American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 153 Let a professional team do professional things
Beta descended the spiral staircase slowly, her shoes clicking on the marble steps. In the living room, Matilda was chattering incessantly around Leon, her hair swaying from side to side with her lively movements.

"How have you been lately?" Beta approached and gently patted Leon on the shoulder. "It's been a long time since I've seen you."

Leon raised his head, a complex emotion flashing in his weathered eyes: "It's alright, it's just..."

His voice deepened, and his gaze shifted to Matilda beside him.

"Just what?" Beta frowned slightly, keenly sensing the change in atmosphere.

Leon took a deep breath, his fingers tracing the armrest of the sofa: "It's about Matilda."

Matilda immediately quieted down.

Beta noticed her fingers tightening around the hem of her skirt: "What is it?"

“The murderer who killed Matilda’s parents and brother,” Leon said in a somber voice, “I have found him.”

These words struck the living room like a bolt of lightning.

Matilda's eyes widened suddenly, her small body tensing: "Who is it?!" Her voice was so sharp it almost cracked.

Beta paused for a moment, then pulled the trembling Matilda into his arms.

The girl's slender shoulders trembled incessantly in his arms, and he gently patted her back: "Calm down, let Leon finish speaking first."

Leon's gaze fell on the swaying shadows of the trees outside the window, his voice low and restrained: "He's a DEA cop, Stansfield."

Matilda buried her face in Beta's chest, muffled sobs escaping her lips. Though she had cursed her alcoholic father and resented her cold stepmother countless times, it was still her only home. She had fantasized about running away, but never imagined she would "escape" through the bloodshed of her entire family.

"What are you planning to do?" Beta asked.

Leon said, "For Matilda, blood must be paid for."

"You're going to do it yourself?" Beta frowned.

Leon nodded silently, his eyes burning with murderous intent.

Beta slowly shook his head: "Have you seen the news? My identity has been completely cleared."

He lifted Matilda's tear-streaked face: "I don't want anyone around me to have blood on their hands again. We're going to Italy, to live openly and honestly in the sunlight."

Tears glistened on her face: "Are you just going to let that bastard go like that?"

Her voice trembled with anger, and her hands gripped Beta's collar tightly.

Beta gently wiped away her tears: "Who said we were going to let him go?"

His gaze shifted to Leon: "Killing doesn't necessarily require doing it yourself."

Leon's brow furrowed deeply: "So what you mean is?"

Beta pulled out a gold-embossed business card with only a phone number on it.

“I happen to know a professional team.” He lightly flipped the business card: “A madman who dares to challenge even God when he’s insane, a reckless young man who fears nothing, a cunning fox, a mute who doesn’t like to talk, plus a cyber genius who can surf the Pentagon’s system.”

He paused deliberately, watching Leon and Matilda's eyes widen: "If the commission is right, these guys would even dare to steal the White House's nuclear launch codes."

Beta gently placed the business card on the coffee table: "As for a mere DEA policeman? He's nothing more than an appetizer to them."

Matilda's tears still clung to her eyelashes, yet she couldn't resist leaning closer to examine the business card. Leon thoughtfully stroked his stubble, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes: "Is it reliable?"

Beta chuckled. "Last time they almost painted the Statue of Liberty pink for $30,000. What do you think?"
-
In an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Los Angeles, Fulton kicked over the folding table in front of him, scattering documents like snowflakes. His thick arms swung in the air, and his dirty vest flew up with the violent movement, revealing a pistol tucked into his waistband.

"Plans! Plans! Plans!" he roared, spitting all over Sterling's face. "All you ever do is talking about are these damn plans!"

Fulton grabbed the stack of action plans and tore them to shreds in front of Sterling, the scraps falling like snowflakes onto the rusty iron floor.

He suddenly leaned close to Sterling, his missing front tooth giving him a menacing grin: "Can't you learn from Mr. Hat?"

Fulton's breath reeked of sour whiskey: "Let's get this big done!"

He spread his arms wide, like a mad conductor: "Bang! Boom! Crash—! How simple!"

In a corner of the warehouse, McCree silently lit a cigarette, the butt flickering in the dim light. Faldy rolled his eyes and continued fiddling with his phone. Only the mute leaned against the wall, watching the farce with amusement.

Sterling slammed his fist on the table, his eyes wide behind his glasses. He grabbed the ripped pieces of the schedule that Fulton had torn up, his fingers trembling: "This is fucking a huge deal!"

His voice suddenly rose, echoing in the empty warehouse: "Robbing the underground vault of the Los Angeles branch of the Federal Reserve Bank! Isn't that big enough?!"

"Do you know how many tons of gold are lying down there?" he roared. "A full twenty-seven tons! $29.1 billion!"

Sterling's spittle landed on Fulton's face: "Enough to crush your beat-up truck into a pancake!"

Sterling was trembling with rage: "This is your fucking 'big deal,' Fulton Phillips."

He pointed to the rusty iron gate of the warehouse: "Either do it my way, or go back to your trailer and keep drinking your cheap whiskey!"

In the corner, McCree exhaled a smoke ring, and Fuldi finally looked up from his phone.

The mute woman stepped forward, pressing one hand on Fulton's bulging shoulder and the other against Sterling's violently heaving chest, forcefully pushing them both back into their seats: "Quiet."

Sterling glared at Fulton, about to speak, when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket.

He took out his phone and glanced at it: "It's your dear 'Mr. Hat'."

He slammed his phone down on the table, and the incoming call display on the screen was clearly visible—a skull wearing a top hat was flashing.

Fulton grabbed the phone, pressed the answer button, and gave an exaggerated French salute: "Oh, dear Mr. Hat! How can I help you?"

Beta's deep voice came from the other end of the phone: "Where's Sterling?"

Fulton glanced at Sterling, who was trembling with rage beside him, and grinned, revealing his missing front tooth: "Sterling is dead!"

He deliberately dragged out his words: "I just made him so angry that he had a heart attack and is now lying in the morgue!"

"Dead?" Beta was clearly taken aback, his voice filled with rare confusion.

Sterling, unable to contain himself any longer, snatched the phone and pushed up his slipping glasses: "Hello, Mr. Hat."

His voice regained the composure of a professional advisor: "I am Sterling. Please ignore what that madman just said."

Beta chuckled on the other end of the phone: "There's a new job. As long as the budget is reasonable, you can do whatever you want."

"What kind of work is it?"

"Deal with one person, a scumbag of DEA."

(End of this chapter)