Chapter 76: Time

Pilu turned around and saw the man who had just blocked them walking toward the group.

"Ward method, you actually came looking for me." The black-clad man grinned: "What, planning to kneel and beg for mercy?"

"Didn't you understand what I said?" Roger looked at him in surprise: "Hand over all your money, and I might let you live."

Pilu blinked slightly, then exchanged glances with his two subordinates, before bursting into loud laughter.

"Hahaha, I'm laughing so hard my stomach hurts—this guy's joking, right?! If you ever do stand-up comedy, I'll definitely show up to watch you play the fool…"

"Pop!"

The gunshot not only cut off Pilu's words, but also halted his attempt to draw his gun.

Then the Black man stared dumbly at his palm, pierced by the bullet—a round hole with burn marks—and looked across at Roger, whose gun barrel still smoked, letting out a agonized scream.

"Ahh!"

"You thought I'd be like those righteous heroes—first beat you up, then wait for you to pull a gun and threaten me, before surrendering helplessly?" Roger sneered.

"Kill him! Quickly, kill him!"

Pilu collapsed to his knees, writhing in agony.

The two Black men heard this and immediately drew their knives, watching the man warily.

"Still not running? You want me to put holes in you?" Roger smirked, swinging his Truth.

"Take him out! Take my gun!" Pilu groaned: "Or I'll shoot all of you!"

"Hmm." Roger shrugged and kept pulling the trigger.

"Pop!"

Pilu fell silent—his knee had just been shot.

"I'm giving you three seconds." Roger smiled.

The two Black men finally understood the situation and scrambled backward in panic.

In Meilijian, gangs are sharply divided.

Large gangs like the Crips and the Mexican Gang, which produce and sell all kinds of drugs and specialize in kidnapping and assassination, usually have well-trained members, hold grudges fiercely, and value unity.

But gangs like the Scarface Gang, who lurk on the streets and survive on petty theft, usually lack such high loyalty—they share profits, but scatter at the first sign of trouble.

There are exceptions, though: brothers who grew up in the same neighborhood might risk everything for each other.

Unfortunately, Pilu wasn't their brother.

But…

"Three, two, one—time's up!"

Roger showed no mercy toward the fleeing men—he pulled the trigger.

"Thud."

The two Black men collapsed into pools of blood, silent.

Pilu saw this, swallowed hard, and begged through a sheen of sweat: "Don't kill me, man—I admit I was wrong."

"And then?" Roger crouched, staring at her.

"Then I'll give you all my money—I've got five hundred dollars and a dose of Enhancer, all yours."

"So why did you harass Anjielina?"

"You mean that white girl?" Pilu wished he could go back and slap himself.

He clutched his bleeding hand as he spoke: "The Madman made me do it—he paid me!"

"The Madman? You mean the guy on Fifth Avenue?" Roger hadn't expected to hear a familiar name here.

"That's right—him!" Pilu's voice was growing weaker as his blood soaked the ground: "Our Scarface Gang works for him—the Enhancer comes from him—he's really the mastermind."

"Did he tell you why?"

"I don't know… he just told me to go cause trouble. Please, I was wrong—don't kill me."

Pilu braced his hands behind him, swaying as if about to collapse.

As Roger fell silent, Pilu's eyes suddenly flickered with cunning—he then gasped and pointed outside the alley: "Cops!"

"Pop!"

Roger pulled the trigger cleanly, blowing a hole through Pilu's skull.

"Clatter."

Pilu's grip loosened instantly—his pistol dropped to the ground.

This is the streets.

Trust no one—not even when they beg for mercy face-to-face; they might be plotting your death behind your back.

Fortunately, Roger was prepared.

If real cops had shown up, Juan would've warned him in time.

Roger holstered his gun, took the Enhancer, the pistol, and the dollars from Pilu's body, then turned and walked back to the alley entrance.

Qiangsen stared at the calm man, feeling nothing but lethal aura radiating from him—he dared not even breathe.

But Juan now smiled: "Feels better, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, a little." Roger didn't ask how Juan knew he was upset—he knew Juan had been through similar moments.

Yet Qiangsen held his breath, remembering how decisively the two had killed Gideon.

Shit!

Are these two bosses secretly gang assassins?!

Why is killing so casual coming from them?!

Could it be that when Roger's boss isn't around, he's off on missions?!

No wonder Juan's boss never fears corpses—he chats with dogs every night till midnight!

Damn it!

This is clearly PTSD!

Just thinking of that possibility, Qiangsen could no longer meet Roger's eyes.

He felt certain that if he exposed their identities, he'd be silenced.

"Let's go, the police should be here soon. Wait in the car for me a bit—I'll treat you to fried chicken tonight," Roger said.

"Woof, woof!" The pit bull perked up instantly at the words "fried chicken."

Only Qiangsen followed them cautiously, a faint chill of sweat prickling his back.

……

Not long after, Highlander pulled up to the coffee shop where he'd agreed to meet Anjielina.

The white girl had already been waiting, idly fiddling with her cup on the chair.

"Why are you alone? Where's Weide?" Roger walked over and sat down.

Anjielina first smiled, then said reluctantly, "He went to get his car fixed."

"Is he mad at you?"

The girl pressed her cherry-pink lips together: "He probably won't come with me anymore to deliver food to the homeless. It's all my fault—I wrecked his car."

"By the way, why do you keep insisting on delivering food to the homeless?" Roger asked curiously. Though people often drove by the street to hand out meals, most were from organizations, and the portions were meager.

Only Anjielina—this month alone, she'd given away at least two thousand dollars' worth of pizza and burgers. That wasn't something just anyone could do.

"I… I just can't bear to watch them die of hunger."

Anjielina looked at the man with her beautiful blue eyes, her expression serious: "The government shouldn't have cut food stamps. I checked the news—I've seen reports of people dying of hunger, even three-year-old children. God, those poor souls deserve help. I'm just doing what I can."

"Aren't you afraid you'll run out of money?"

"When the music company signed me, they gave me a signing bonus. I also set up a charity website where I post singing videos to raise funds for these homeless people," Anjielina explained.

"Have you made any enemies recently?" Roger asked. "After all, gangs don't show up without reason."

At these words, Anjielina frowned, sinking into thought.