Chapter 70: Creepy House

[Chapter 70: This House Is Too Creepy]

As night fell, Hawke sat atop the RV, raising his binoculars to survey the studio across the road once more.

Edward took a sip of water and asked, "Boss, should I call DaShawn and the others?"

Hawke waved him off, "No need, let's first see what's happening."

Eric expressed some regret, "I'm really sorry for dragging you into this mess."

Hawke shook his head, "Come on, buddy, we don't need to exchange pleasantries like that."

Eric pressed his lips tightly together.

"Ah..." Frank sighed inwardly, realizing the foolish guy was likely going to take a bullet for that jerk for a long time to come. He took a sip of cold beer and said, "Hey, guys, you're not grateful for my hospitality?"

Hawke raised his arm and gave him the finger without a second thought.

Frank snapped back, "I was living a peaceful and happy life, carefree! What about you? You clearly want to break up my retirement!"

"Last time at the party, you said you were lacking excitement," Edward retorted. "We're giving you a show, and you haven't even paid for the ticket."

Hawke raised a hand, cutting them off, "There's movement."

Frank sprang up like he was twenty years younger, leaping over with renewed energy.

He snatched Edward's binoculars, squinting at the scene across the road. "Four people just got out of that black Chevy. Looks like they're heading to your studio."

Hawke had already spotted them.

Edward and Eric wanted to speak.

Hawke whispered, "Don't rush it, just wait."

But Frank said to Edward, "Get me my taser from the nightstand over there."

Hawke commented, "You're getting old."

Frank shot back, "Without a bit of special excitement, I'm afraid I won't even be able to lift my gun in the future."

Edward headed down to fetch the taser gun.

...

Across Fountain Street, Lewis, Harvey, Puyol, and Sergio exited the Chevy, checking their pockets for guns and knives as they scouted their surroundings.

It was clear the dark house was empty.

The former made a call, "Boss, we're here. Their car isn't here, and neither are the people."

On the other end, Henry responded, "Find a way in and remember to grab all the video and photo storage devices, including computers, discs, and hard drives."

"Got it." Lewis hung up, pulled on gloves, and asked, "Is there any surveillance?"

The big-mouthed Harvey replied, "I didn't see any."

Lewis declared, "Puyol, it's your turn. Go open the door."

Puyol donned some gloves from his toolkit, approached the front door, glanced at the "West Coast Media Entertainment Studio" plaque, and began to work on it.

For a pro, any commercial-grade anti-theft lock was just a minor hurdle.

It was almost like using a key; he easily unlocked the door.

Sergio stood guard outside while Lewis and the others stepped into the house, switching on their flashlights to search around.

Puyol naturally scanned the corners, spotting the safe and saying, "I'll go open it."

Lewis told Harvey, "Search elsewhere."

Puyol knelt in front of the wall, working on the safe lock.

This safe was the common type available on the market, posing little challenge for him.

Lewis's flashlight landed on a shelf, revealing a black camera, some videotapes, and disc cases.

He motioned to Harvey, who took off his backpack and headed toward the shelf.

The two opened the backpack, tossing the camera and tapes inside.

Meanwhile, Puyol succeeded in opening the safe and shined his flashlight inside.

The most noticeable items inside were several disc cases -- exactly what they needed.

When they arrived, the boss had instructed them to take anything that could store video and photos.

Puyol reached in, but immediately noticed something was off. The cover of the disc case felt like a thin sheet of paper, collapsing under his grip.

Numerous sharp objects, as fine as needles, pierced through his gloves and jabbed his fingers.

Then, an indescribable pain surged through his fingertips, a strange numbness and weakness rapidly spreading throughout his body.

Puyol froze, as if his body and mind had been immobilized by an electric charge.

On the other side, Lewis and Harvey were quickly collecting the videotapes, oblivious to Puyol's plight.

After grabbing the tapes, they moved on to retrieve the disc-like items.

As Harvey reached out, he tore the paper layer with his finger, revealing a cluster of sharp steel needles, which broke through the gloves and contacted his skin.

An electric shock coursed through him, surging like a wave.

Harvey shuddered violently, eyes rolling back as he fell backward, crashing to the ground.

Lewis jumped, turning back to see Harvey convulsing on the floor, urgently asking, "What's wrong with you?"

Harvey couldn't respond at all.

Lewis immediately sensed something was off, pulling his gun and turning to the corner, "This isn't right -- let's move!"

No movement came from the corner.

Shining his flashlight over, he saw Puyol still crouched there, but his body slumped forward, his head resting against the safe.

"What the hell is this place?" Lewis panicked, scared of an invisible enemy, asking himself, "Are the people in this studio all monsters?"

Lewis nudged Harvey, but he was unresponsive.

They couldn't stay here.

The mission wasn't worth his life. Lewis stood up and left.

As for Harvey and Puyol, he couldn't worry about them now; he'd call the boss when it was safe. The boss was smart and would definitely know what to do.

...

On the sidewalk outside the studio, Hawke wore a headset and sported a tracksuit and sneakers, resembling any jogger out for a night run as he closed in on the studio entrance.

Sergio, who was keeping watch on the sidewalk, glanced at Hawke before returning his focus to the vehicles.

Hawke seemed oblivious to him and continued running past.

When they were within five meters of each other, Hawke swiftly pulled out his taser from beneath his jacket and aimed it at Sergio, firing.

The electric dart shot out, hitting Sergio square in the chest.

He had no time to react, stumbling backward and falling to the ground.

Hawke rushed over, quickly checked, threw a knife far away, and confirmed the guy was incapacitated before signaling across the street.

Edward, Eric, and Frank dashed over.

Frank held two shoelaces, instructing Edward and Eric to twist the guy's arms behind his back and expertly bind him.

Next, he moved to tie his legs.

Hawke crept toward the studio entrance, whispering, "Keep him from making a sound."

Frank removed his shoes, taking off a sock to stuff in Sergio's mouth.

Sergio, who had slightly regained consciousness, was hit by a foul smell that choked him and felt as if he were dying.

Extraordinary reflexes kicked in, his eyes rolling back, and he fainted again.

Edward quietly asked, "Old beggar, you're surprisingly skillful?"

"Oh, I used to tie up actresses all the time." Frank seized the moment to boast, "Many actresses voluntarily came to me, begging me to tie them up."

Hawke, along with Edward and Eric, felt like taking a moment to punch this old man instead of worrying about the scumbags inside the house.

He interrupted Frank's bragging, "Call 911."

Eric took out his phone and quietly dialed.

Hawke pressed against the wall, reaching the studio's entrance.

Suddenly, a white man burst out the door in a panic.

Hawke swiftly kicked his calf.

Lewis, eager to escape the bizarre house, sprinted out, feeling as if his leg had struck a metal post, tumbling forward and landing hard on the ground, losing his gun in the process.

His backpack, unzipped, spilled several items onto the ground, including a shattered camera model.

Edward, seizing the opportunity, dashed over and applied the technique Hawke had taught him, curling his heavy knee down right onto the back of Lewis's neck.

Lewis struggled in vain, unable to rise or breathe, gasping out, "I can't breathe... I can't breathe..."

Yet Edward didn't let up, pressing down harder, shouting for Eric and Frank, "Come help!"

Eric ran over with two shoelaces in hand.

Frank reluctantly removed another sock, pinching Sergio's nose and expertly stuffing it into his mouth.

Once they had tied him up, Edward finally stood.

Frank glanced at the scattered items from the backpack, warning Hawke, "The camera got smashed."

Hawke replied, "Just a toy model."

...

At the same time, a patrol car rolled up, and two officers stepped out, first neutralizing the gun and knife threat.

Hawke pulled out a card, held it up, and briefly explained the situation.

After inspecting the card, one officer called for backup.

When another patrol car arrived, the four held their guns protectively as they entered the studio, finding two knocked out inside.

Hawke stepped in as well, flipping off the switch under the desk.

One of the officers radioed for medical assistance, while the other approached Hawke asking, "What happened here?"

"I'm in media and public relations, and I often run into trouble. I installed some security measures in the studio," Hawke explained. "I have surveillance cameras -- they should've captured everything."

The officer replied, "Make a copy; it'll make things safer to handle later."

Outside the studio, Frank pulled out his phone and made a call. Once he got through, he said, "Hey buddy, I'm running into some trouble. I'm at a party with a few friends in an RV, and some idiots broke into my friend's studio to steal stuff. They were armed with guns and knives."

He chuckled, "Of course, I'm fine. You know me; I can hold my own. With a few friends, we managed to subdue them. Can you make a call to ensure they take this seriously?"

The other end confirmed, and after hanging up, Frank saw Edward hiding behind him, eavesdropping and kicked at him, "Go on, plant some cotton if there's nothing wrong!"

Edward dodged, looking at Frank, astonished, "Old beggar, were you really being serious about all that?"

Frank, exuding confidence, shot back, "Am I here to boast to kids like you? No need!"

Edward hurried off to find Hawke.

Hawke nodded slightly after he finished speaking, "If he's willing to help, I'll owe him that favor."

Minutes later, a sheriff and his subordinates arrived to oversee the situation.

*****

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