Cook couldn't see who the body was.
Drawing Cook's fire, Hardy found an opportunity and moved sideways, firing several shots up the stairs.
"Bang, bang, bang~!"
"Ah~!"
Cook screamed as he was hit twice, once in the stomach and once in the arm. He fell to the ground, his shotgun rolling down the stairs.
Hardy approached Cook, gun raised.
Cook finally saw Hardy and recognized him as a stranger with a deadly intent.
"Please, don't kill me!" Cook pleaded, clutching his stomach.
Hardy coldly responded, "Bill was my brother."
Cook realized who was killing him.
"I can give you money—everything I have. Just don't kill me..."
"Bang~!"
Before Cook could finish, Hardy shot him in the head.
Hardy wasn't interested in talking.
He looked around the room, noting the blood smeared on the walls and floor. The corridor and stairwell were littered with six bodies.
Having killed six people, Hardy felt no remorse. The adrenaline from the fight left him slightly exhilarated.
Having merged with his alter ego, Tom Hardy, the scene was just a small affair for him.
Hardy entered Cook's room, turned on the lights, and searched through several drawers of the desk, finding a wad of cash in one of them.
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