Chapter 349: Tax Collection
With Ron's overwhelming show of force, the head of the Kingsman US branch suddenly became a very approachable middle-aged man. Especially after they opened their doomsday vault and the two British gentlemen's claims were verified, Ron received an even warmer welcome.
"Hello, I'm Champagne, but everyone who knows me calls me Champ," the middle-aged man said kindly, extending his hand to Ron. Ron grinned and shook the man's hand: "Hello, my name is Ron, but everyone who knows me calls me Vampire. By the way, does your distillery pay its taxes properly?"
"Huh?" The middle-aged man looked completely bewildered.
"I asked you, have you been paying your fair share of taxes for this distillery?" Ron repeated loudly. "Seriously, if you can't hear properly, get your ears checked, or get someone with better hearing. Having someone hard of hearing do reception work—I really don't know which genius came up with that idea."
The ace agent in charge, who couldn't hear properly, was automatically categorized as disabled by Ron, and nearly had an aneurysm. Fortunately, his body, kept strong by frequent horseback riding, withstood Ron's verbal assault.
"Just like your tailoring business in the UK, if we didn't fudge the taxes, where do you think we'd get the money to build such a nice facility?" The middle-aged man winked humorously at Ron. "We've been operating independently for a long time, and this is the first time we've received help from headquarters. Why don't we talk about why you're here? What exactly brings you to Kentucky?"
Little did he know, his words had just handed Ron exactly what he wanted, and Ron immediately perked up. "Really? You haven't been paying your taxes properly?"
"That's not really relevant to today's discussion," the middle-aged man frowned. He sensed something was off, but couldn't quite pin it down.
"I apologize for the rough welcome earlier. As your American cousins, you can use all the resources of the Statesman Distillery at your disposal. Now tell me, what do you need help with?"
"Why don't you pay your taxes first?" Ron switched to his businesslike, professional smile. "It would be best if you could show me your books. Trust me, whether the income is legal or illegal, as long as you pay your taxes, the IRS will be your strongest ally.
By the way, my name is Ron Lee Cooper, senior agent with the IRS. The two guys who came with me, Galahad and Merlin, are your friends. But I still appreciate your honesty. If it weren't for you, I don't know how long I would've had to dig for evidence of your tax evasion. Much obliged."
The middle-aged man's expression suddenly looked like he'd swallowed a bucket of nails. Not only had he treated a complete stranger like family, but he'd also helpfully confessed his company's tax evasion. What kind of screwup was this?
Recently, Gin had been complaining to him that there was a mole within the organization. Was he the biggest mole of them all?
"Ahem…let's table the tax issue for now. I'll arrange for someone to contact you later," Champ glared at the woman who had brought Ron in, his eyes seemingly blaming her for not clearly establishing his identity beforehand.
However, the woman felt wronged, because Ron hadn't once said he wasn't with the two British gentlemen. Although their chemistry seemed a bit off, she'd assumed he was just an oddball, like the Statesman agent who'd been knocked unconscious—always marching to his own beat.
If the other Statesman agents looked like sharp Western cowboys, then the guy Ron had just taken down looked like a Chippendales dancer, and the headliner at that.
"Knock knock knock~" A knock sounded at the door. The woman opened it, and the real ace agent, Eggsy, walked in and politely nodded to Champ to express his gratitude: "Thank you for saving Agent Galahad…"
"Wait, you said his name was Galahad." Champ cast a questioning glance at Ron.
"No, he's talking about the amnesiac butterfly guy. This kid is his protégé; they share a codename," Ron explained for Eggsy. The reason he'd come up first was because Eggsy and Merlin had gone to visit Galahad, the agent rescued by the US branch—the same guy Ron had met briefly before.
Come to think of it, this guy was incredibly lucky; after jumping into the river to escape pursuit, he was rescued by the US branch. However, he probably hit his head on a rock when he jumped, losing all his memories. Now he only saw himself as an entomologist studying butterflies.
"Go on."
Eggsy straightened his tie and continued seriously, "Galahad once said that to investigate the cause of something, you must look at the big picture. If someone wants to eliminate a top agent, they're definitely plotting something bigger."
Ron secretly scoffed. Did taking you guys out really require so much effort? One Winter Soldier wiped you all out, he thought, but of course, considering he was on someone else's turf, he kept his mouth shut.
"So what did you find out?" Champ asked.
"We believe they're a drug cartel. The term 'Golden Circle' appeared multiple times during the investigation."
"We'll look into it. Anything else?" Champ glanced at Ron nervously and answered dismissively, his mind racing with how to handle the IRS investigation.
"Of course, we have a former recruit who's now one of theirs, named Charlie. He's a real piece of work," Eggsy replied, glancing at Ron's expression. This was information he hadn't told Ron, a little ace up his sleeve. However, Ron's face remained expressionless, which reassured him.
Ron's expression was neutral: "That's a good lead. Do you have any intel on him?"
"I know he has an ex-girlfriend, and I found her through social media. I think he's still in contact with her, and he's planning to attend the Glastonbury Festival."
Eggsy took out his phone; the screen showed Charlie's ex-girlfriend's social media activity.
"Agent Tequila, dust off your dancing shoes. You have a new mission," Champ ordered. Ron then realized that the agent he'd just knocked out was codenamed Tequila.
Perhaps because he'd been taken down by Ron, he hadn't said a word to him the entire time.
"Yes, sir." Tequila downed his whiskey in one gulp and was about to get up when Ron suddenly stopped him.
"Wait, what are those marks on your neck and face?"
Tequila picked up the glass and, through the reflection, saw winding blue lines along the veins on his face and neck, like tiny snakes crawling across his skin.
"It's nothing, just a little tired, nothing serious."
"Is that a blue rash? I think you need to rest. Ginger, take him to the infirmary." Ron interrupted Champ as soon as he finished speaking.
"Hold on a second, Tequila, right?" Ron stood up and walked over to him, examining him closely. "Have you done anything unusual lately? Like messing with any hardcore drugs?"
"I…" Tequila's expression turned strange.
"Don't sweat it, I was just asking because I've seen similar symptoms before," Ron waved his hand. "Those people like you, without exception, had all used drugs from the mysterious 'Golden Circle' organization before they developed symptoms. However, because there are too few cases, we don't yet know the specific purpose of this condition.
But I think we can roughly guess the organization's plan. I think they must be some kind of anti-drug vigilante group, planning to poison drugs and then make people worldwide quit drugs.
Well, although they're an unconventional terrorist organization, I've got to admit they've got some kind of twisted positive spin going~ I'm almost impressed."
Champ's previously casual expression turned serious again: "Ron, can you go with our agents to check this out? I think we need to take this matter more seriously."
"Galahad and your agents can handle this kind of field work. I need to get back to LA first; there are more important things to do there."
"Is there important intel about the Golden Circle in Los Angeles? Do you need me to send backup?" Champ asked solemnly.
"No thanks, unless you can send me a top-tier gamer. Blizzard just released the second expansion for World of Warcraft, Wrath of the Lich King, yesterday. I'm going back to play with my buddies. I heard they even added a new class called the Death Knight..."
Meanwhile, just as the agents at the distillery were finding Ron's gaming addiction unbelievable, symptoms similar to those of Agent Tequila began to spread to almost all drug users.
On the third day after Eggsy and his team set off, some cases even more severe than Tequila's emerged. Suddenly, large-scale shortages of medical resources appeared in most parts of the world, and governments were scrambling, until a video was hacked into television stations and broadcast on all channels.
"Hello everyone, my name is Poppy Adams. I want to talk to you on television about the largest hostage crisis in human history."
On television, a woman in a yellow dress spoke confidently to the camera: "A few weeks ago, a special virus was released around the world through my various products—marijuana, cocaine, heroin, opium, ecstasy, and methamphetamine.
Some of you have already been infected. Next, you will experience the following symptoms."
The woman gestured behind her, revealing four glass display cases with drawn curtains: "After a short incubation period, the first symptom will appear: a blue rash."
The curtains opened, revealing a person inside with a face covered in rashes, just like Agent Tequila.
"Then, stage two begins, which I call mania. At this point, the virus has invaded the brain, causing tremendous suffering to the patient and those around them."
The second display case opened, revealing a person inside who, besides the rash, acted like a lunatic, moving their limbs uncontrollably as if doing some manic dance.
"Stage three is paralysis. All the muscles in the body enter a state of severe seizure. Once the throat muscles are also affected, the patient will be unable to breathe and die in a very gruesome manner within twelve hours."
As she spoke, the third display window opened, and blood streamed from the man's eyes and nose. Although he remained standing, everyone knew he wouldn't last much longer.
At this moment, the camera pulled back to give the woman a close-up of her triumphant smile: "But I have good news to share with everyone. All of this can actually be prevented. I have an antidote right here."
The woman took out a vial of yellow serum and showed it to the camera. Behind her, the fourth display window opened, and a staff member poured the antidote into the mouth of the elderly man frozen in the window. After a violent tremor, the man miraculously regained his mobility!
Even the blue rash on his face began to disappear little by little.
"Look, my antidote is practically a miracle cure. With just one word from me, it can be shipped all over the world, provided you meet these two conditions:
First, cease all crackdowns on drugs, legalize all currently illegal drugs, create a legitimate market, and regulate all drugs—yes, not only regulate them, but tax them, just like the alcohol industry.
Second, grant me and my organization complete immunity. If you agree to my conditions, I will definitely help your countries become more prosperous and stimulate our increasingly sluggish economies.
Furthermore, because of drug legalization, law enforcement costs will be drastically reduced..."
President Francis's face was expressionless; he clicked the television off and sat back in his Oval Office chair: "That's the main reason I called you here, Ron. What's your take?"
Across from him, Ron, who had been hastily dragged out of his home, scratched his head helplessly: "After collecting taxes for so long, every capitalist I've met has tried every trick in the book to dodge taxes. This is the first time I've seen someone voluntarily wanting to pay taxes, Mr. President."
Ron shook his head regretfully. "But unfortunately, she's a drug dealer. I bet her proposal will be shot down by both the House and the Senate. You know those are Republican strongholds. In the eyes of those conservatives, they'd rather see every drug addict in the world drop dead.
That way, the world could go back to the good old days when everyone held hands and sang hymns, and everything was peachy."
"Of course I know the House and Senate won't pass her proposal. The question is, what do you think?" Francis stared intently at Ron, an immense presidential authority bearing down on him.
Ron, however, seemed completely unfazed, shrugging. "You know me. I'm a Texan, a born-and-bred Republican."
"And?" Francis's expression remained unchanged as he nodded, signaling him to continue, knowing Ron had more to say.
Sure enough, Ron continued with a shrug, "At the same time, I'm also a federal agent, with flexible moral boundaries, Mr. President."
(End of Chapter)
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