American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 128 Lively
The CTS weaved through New York's congested traffic, gradually leaving the pursuing police cars behind, except for one Ford Interceptor police car that remained relentlessly close behind.

John Nolan's fingers practically sank into the passenger side grab handle, his gaze fixed on the high-powered sedan ahead that kept changing lanes.

"The suspect vehicle is fleeing south along Seventh Avenue!" he reported urgently into the police radio, his voice breaking due to the violent jolts.

In the driver's seat, Tim Bradford's jawline was taut.

As Nolan's FTO instructor, he was currently maneuvering the police car with near-limit driving skills. "Damn bulletproof car," he cursed through gritted teeth, the steering wheel vibrating violently in his hands, the siren and tires screeching together in a piercing sound.

"Nolan, request PIT!" Tim shouted.

Nolan gripped the armrest tightly, his trembling fingers pressing the intercom button: "Command Center, requesting PIT interception!"

The authorization was granted almost immediately.

Tim floored the accelerator, and the Ford Interceptor's engine roared. The taillights of the bulletproof CTS rapidly magnified in front of the windshield: twenty meters, ten meters, five meters.
Just as the bumper was about to make contact, the CTS suddenly changed lanes, and a truck parked on the side of the road appeared in front of the police car with its huge cargo bed.

"Fuck!" Tim slammed on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel sharply. The Ford police car grazed the rear of the truck, the right-side mirror shattering with a "crack," metal fragments scattering like fireworks.

The Ford police car spun out of control, its tires leaving two charred arcs on the ground. The immense centrifugal force flung the entire vehicle onto the sidewalk, and its rear end crashed into a red cast iron fire hydrant, snapping it in two.

The broken fire hydrant acted as a lever, prying up the back of the police car, and the trunk slammed hard against a sycamore tree on the roadside.

With a loud "bang!", the car came to a 45-degree angle and became wedged between a tree trunk and a fire hydrant, its warning lights still flashing stubbornly despite the violent shaking.

"Hiss—" A high-pressure water jet erupted from the broken pipe, shooting skyward before slamming heavily onto the police car. The water formed a waterfall on the deformed roof, refracting the red and blue police lights into halos.

The police car, shrouded in mist, futilely emitted its last few whistles of electronic siren.
-
As Beta drove the Mustang into the villa garage, John was working on the lawn, pushing a lawnmower.

The roar of the engine caught his attention. He turned off the machine and saw Beta leading an injured Black woman out of the garage. The woman's left arm was in a sling, and her face, covered in scars, was visible beneath a baseball cap.

As John approached, he recognized the woman: "Katalia?"

He sized up the uninvited guest: "You were that serial killer in the news this morning?"

Katalia took off her baseball cap, revealing weak eyes: "Long time no see, Mr. Wick. Yes, that's me in the news. The FBI is serious this time."

John nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings: "It's safe here. Since you're a friend of Salong, you're my guest."

He lowered his voice and gestured for the two to come inside: "It's not convenient to talk outside, let's go in first."

Katalia gave John a slight bow and followed Beta into the villa.

In the spacious living room of the villa, Matilda was curled up on the sofa scrolling through her phone. Today was her day off, and she didn't have to go to school.

Beta's voice came from the entrance hall. She turned her head in surprise: "I thought you weren't coming back today." Before she finished speaking, her gaze was drawn to the strange woman behind Beta.

She was a dark-skinned mixed-race woman. Although her left arm was bandaged, it couldn't hide her tall, well-proportioned figure and delicate features.

Matilda unconsciously sat up straight: "Who is she?"

Beta casually hung his coat on the coat rack in the entryway, a mischievous smile on his face: "Look, this is the adult version of you."

Beta winked at Katalia, then turned to the girl on the sofa: "This is Matilda, the 'mini version' of you I told you about." Katalia looked the girl up and down, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes, before giving a gentle smile: "Hello, I'm Katalia."

She nodded slightly: "Beta is right, we do have some similarities. Not in appearance, but in our feelings."

Matilda crossed her arms over her chest, openly scrutinizing the strange woman before her. This so-called "adult version of herself" inexplicably irritated her.

“We’re nothing alike.” She turned to Beta with a curt tone: “You went out so early in the morning just for this?”

Beta sank into the sofa and stretched dramatically: "Of course, I'll go and be the hero, just like 23 years ago in winter, to make a grand entrance at the most dramatic moment and save a beautiful girl in distress."

Matilda's gaze lingered on Katalia's smiling face for a moment, a sudden, inexplicable unease rising within her. It wasn't the resemblance in appearance, but rather an inexplicable sense of familiarity, like looking into a repulsive mirror.

She turned to Beta: "Are you hurt?"

Beta pretended to be deep in thought and slowly nodded: "Hmm."

Matilda jumped up from the sofa and stood in front of Beta: "Where are you hurt?" she asked anxiously, looking him up and down.

Beta blinked. "I'm hungry."
-
The atmosphere at dinner was subtle.

In their back-and-forth verbal battle, although Katalia was unable to use force due to her injury, her verbal sparring alone was enough to defeat Matilda. The little girl could only angrily turn her face away, refusing to look at this "black matchstick head" again.

Katalia observed the stubborn little girl with great interest, a teasing smile playing on her lips. Beta was right; this bristling little girl was a spitting image of herself when she was young. That familiar stubbornness, that unwillingness to admit defeat, even the way she sulked was exactly the same.

Catalia found the tense dinner rather interesting.

Beta watched the verbal battle with great interest, like a detached spectator. When he saw Matilda ultimately lose, he shook his head with a hint of regret.

At the dinner table, John remained silent, only sipping his clam and mushroom soup spoonful after spoonful, keeping pace with the two women's banter.

"It's quite lively, isn't it?" Beta asked, turning his head.

John didn't even look up, simply replying, "Yeah." His voice carried a hint of contentment.

Beta put down his cutlery and turned to John: "Kataria needs to recover here and will be staying for a while."

"I disagree!" Matilda stood up abruptly. "This is our home, why should she move in?"

Beta raised an eyebrow and chuckled: "If I may remind you, the property deed for this villa is in my name."

“But we’re family!” Matilda counted on her fingers: “You, me, John, and Leon!”

Beta, resting his chin on his hand, asked, "So... you're firmly against it?"

“Of course!” Matilda nodded firmly.

“That’s great.” Beta grinned mischievously. “Since there are no vacancies in the villa, Katalia can share a room with you. Protest rejected.”

Matilda was so angry that she cried.

(End of this chapter)