Chapter 59

After returning to the company, Lans had everyone try out the handguns; they went to a remote cliff on the west side of the harbor, where few people came and it was very quiet.

Moreover, the sound of waves crashing against the shore rocks would mask the gunfire; Lans made a few simple targets and let everyone take a shot.

This was the Federation, a free Federation, so there was no such nonsense as “avoid using firearms in gang fights”; he’d even heard that in another city, major gangs fought with armored vehicles—firing a few shots with a pistol shouldn’t be a big deal.

Just as men loved luxury cars, they loved weapons—even the two girls gave them a try.

Same Magre revolvers, small-caliber defensive weapons, even police said they were good… boring.

Lans suspected these were stolen from police arsenals; blunt-minded Federals didn’t use small-caliber weapons—they preferred offensive and hunting guns—but it didn’t concern him.

The weapons were all new, likely used only a few times; Big Beard had said the gun lines had been reworked to ensure no one got into trouble using them.

Previously, a Daomeidan bought a gun from a black-market dealer to rob someone, only to find out the gun had been used in a mass murder case in another state.

The fool fired two shots into the air at the scene, didn’t even hurt anyone, but still managed to steal a few bucks—and ended up on the electric chair for it.

The authorities needed to give the public a message, not another murderer!

So buying weapons of unknown origin on the black market wasn’t a smart choice; many killers dumped their guns there, and some fool might even take the blame for you.

New things always drew attention; while everyone was testing the guns, Elvin pulled Lans into a corner.

“Do we really need… to use these weapons?”

Lans gave Elvin a cigarette but didn’t answer directly; instead he asked, “How much money have we made this week?”

Actually, this was the third week, but it wasn’t over yet—three days remained.

Elvin whispered, “Four thousand four hundred sixty-one dollars.”

He knew the number precisely and had it locked in his mind, because twenty percent of that money belonged to them—nearly nine hundred dollars; if the pace held for the next two days, each of them would earn at least forty to fifty dollars this week alone.

It was unimaginable in the past!

Lans praised him: “I’m surprised you remembered that number, Elvin—you’ve more talent in this than I thought.”

But he shifted tone: “But do you know how many people out there would go mad for four thousand four hundred sixty-one dollars?”

“They’ll rob with guns for a few bucks—if someone found out a group of illegal immigrants from the Empire now earn thousands a month, what do you think… they’d do?”

Elvin’s pupils shrank slightly; having earned big money so quickly, he’d begun thinking like most ordinary people—not stupid, but certainly not smart.

I just need to live my life fine; I don’t want any trouble with others.

But this is the Federation—a nation full of rebirth and ruin, where miracles and collapses happen every day.

Having money without the power to protect it in the Federation is a death sentence.

“Do you know Mr. Chobaf?”

Elvin took a deep drag; he felt his worldview and values shifting: “I know him—a famous Empire immigrant, supposedly runs a bank.”

“I spoke with him last week—he’s in trouble. Someone’s extorted him maybe hundreds of thousands, but he only dared try recovering a tiny fraction, and wouldn’t even go after it himself.”

“Think about it—if even Mr. Chobaf gets extorted and robbed, what about us?”

“If someone told you right now to hand over all your money and get out of the Federation, what would you do?”

Before Elvin could answer, Lans said: “If it were me, I’d put a bullet in his head and send him to his damn God.”

He laughed, then pulled Elvin’s shoulder close: “Be a wolf that frightens others, not a dog that gets kicked.”

“I’d rather all of you spend your lives in prison for murder than be beaten to death and dumped in a sewer.”

When they returned to the company, everyone had new energy—having earned big money and fired guns, they now had guts.

“Lans, Enio just called.”

Lans nodded, took a number, and went to his office to call back: “This is Lans.”

“They moved. Haven’t come out since. Location’s…”

Lans grabbed a pen and wrote down the address: “Are you safe now?”

Enio paused, then a warmth he hadn’t noticed flowed through his chest.

“Safe. They haven’t found us. What do we do next?”

“Wait for me to come.”

He hung up and gathered his partners: “There’s something dangerous.”

“A guy named Kent stole fifteen hundred from me. I’m going to settle the score—might shoot, might get hurt. Anyone want to come with me?”

He wouldn’t demand anyone go; he’d once been small himself, clawed up from the bottom—he knew some simply lacked the courage, weren’t cut out for this.

Forcing someone without courage to fight only ruins everything—you end up worrying about them instead of the mission. Better not to bring them at all.

Put the right people in the right places—that’s healthy growth. Lans always believed that.

Elvin and Ethan immediately raised their hands; Merro considered a moment, then said he’d stay behind to hold the fort—but would come if Lans needed him.

Lans didn’t mind Merro’s choice; if Merro had wanted to go, Lans would’ve made him stay.

Of this group, only Merro was truly mature—he was oldest, had seen more, and when Lans wasn’t around, he could steady the others during crises.

Most others chose to come; Lans agreed to all of them.

“Close the door for now. Wait for me back. If we don’t return, find Mr. Cotty.”

After brief instructions, over a dozen young men crammed into three cars and headed toward the Empire District.

Kent had just woken up; he’d slept late last night. Though he was the boss, he still had to work when it came time.

The croupiers were partners, not his subordinates, and wouldn’t do heavy labor for him.

Only he and the big enforcer did it—setting up, cleaning, tidying up—barely finished by one in the morning.

This damn weather was stifling and hot; he finally fell asleep past two, surrounded by stink of sweat and foot odor.

He’d been sleeping soundly, but grew hotter and hotter—half-asleep, half-awake, Kent couldn’t lie still anymore. He sat up.

He was drenched in sweat!

“This damn weather—I heard some places use something called air conditioning to cool rooms. Maybe someone knows how much that costs?”

He walked bare-chested into a small room, turned on the faucet, and took a shower.

His whole body was covered in curly body hair—like a gorilla!

Some said he and his brother weren’t real siblings; his brother looked normal, didn’t have so much body hair. But Kent not only had darker skin—he had more hair.

The first person to say that had vanished into the mystery of the rising waters of Angel Lake, but his words didn’t die with him—they spread even wider.

After rinsing off with cold water and feeling better, he returned to the main room: “Turn on the ventilation. And what are we eating for lunch?”

“Any good restaurants nearby? Who’s going to get us some food?”