Chapter 124: Chance Encounter

In the luxurious living room, Will rose amid the stares of others, walked to the wall, picked up a travel bag, carried it to the coffee table, and unzipped it.

He lifted it high, turned it upside down, and shook it—bundles of cash tied with rubber bands tumbled out onto the table, some rolling onto the floor.

Everyone’s breathing quickened slightly, their heartbeats swaying with the scattered bills.

What’s the point of joining a gang?

Not being bullied, living in glory, gaining face—everyone might answer differently, but one thing they all agreed on was money.

For these people, joining a gang was no different from a job; every month Will paid them a sum, though the amount varied.

If the gang earned more, and Will got more, they could take a little extra—two hundred, or more.

If the gang made little profit this month, or even suffered losses—for example, one of their venues was burned down by another gang—

then everyone got less, but still more than working outside: seventy or eighty bucks.

That’s why, despite the danger, they all stayed here.

Money really was a good thing—at least in the Federation—it solved most of most people’s problems.

But it wasn’t that good, because it was so hard to earn.

All eyes were fixed on the cash; they didn’t know the exact amount, but each person was sure they’d get a bundle.

When the last bundle tumbled out, Will tossed the bag aside and lit another cigarette. “One bundle each. When you come back, there’s another.”

He exhaled a plume of smoke, the mist distorting their vision, making his calm face appear blurred and twisted.

His men had taken money like this before and knew the rules; Will’s most trusted lieutenant sat in his former seat and began handing out the bundles to those nearby.

Each man took his money and moved to the other side—some shoved it straight into their pockets, others removed the rubber bands, folded it, and slipped it in for easier carrying.

Each bundle was twenty bills of five-dollar notes—that’s one hundred dollars.

If you come back and get another bundle, it’s two hundred.

There were over thirty men here; divided in two rounds, roughly seven thousand dollars total.

Two bundles remained—someone didn’t show up, but he didn’t care.

“I have only one demand: revenge for my brother…”

At this moment, Officer Lu Ka grew tense, as the officer he’d assigned to surveillance reported that Will had suddenly gathered a large number of men, suspecting they planned something tonight.

He quickened his pace, arriving outside the Assistant Director’s office and knocking.

After about ten seconds, a weary “Come in” echoed out; he pushed the door open and saw the Assistant Director yawning.

The Jincheng City Police Bureau had one Chief and two Assistant Directors; because of the city’s unique nature, one Assistant Director must be on duty twenty-four hours a day.

In other words, one was here during the day, the other at night.

The Assistant Director saw Officer Lu Ka, rubbed his eyes, and asked, “What is it?”

Officer Lu Ka described what his men had observed: “I suspect Will and his men will move tonight—they’ve gathered a large group at his villa.”

“This is likely a mobilization. Once it ends, they’ll strike.”

The Assistant Director took twenty to thirty seconds to respond slowly, but he didn’t agree with Officer Lu Ka’s judgment: “Do you have evidence?”

“Or is this all just your guess?”

Officer Lu Ka shook his head. “I have no evidence, but I believe my guess is correct.”

“He’s lost patience—he’ll strike.”

He looked at Officer Lu Ka. “Lu Ka, you’re a veteran officer—you know how stretched thin our night patrols are.”

“If I mobilize forces based on your unsubstantiated guess to prevent something that hasn’t happened, and you’re wrong, do you know how much trouble that’ll cause me?”

“If you’re right, everything’s fine—you get praise, I get praise, everyone’s fine.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” the Assistant Director countered. “Do you know what we’d pay for that mistake?”

“And what if they notice our mobilization and cancel their plans for tonight?”

“I hate to admit it, but our station has been thoroughly infiltrated—any major operation we plan, they’ll know before the Chief does!”

This was a fact: during the peak of corrupt cops, anyone might call a suspicious number from a roadside phone booth for a stack of cash.

“So we just do nothing?” Officer Lu Ka snapped, though this wasn’t the first time he’d felt this anger.

The Assistant Director shook his head, picked up his cold coffee, and took a sip. “They’re criminals, Lu Ka. Let them fight. When they start shooting, we clean up the mess.”

“Believe me, the citizens would rather they die in battle than be stopped before they even act!”

For some reason, Officer Lu Ka suddenly remembered Lans’s unfunny joke—the climax of every story always happens in the last twenty minutes!

He returned to his office, sat down, then stood up again, pacing back and forth several times before summoning two officers, grabbing weapons, and walking out.

This time he didn’t take his own car—he took a police cruiser; sometimes a cruiser had greater impact in sudden incidents.

Meanwhile, several shadows scaled the wall behind the office and slipped into the alley; in the dark, Hiram and Lawen kept close to the walls, moving through the shadows.

Across the street, a car sat parked, with two men inside.

They were the surveillance team, now half-asleep; the baseball game replay on the car radio held no interest for them.

One gripped the steering wheel, nodding off; the other leaned back in the passenger seat, mouth open, fast asleep.

Hiram and Lawen crept silently to either side of the car and slowly opened the doors.

Thank God the car was well-maintained—the hinges made no squeaking sound.

They exchanged glances; Hiram pulled out a dagger, grabbed the driver’s hair, and stabbed him in the neck.

On the other side, Lawen clamped his arm over the man’s open mouth and plunged in another knife.

Both struggled fiercely, but not for long—they fell still.

Lawen walked over to Hiram, dragged the body out of the driver’s seat, tossed it into the back, then drove the car into the office courtyard.

The car would be disposed of tomorrow.

Seeing the surveillance team eliminated, Hiram sprinted back inside the office; soon five cars rolled out in sequence, speeding toward the western Empire District.

At night, the roads held few cars and fewer people; darkness blocked light and sight, concealing countless crimes.

Meanwhile, Will was also dispatching men to deal with the surveillance.

Of course, he wouldn’t kill these cops; though hatred had nearly driven him mad, he hadn’t gone so far as to murder members of the Criminal Investigations Unit.

Several men exited the villa; the surveillance driver nudged his sleeping partner, who jolted awake.

He wiped his face and looked around. “What’s wrong?”

But his partner didn’t answer; as he turned to look, he saw several figures outside the driver’s window.

Each held a pistol; the nearest one spoke softly: “Will invites you to his villa. Don’t make this hard for us.”

Beneath the black muzzles, all men were equal.

The two officers raised their hands; their drowsiness vanished. They offered no resistance, cooperating fully.

Fortunately, Will didn’t mistreat them—he simply tied them up and dumped them in the basement, telling them they’d be released after everything was over.

Everyone boarded the cars; seven vehicles left the villa in sequence, unaware that besides the police watching them, someone else was watching from the villa gate.

Mo Lisi was nearly asleep too, but he knew tonight was the night—Lans had told him—so he forced himself to stay awake.

Half-dozing, he suddenly heard a car horn—he snapped alert and stared at the villa gate: a line of cars was blocked at the entrance.

A man in black was berating the guard; the guard bowed and apologized, then raised the barrier.

“Damn!”

“They chose tonight too!”

Watching the cars slowly emerge, Mo Lisi had little time to think; their speed was high—he’d see only their taillights in seconds.

At that moment, he made a critical decision: he started his car, turned on the headlights, and followed them.

More strangely, the last car didn’t realize it was the last.

In the darkness, they couldn’t clearly see Mo Lisi’s car, only two headlights; in the enclosed environment, the occupants assumed this car belonged to them too.

Two convoys drove toward each other in the night, each vehicle silent, everyone holding their breath.

Some checked weapons, some whispered prayers, others suppressed their boiling emotions!

Over ten minutes later, the two convoys could faintly see each other’s headlights—but neither realized their target was on the opposite lane.

The Empire District was quiet at night; poor, backward, it had once housed most dockworkers before becoming the Empire District, because it was close to the docks.

Whether taking public transit or walking, reaching the docks took little time.

But as waves of imperial and illegal immigrants flooded in, they clustered here for easy access to the docks or other work zones; thus, the imperial population grew until it became the Empire District.

Yet that didn’t make the area lively; while other districts buzzed at night, the Empire District remained silent.

The dim bulbs along the road illuminated little; stray cats or dogs passing under streetlights quickly vanished back into shadows.

Nocturnal creatures knew this well: never expose yourself to light.

Only the homeless sprawled on the ground seemed indifferent—they had no money, so no one would bother them.

The distance between the two convoys shrank; unfortunately, it was now night—if it were day, perhaps a passing math teacher might suddenly realize a simple math problem that required a college student’s solution.

But now, nothing.

The convoys drew closer; they could faintly make out blurred shapes inside each other’s vehicles.

Lans watched the oncoming convoy; he didn’t recognize the lead car. Will’s vehicle was in the middle, so he assumed they were just ordinary passersby.

Jincheng City was one of the Federation’s most chaotic yet orderly cities for gang activity; encountering gangs traveling in groups at night was nothing unusual.

Though speed was limited, the passing took only seconds—no more than ten.

As the two convoys neared, Mo Lisi spotted Lans.

The next instant, a car horn blared from Mo Lisi’s vehicle; Lans, startled, looked over and saw him—and the gestures he made.

Though the gestures meant nothing specific, they made Lans realize: this convoy was his target!

But now… what to do?

In those few seconds, Lans swerved sharply, ramming his car into the rear of Mo Lisi’s vehicle; the crash and clashing horns startled the entire convoy, halting both moving lines.

Lans glanced at Enio in the passenger seat. “Tell the boys this is the man we’re looking for. When my car starts, have them follow me in a circle, shooting as they go—hurry!”

Enio crouched low and left the passenger seat to relay the message.

Will sat in the car, frowning, turning to look back through the slightly fogged rear window. “What’s going on?”

He looked at his subordinate in the front seat and ordered, “Go find out what’s happening.”

His trusted lieutenant opened the car door and stepped out, striding quickly to the rear of the convoy.

Morris’s car was tilted across the road; the other vehicle had clearly crossed the centerline and slammed into the rear of Morris’s car.

Anyone looking would know it was the other party’s fault.

A young man stood by the front of his car, inspecting the collision. Will’s lieutenant walked over. “What happened?”

The young man looked apologetic. “Sorry, my cigarette fell. I bent down to pick it up and the steering suddenly swerved.”

“See how much it’ll cost to fix—I’ll pay you. It’s my fault!”

The lieutenant studied the young man’s face several times, then examined the damaged area. “Wait…” he said, then turned and walked back.

He stood outside Will’s window and recounted what he’d seen. “He wants to pay us compensation—wants to know how much.”

Will’s brow remained tightly furrowed. “Tell him he doesn’t need to pay. Let him go. We have other business.”

Normally, he’d make the other side understand who the real boss was in the Imperial District—but now, he was eager for revenge and had no time to waste on this petty incident.

The lieutenant nodded and returned to the accident scene.

Meanwhile, Will turned his attention to the opposing convoy.

They had five vehicles; Will’s side had seven. Thus, their fourth vehicle sat directly opposite Will’s car.

Both sides stared at each other. Will watched them; they watched him.

Inside the dark cabin, lit only by strong backlighting from behind, he couldn’t make out their faces—but he could see they were all fixed on him. It made Will uneasy.

As the stare-down grew tense, almost explosive, the man in the backseat of the opposite driver suddenly flicked his hair.

A faint smile crossed Will’s face, but it vanished quickly. He muttered under his breath, “Idiot.”

But soon his brow knitted again—he saw someone in the opposing convoy moving from car to car, speaking just a few words to each occupant before moving on.

The motion unsettled him. He glanced back: his lieutenant was approaching. For no clear reason, he felt a sudden pang of dread.

He looked again at the opposite side. The idiot who’d made him smile moments ago had already leaned halfway out of his car.

Then, in Will’s horrified gaze, the man pulled a submachine gun from beside him!

“Fuck!” He dove beneath his seat, drew his pistol, and fired blindly outward.

But at that moment, Lans’s convoy had already moved.

Pistol shots and submachine gun fire erupted instantly, filling the air above the road.

Will’s lieutenant hadn’t even reached his car before he was hit multiple times and collapsed to the ground.

The entire convoy was caught completely off guard—many hadn’t even drawn their weapons before they were shot.

Lans drove while Ethan in the backseat kept firing, the submachine gun steady in his hands, spitting fire with almost no recoil.

Five vehicles circled the seven, gunfire never ceasing, smoke thickening the air.

Stray cats and dogs along the roadside vanished instantly. Rats peeking from sewer openings retreated to their deepest burrows.

Homeless men under newspapers on the sidewalk wished they could fly away—but feared standing up would draw fire, so they stayed motionless, feigning death.

“Drive! Drive! Get the car moving!” Will shouted, pounding on the back of the driver’s seat.

But the driver had barely sat down when his head slammed hard against the steering wheel. Will cursed, trying to escape this iron coffin.