Chapter 1099: Quite an Appetite

The news of gunfire at the Perez family estate quickly spread within the organization.

Although Bob repeatedly ordered people not to spread the news, it was useless.

A large family organization, a gang family, was stratified into direct lineage members, branch members, cadres, captains, and lowest-tier members. Different factions separated people into many parts.

Some followed Bob, some followed Paige. The moment the gunshots rang out, people began considering how to relay the news.

So, despite Bob's insistence on secrecy, it was ineffective.

The only thing that gave him a slight sense of relief was that the news of Fran being shot had not yet leaked.

This wasn't due to any high moral standards; it was simply because they knew what kind of unpredictable, terrifying consequences would follow if the news of Fran's shooting spread.

Their restraint in not spreading the news was rooted in self-interest.

Paige learned of the incident immediately from friends within the family. Gunshots were heard at the estate, but there was no further information.

Bob very timely punished the man supposedly responsible for the "accidental discharge" in front of many witnesses.

Some people thought the matter ended there, but others believed the whole thing was an act.

"I need to go to the estate."

After receiving the call, Paige couldn't sit still. "Gunshots were heard at the estate. That gives me a feeling I... I don't know how to describe it!"

"Since I was old enough to remember, I have never heard of an accidental discharge at the estate. I don't know why I keep thinking of bad things."

"I have to go look!"

"You watch the business here. If there are no issues, I'll be back before dinner."

Paige, who was restless, stood up from behind the desk. The others in the office could only tacitly agree to his decision; after all, he was the "Boss" here.

Paige casually selected two men to accompany him. The three of them, along with a few subordinates, got into two cars and headed toward the estate.

He sat in the back of the second car, frowning constantly since they started driving.

Humans are strange creatures. Perhaps due to intelligence, people sometimes experience a sudden, inexplicable premonition.

A future event enters their mind in a peculiar way and influences their judgment.

Paige's mind was filled with the thought of the estate being attacked. He was actually quite worried about Fran. It wasn't because their relationship was good, but because he knew Fran could not afford to be harmed.

The more he thought about it, the stronger his unease grew.

He was already agitated. The car slowed down and eventually stopped, which only made his emotions more volatile.

"What's wrong?" he asked from the back seat. The driver pushed the door open, stepped onto the running board, and looked ahead. "Looks like a traffic accident."

Traffic accidents occurred constantly. Traffic laws in the Federation were poorly developed. For example, many areas had no clear rules on whether one could drive after drinking. Of course, most people couldn't afford to drink and drive even if they wanted to, as liquor was too expensive.

However, there were also no regulations on driving after taking or injecting certain specialty drugs.

Some specialty drugs had strong sedative, anesthetic, or hypnotic effects. Driving after taking them could easily lead to accidents, yet Federal law contained few explicit prohibitions against these actions.

This meant some people caused accidents deliberately.

Paige also leaned his head out to look ahead. Though he couldn't see much, he quickly made a decision. "Go check it out. Tell them to move the cars. Tell them I'm in a hurry!"

This might sound like bragging, but in Old City, a direct member of the Perez family had the standing and capital to do this.

This was a city tightly controlled by the Perez family. However, their method of controlling the city was different from how the Lance family controlled Golden Port City.

They used fear, not authority.

As he spoke, more cars kept arriving, blocking their escape route. This was a main thoroughfare. If it became blocked, traffic would quickly seize up, becoming immobile.

The subordinate in the passenger seat nodded, left the car, and walked up to the car in front. He leaned down and spoke through the window. Soon, the three people in that car got out.

A total of four men walked forward through the stalled traffic, intending to resolve the major traffic jam caused by the accident.

Paige lit a cigarette and rolled down the window. The hot air blowing in made his mood worse.

The weather was getting hot, and the sun was strong. Cars baking in the sun for a long time would get hot inside. He rolled down the window not only to smoke.

It was at this moment that two young men, each carrying a sling bag, rapidly approached Paige's car. He didn't notice them, and neither did his driver.

Their attention was focused on the faintly audible arguments ahead.

The driver might have seen the two students walking on the sidewalk, but he didn't pay them any mind.

Both young men wore sling bags, making them look more like students than ordinary people in the workforce.

The identity of "student" often made people drop their guard.

The driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror and then looked away.

Further ahead, Paige's four subordinates had reached the scene of the accident. After a brief inspection and listening to passersby, they understood the general situation.

It was simple: someone had crossed the center line, causing a head-on collision. However, the exact cause was unknown, and without witnesses, it was impossible to determine who hit whom.

Inability to determine fault meant the insurance companies might not pay, and the police would have to assign responsibility.

So, neither driver admitted crossing the line, both claiming the other was at fault.

The cadre under Paige listened to the argument for a while, then stepped forward between the two drivers.

"You're disrupting traffic. This damned time is rush hour. Can't you move your cars aside before discussing your issues?"

Both drivers glanced at him, dismissing him. That was how arguments were when tempers were high: whoever suggested compromise was the bad guy.

This meant the cadre was ignored by both.

He decided to assert his identity. "I am from the Perez family. If you're smart, you'll clear up your scrap metal now and restore this damned traffic flow!"

One of the drivers challenged him. "Just because you're from the Perez family doesn't mean you can order me to do what I shouldn't!"

The challenger's words made the cadre's face twist in anger. He clenched his fist, preparing to give the driver a "lesson in love," but the man behind him grabbed his shoulder.

With so many people around, physically assaulting an unrelated person in public would cause trouble, even if their family's reputation in the city wasn't stellar.

The captain under Paige stepped to the front. He inspected the collision damage. One of the drivers continued to stick out his neck stubbornly. "Are you going to hit me too?"

The captain smiled. He took out a wad of cash. "How much do you think it will cost to fix your cars?"

Cars at the time were relatively crude but durable, with purely mechanical structures.

The two drivers looked at each other. One touched his car. "At least fifty dollars."

The other driver seemed reluctant to be outdone. "Mine needs sixty."

Meanwhile, the argument ahead had completely stopped. Paige's expression had relaxed. His gaze shifted from the center of the accident to the sides of the road.

He also spotted the two young men with sling bags. His gaze lingered on their faces for a moment, then moved away.

What he didn't expect was that the two young men stopped right next to his car.

When he turned to look at them, he saw them pull compact machine guns from their backpacks.

In that instant, Paige trembled. The cigarette in his mouth fell. He didn't even care that the cigarette butt might burn his expensive clothes. His face twisted into a terrified grimace as he frantically cranked the window, hoping the thin layer of glass would save him from the fate that followed.

A rapid burst of gunfire broke the rising tension of the morning traffic. In the deafening noise, people froze in absolute silence.

The captain handling the accident ahead was stunned. He threw the money he had counted onto the ground and drew his weapon, running back with his men.

By the time they reached the car, Paige was slumped in the back seat, his hands clutching his neck. Blood spurted from various places on his body, and he began to convulse with blood loss.

The driver was also hit by machine gun fire and slumped in his seat.

Paige was not the only target. That morning, at least a dozen direct members of the Perez family were ambushed while returning to the family estate.

The attacks were not complicated: a traffic jam, a collision, an argument—any method that forced them to stop and distracted them.

Then, someone would quickly walk up, pull out a weapon, spray them with bullets, and quickly flee.

For the rest of the morning, all the police cars sped around, sirens blaring, seemingly searching frantically. They didn't know whom they were looking for, what the suspect looked like, or what distinguishing features they had. The Chief had simply ordered them to drive around aimlessly.

Hiram adjusted his slightly sagging belt. Wearing his police uniform, he led his men into Paige's nightclub.

The nightclub only stopped operating at 5:00 AM. It was quiet now.

The stage was empty of seductive dancers, and the poles were bare. Everything felt lifeless. The stillness after the preceding bustle made the place feel even more morbid.

When the front door was forcefully pushed open, sunlight and a dry, hot wind rushed in, stirring the settled dust and dissipating the morbid silence.

A security guard on duty walked over, blocking their path. "You are not welcome here!"

A small security guard, speaking with an arrogant, condescending tone to the police officers, seemed accustomed to placing himself above the city's police force.

Hiram looked at him, then beckoned him closer with a hooked finger. The guard hesitated but approached Hiram.

"You better not try any tricks..." Before he could finish, he was violently kicked in the crotch.

The soul-crushing pain instantly made him drop to the floor, where he writhed, clutching his testicles, unable even to scream.

Any sound he tried to make would only intensify the pain.

"Shit!"

Hiram waved his hand. The officer behind him quickly closed the door, and they began executing their plan.

The deputy manager had not rested yet; he was organizing the previous night's earnings.

He usually slept around noon and woke up at dinner time. That was his schedule.

Paige liked neat financial reports that detailed his recent earnings.

Since the deputy manager was self-taught in accounting, he needed intense focus to avoid mistakes.

When the door was pushed open without a knock, he furiously looked up at the intruders.

He saw they were police officers, which confused him. "This is not where you belong!"

He spoke words similar to the security guard's, while pulling open a drawer that contained a handgun.

"Get out before I get angry!" he threatened, then froze. He saw the leading officer: the very same man who had complained about his "big appetite" just days ago.

He seemed to realize something, looking at Hiram. "You..."

Hiram ignored his threat. The accompanying officers quickly moved to secure the corners of the room. Gunshots rang out softly outside, followed by screams. Their men had engaged the security, but the resistance was quickly quelled.

The deputy manager's body started to tremble. Hiram motioned for him to sit back down, then pulled a chair opposite the desk and sat.

The deputy manager tried desperately to control his body, but his lips continued to quiver. If he didn't realize what was happening now, he didn't deserve to be a nightclub manager.

He was adept at dealing with people and complex situations.

"You are the Lance family's people?" His eyes held an expression of disbelief and pain. "That bastard Hull defected to you!"

The sound of rushed footsteps outside briefly interrupted their conversation. Two "officers," their uniforms stained with blood, walked in. "It's handled."

Hiram nodded. "Check every room again. Don't miss anything."

As the two left, Hiram looked at the deputy manager with a cold smile. "My friend told you I have a big appetite, but it seems you didn't take that seriously."

"Open the safe."

Behind the deputy manager was a safe taller than a man, generally used to store the nightclub's cash and earnings.

Paige also had a safe, but it mostly contained his private belongings, which Hiram's men were already dealing with.

If the large safe couldn't be opened, they would simply move it. Bringing a truck was easy enough.

The deputy manager swallowed hard. "This is Perez family property." He tried one last attempt at resistance.

Hiram pulled out his gun and fired once at the man's arm. The sound was muffled—a small-caliber suppressed pistol.

At this close range, the caliber size made little difference in damage.

The deputy manager clutched his arm, his face contorted in pain. He realized these people were different from any gang they had encountered. He could only stand up, walk to the safe, and open it.

Seeing the stacks of cash and some gold bars inside, Hiram whistled. "What are you waiting for?"

The men instantly pulled out pre-prepared bags and began stuffing the money inside.

It looked like a lot, but the total value was only about eighty thousand dollars.

But for the deputy manager, this was everything.

Once the money was mostly collected, Hiram stood up. He walked up to the deputy manager and stared into his eyes. "I didn't like the look on your face, the tone, or the attitude when you spoke to me the other day."

The deputy manager was speechless, his lips tightly sealed, his head bowed submissively.

But the next second, Hiram suddenly pulled out a dagger and plunged it into the deputy manager's jawline, simultaneously pulling his hair back to expose his neck.

With the sound of the sharp blade slicing through the windpipe, Hiram released him. He took two deep breaths, then looked at the sticky blood on his palm, cursing, "F***!"

"Dirty blood!"

He looked down at the deputy manager, who was slowly collapsing, clutching his throat, his eyes filled with despair. Hiram shook his head.

He pulled out a handkerchief, quickly wiped the blood from his hand, and tossed the bloody cloth onto the man's face.

In his final moments, the deputy manager heard Hiram's voice:

"Everyone be careful! This place belongs to us now!"