Chapter 170: The Bet
"I'll bet you a kiss this whole fight will be over in five minutes, tops."
"Beep! Beep!"
Without waiting for Gisele to respond, Ron laid on the horn, and the police on both sides immediately cleared the road. He simultaneously pulled the pins on two smoke grenades.
"Rat-a-tat-tat..."
Two heavy-set operatives from Owen's crew immediately opened fire on the speeding car, but Ron, with lightning reflexes, threw open the car door and rolled out before they could get a proper bead on him.
At the same time, Ron lobbed both smoke grenades onto the pavement.
With a hiss, the smoke began billowing out, instantly concealing Ron's position.
"The hunt starts now!" Ron's menacing voice echoed through the thick haze, drawing a spray of gunfire, but there was no sound of bullets finding their mark.
The wild shots struck the car behind where Ron should have been, sending sparks flying.
The panicked shooting gave away the shooter's location.
"BANG!" Ron casually fired a single shot toward the muzzle flash, and the hulking operative who looked like a discount version of Hobbs dropped to the ground.
One down.
"Shit! That's Ron the Reaper!" The blonde woman coordinating the operation from her corner position quickly grabbed her radio and shouted, "Fall back! Do not engage! I repeat, fall back!"
"Aren't you being a little dramatic?" The sniper on the roof scoffed, "He's just some FBI desk jockey. Once this smoke clears, I can put one right between his eyes!"
"Shut up, you moron!" The blonde woman snapped, continuing her commands, "Follow orders! Retreat now!"
"That's not some pencil-pushing Fed! He's a top-tier IRS operative! Someone even Owen wouldn't want to tangle with! Follow orders! Get out of there!"
"But what about Dirk and Benjy?"
"I already told them to bail. Save whoever you can! Move!"
...
During this brief radio exchange, Ron, wearing a gas mask, moved through the smoke like a ghost, his footsteps silent, like the Grim Reaper himself, ready to collect souls.
Unfortunately, by the time the smoke had completely dissipated, he still hadn't found his next target.
"Damn cowards!"
Ron kicked the body he'd dropped, then noticed the dead operative's radio was still active. Suddenly feeling mischievous, he picked it up: "Dirk! Dirk! Where the hell are you, you idiot?"
Static continued to crackle.
"Owen? Is that you?"
"Ron! It's you!" Owen, recognizing the familiar voice, immediately sounded like he'd swallowed something unpleasant.
"Why do you guys always pull these chickenshit ambushes every time we cross paths?" Ron decided to mess with him: "What's wrong, Owen? Can't handle a straight fight? You pathetic piece of garbage! You don't have the balls! You can't even face me man-to-man, what the hell kind of soldier are you supposed to be!"
Click...
Ron's radio went dead.
"Tsk, no sense of humor!" Ron casually tossed the radio to O'Connor, addressing him like one of his subordinates. "Have your tech guys trace that signal and see what intel they can dig up."
"Yes, sir!" O'Connor reflexively snapped to attention, but then realized Ron wasn't actually his commanding officer, leaving him standing there awkwardly.
Ron, however, wasn't paying attention to O'Connor's confusion. He walked over to Gisele and said, "So, how was that? Pretty straightforward, right? I believe someone owes me on a certain wager."
"I never agreed to your bet!" Gisele smiled. As Ron approached, she showed no signs of backing away. Instead, she tilted her face up toward his, lips slightly parted.
Would he really be a gentleman in this situation? Ron immediately gave her a passionate kiss, the surrounding police officers fading into the background.
"Hey, boss, are we invisible or something? Can't they see us standing here?" a young London constable complained.
His sergeant pulled down his cap in exasperation. "If you had his skills, you could make out with my wife and I wouldn't say a word!"
"Really?"
...
Across town, after losing the London police and Hobbs in the chase, Toretto had finally caught up to Owen's convoy.
However, Owen's vehicles had already scattered, forcing Toretto to pursue just one car. He finally cornered it in a narrow alley when it suddenly came to a stop.
It was Letty who stepped out! Toretto froze for a moment, then slowly climbed out of his car. "Letty?"
But his "Letty" ignored his call. Instead, she drew her pistol, shot him, and sped off.
...
"Ron, you were right, I saw Letty,"
Toretto said from his hospital bed, while Ron was changing his bandages.
"Told you so."
"But she didn't even recognize me." Toretto's eyes were filled with obvious pain.
"Come on, haven't you ever watched a soap opera? Every love story follows the same playbook: car crash, terminal illness, amnesia, and in the end the hero and heroine overcome everything and get their happily ever after,"
Ron grumbled, his hands still working. "Trust me, if you and Letty were in a romance movie, amnesia would definitely be the best possible plot twist. If it was cancer or a car accident with permanent disability or something like that, I have no idea how you'd write a happy ending."
"What kind of shows are you watching? I don't think I've ever seen anything like that," Toretto looked confused.
"I've been binge-watching telenovelas lately. Don't worry, cancer's not happening to you, because you never eat processed foods. Too much of that artificial crap will kill you."
Ron said, and with a quick motion, he pressed down on Toretto's wound.
"Ahh!" Toretto hissed in pain, but to maintain his tough-guy image, he stifled any further outcry.
"What should I do next? How can I get Letty back?" Toretto asked for Ron's advice.
"Obviously, you've got to handle your love life yourself, but I know that no matter what, we need to take care of Owen first."
As he spoke, Hobbs, his head wrapped in bandages, walked into the infirmary.
The bandages were wound around Hobbs's head so extensively that from a distance he looked like he was wearing a turban.
"Hahaha, you big dumb ox, what happened to you?" Ron laughed. "You look like a Sikh now. Let me get a picture of this. Your daughter's gonna get such a kick out of this."
"Don't you dare!" Hobbs tried unsuccessfully to stop him.
SNAP! Photo successfully captured, and Hobbs's embarrassing moments collection grows by one.
"Ron, you're such an ass! Can't you focus on figuring out how to catch that bastard Owen instead?"
(End of Chapter)
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