Chapter 155: Business Trip to France
"Ma'am, could you please stop screaming?" Ron covered his ears, wondering how this woman could shriek for so long.
Of course, if the law allowed, he would rather use the last .50 caliber round left in the cylinder to blow the woman's head clean off!
"Is that blood on my face?" Lauren was too terrified to look at the sticky substance on her hands. She half-closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and shouted at Ron in horror.
"Not entirely." Ron put on a mischievous smile. "In addition to blood, there's also some brain matter."
"AHHHHH!" Lauren screamed again.
"Calm down, ma'am. This is actually similar to a traditional Southern dish called scrambled eggs and brains. It's no different. Down South, they say it's usually served with hot sauce or just salt and pepper. Which do you prefer?"
"Isn't brain generally salty?" Carl had gotten out of the car at some point. "I heard a Vietnamese neighbor say he ate pig brains before, and I'd love to try it too."
"Down South, they have not only salted but also spicy versions. If you can convince your sister to come along, I can take you to a Southern barbecue place that serves it. We can also order some grits as a side dish."
"Ma'am, would you like to join us? I can also order some grits for you. I usually like them with butter. What do you prefer?"
Ron stood there, discussing Southern cuisine with a woman who had just been kidnapped and was covered in blood and brains. He looked absolutely ridiculous.
Fortunately, those two incompetent agents, Tucker and Roosevelt, who were worried about Lauren, finally arrived. Otherwise, Ron guaranteed that woman would faint within ten minutes.
"Boss, you're incredible. When can you teach me to shoot like that?" Ron said a quick goodbye, leaving the two agents to clean up the mess before driving off with Carl.
"It's nothing special. With practice, you'll definitely be able to shoot like me someday. Have you ever handled a firearm before?" Ron asked as they drove.
"Of course. Lip, Ian, and I occasionally practice under the L tracks. The sound of the trains completely masks the gunfire. Even if we capped someone there, nobody would notice. So we could snatch a hostage..."
Carl was indeed a prodigy in the criminal world. He could immediately shift from discussing marksmanship to planning the "perfect" heist. Ron felt that his educational mission was going to be long and difficult.
"Stop, stop!" Ron interrupted Carl's brilliant scheme, unable to bear it any longer. He couldn't let him continue. If he did, Carl would probably suggest robbing Warren Buffett or Bill Gates. "From today on, no more gangster movies!"
"Also, from now on, you're watching an episode of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood every day."
"Mister Rogers? Isn't that just some boring show for little kids? Can you learn marksmanship from watching that?" Carl was confused.
"No, I just want Fred Rogers to cleanse your corrupted soul!" As soon as they reached the Gallagher house, Ron couldn't wait to kick little Carl out.
Ron breathed a sigh of relief in the car. The world was finally quiet.
But just as he was about to drive home, the phone rang again. It was Orlov.
"What now?" Ron said irritably.
"Well, congratulations on resolving our problem. Well done."
It was clear Orlov had already learned of Ron's recent actions through his intelligence network. "Of course, that's excellent, but remember, you owe me another favor."
"Of course. How about I adjust our business split? From now on, you get 70% and I get 30%."
"That's right," Ron nodded with satisfaction, finally feeling that his hard work over the past few days had paid off.
"But there's one small problem," Orlov said hesitantly, like an NPC in a video game who specifically assigns quests to the protagonist. Ron immediately had an ominous feeling.
"You haven't gotten into any serious trouble again, have you?" Ron took a deep breath.
"Of course not!" Ron had just exhaled, but Orlov's next words nearly choked him.
"It's just that the big package that France lost was secretly sold by my people to a local gang..."
"Jesus Christ! Are you trying to kill me?" Ron was furious. "If you were here right now, I'd definitely shoot you. Believe me. There's nothing easier than putting you in the ground."
"Of course I believe it, but I'm even more convinced that going to France and handling this situation would be the better option for you, right? In fact, that's what Mr. Francis suggested."
As if afraid Ron wouldn't believe him, he added, "Do you think I could possibly get something of this magnitude and sell it myself? But Mr. Francis is having second thoughts now."
Ron actually believed it. Francis had recently been considering a presidential run and had been seeking support from foreign interests. He used his influence to help unscrupulous Eastern European politicians build black market networks in exchange for backing. It seemed like a win-win deal at the time.
Ron couldn't ignore it. His interests were deeply tied to both Francis and Orlov.
"I'll go to France and see if there's any way we can extract ourselves from this mess. If you know any contractors there, you can get them started."
"I tried to contact Leon, but a woman answered the phone. I suspect his line is compromised. Besides him, there's no other contractor I trust there."
"You mean that old cleaner? I've told you before, he's too old and should have retired. Fine, get me a private jet—I'll be there tomorrow."
Ron thought about it and finally agreed. To be safe, he called Francis again, requesting government funding for a trip to France.
Francis didn't ask why he was going to France, and Ron didn't ask if he was connected to this incident. Everything went smoothly, as if it was meant to be, but in reality, they were both tacitly aware of the situation.
...
Ron finally landed on a government jet outside Paris after a 15-hour flight. To his surprise, the person Orlov had arranged to meet him at the airport was a young woman holding a potted plant.
The plant looked remarkably familiar.
"Is that a peace lily? I remember a friend of mine also liked to grow this plant, although I told him it was just a houseplant." Ron said meaningfully.
"I know, this belonged to Leon. He mentioned you to me." The dark-haired girl had sad but determined eyes and extended her hand to Ron. "I volunteered to be your guide. I want to know more about Leon."
"No problem," Ron didn't hand his luggage to the young woman, but dragged it himself, saying as he walked: "But you may not know that when I knew him, he wasn't called Leon, but went by another name—the poor guy who was out for revenge. He's no longer with us, right?"
"No, he's always here." The girl carefully placed the peace lily in the car seat and opened the trunk. "My name is Matilda. What's yours?"
"Ron, nice to meet you," Ron put his luggage in the trunk. "We'll have plenty of time to talk about Leon later. First, I need to know which district in Paris is the most dangerous? I think it'll be faster to start from the most chaotic area."
"Those lowlifes generally have underdeveloped brains and have no idea what they've got. They probably think it's just a more powerful firework, never considering that it could cost them and an entire city their lives."
Ron was about to get in the driver's seat when Matilda got there first. Ron had to sit in the back seat because there was a potted plant on the passenger seat.
As one of Leon's associates, he knew what this meant and had no intention of competing with a dead man for a seat.
"If you're talking about the most dangerous place in Paris, it would definitely be the 13th Arrondissement," Matilda started the car.
"Due to the massive increase in crime in the suburbs, city hall simply built a wall there to contain the criminals. Now it seems that area is controlled by gangs. In fact, it's also our largest source of business. People like you wouldn't survive a day there."
"People like me?" Ron didn't expect to be dismissed by Matilda right away. "What kind of person am I in your eyes?"
"A well-dressed predator," Matilda popped a piece of gum into her mouth and put the rest back before Ron could reach for any. She had no intention of sharing.
"I didn't say that—Leon did. Even though you said he used to go by another name, I still think Leon sounds better."
Ron snatched a piece of gum from Matilda's pocket in annoyance, popping it into his mouth. As he chewed, he said provocatively, "Then I guess he must have told you how capable I am."
"And what you call capable is just accepting food from a stranger you just met?" Matilda smirked, the road becoming increasingly desolate. "How are you feeling? Getting dizzy?"
Ron stared at her blankly, his eyelids growing heavier until he finally closed them and slumped over in the backseat.
"Tsk, just a reckless gunslinger." Matilda pulled over and pulled out her phone. "Mr. Orlov, I refuse to work with this idiot you sent. Even though you and Leon both praised him, in my opinion..."
"Click!" There was a crisp sound, and Matilda felt something cold against the back of her head. The cold barrel of a gun pressed against her skull.
"What's your opinion, little girl?" Ron sat up from the back seat, a mischievous grin on his face.
"Impossible! You took my gum—how could you not pass out?"
"Pfft!" Ron spat out a piece of gum wrapped in a small plastic bag. "Come on, kid, can you try something a little more creative? It's always the same old trick. Do you think all agents are as stupid as the gangsters you've dealt with before?"
Ron spat again. Even though it was strawberry-flavored gum that girls loved, it still felt weird to have it in a man's mouth.
And that residue on it—ugh! So disgusting.
He had no choice. This was all he had on short notice. He'd originally planned to use it in a different situation, but out of an agent's natural paranoia, Ron had to test Matilda's intentions first before proceeding. Who knew if she'd already been turned?
Or maybe someone else had made her a better offer?
Fortunately, Matilda's call to Orlov saved her, otherwise Ron would have been ready to pull the trigger.
"It seems you've both reached a preliminary understanding. I'm sure you're satisfied with each other. Keep going—I'm confident in your partnership."
Beep...
Orlov hung up.
"Let me introduce myself again. My name is Ron Lee Cooper, currently the most effective agent in the Treasury Department. I'm sure you'd agree with that assessment now, right?" Ron holstered his weapon again.
Matilda nodded with difficulty. Is this the skill of a professional agent? It was truly impressive. Leon hadn't exaggerated!
"Okay, now let's get back to where we were. You mentioned the 13th Arrondissement? What's the situation there?"
"It's the most chaotic area in all of Paris. All the criminals live there, and drug dealing happens in broad daylight. Even the police are helpless—they're afraid to even enter..."
As Matilda explained the origins of the 13th Arrondissement, Damien, the man who had eliminated the former 13th Arrondissement police chief, was being shoved onto a prisoner transport van. Before he could even guess where the next stop would be, another prisoner, still being roughed up by four officers, was also shoved into the van.
"Prisoner 713 is aboard," the guard cursed as he took the passenger seat. "Damn it, he even bit me. Let's go!"
The van drove away from the prison, and the prisoner, who had been beaten unconscious, sat up, spat out a piece of wire from his mouth, and expertly unlocked his handcuffs.
"You okay?" Damien asked.
"Couldn't be better!" Prisoner 713 glanced back at the guards, and finding that they hadn't noticed the movement inside, he gently placed his handcuffs on the ground and continued working on the back door lock with the wire.
"These morons thought they could contain me, but I'll be out soon."
"You think you can open that lock with that thing?" Damien said doubtfully.
"You don't know what I'm capable of yet. I'll surprise you when I come visit later. Forget using wire—I could open the doors to an entire housing project with a paperclip." Prisoner 713 continued boasting.
"How did you get arrested?" Damien asked seemingly casually.
In fact, he had already begun to doubt this completely abnormal prisoner and this irregular transport procedure.
Do you really think this is my first rodeo? Can't you even act convincingly? How can there be only two guards escorting a prisoner to another facility? And besides the driver, the other one was sitting up front, which was basically an invitation to escape.
(End of chapter)
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