American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 182 The Truth Matters

Beta and the mute man returned to the factory one after the other.

In the dim light, Allen slumped in a wooden chair, blood trickling down his forehead and congealing into dark red beads on his chin.

Allen mechanically repeated, "I just went to a party; my friends invited me. I didn't know someone was looking for me."

His neck began to tilt backward involuntarily, his Adam's apple bobbing violently up and down, as if something invisible was tearing at his nerves.

Snot streamed uncontrollably down his cracked lips, but he was oblivious, only sniffling incessantly. His facial muscles spasmed violently; his right eye blinked wildly, while the left side of his face remained stiff like a mask.

Fuldi stood three steps away, arms crossed, brow furrowed: "What's wrong with him?"

McCree leaned against the rusty machine tool: "The addiction is acting up. Judging from the symptoms, it's probably a combination drug."

Beta's figure stopped at the edge of the lamplight: "Where did you find him?"

McCree flicked his cigarette ash: "Seaside villa area. There are professional security guards on the outside, but inside it's full of young people. Playing with women, gambling, squandering their lives like all spoiled rich kids."

Beta asked, "How many days did he stay there?"

Fulton swung his hand and slapped Allen hard across the face: "Tell me! How many days did you stay!"

Allen was knocked to the side, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

He was trembling violently, and uttered haltingly, "Three or three days."

Beta asked, "What's your relationship with that Frank family brat?"

Allen squirmed in the chair: "Give me some medicine and I'll talk."

Beta frowned slightly: "You speak first, then I'll give it to you. If you can hold back, you can continue to stubbornly refuse to speak."

Allen is clearly not the tough guy who can tolerate withdrawal symptoms.

He slumped in his chair, like a lump of mud, and confessed honestly: "Frank is my playmate. We slept with a woman together. That day my friend invited me to a party, but he said he didn't want to go and wanted to go home. Please give me some drugs, I'll tell you everything I know."

Beta stared at Allen: "What's your relationship with that friend of yours?"

Allen's teeth chattered: "Their whole family...they all followed in the footsteps of the Fabio family."

Beta asked, "What happened after Frank said he was going home?"

Allen shook his head frantically, snot and blood mingling together: "I don't know... I really don't know."

Beta tilted his head toward Fulton: “Grab a shovel and come to the grass in the back. This tough guy clearly needs some new stimulation to remember what he’s going to say.”

Fulton grabbed a rusty shovel, while Fuldy grabbed Allen by the collar.

The group walked through the dilapidated factory buildings and arrived at the wasteland behind them. McCree slowly drove the Buick out, and two dazzling beams of light illuminated the entire open space.

Beta leaned against the hood of the Buick, the metal hood slumping slightly under his weight.

He gestured with his chin to the illuminated ground: "Let this Mr. Fabio dig himself a pit of suitable size, one that he can lie down in comfortably."

McCree stood by, gun in hand, while Fulton threw the shovel with a thud onto the ground five meters away. Fuldy untied Allen's ropes and then kicked him in the direction the shovel had landed.

Beta's voice was exceptionally clear in the night breeze: "Please, Mr. Fabio."

Under the threat of the gun, Fabio suppressed a violent withdrawal reaction and trembled as he picked up the shovel. He clumsily began to shovel, each movement appearing incredibly difficult, the soil splashing up fine dust as it fell.

“I...I really don’t know,” he said haltingly as he mechanically dug. “I don’t know anything after Frank said he was going home. I was having so much fun at the time, I can’t remember anything at all.”

Beta watched silently, and the others remained in a suffocating silence. Only the sounds of shovels digging and Fabio's heavy breathing echoed in the night air.

Fabio suddenly stopped what he was doing, the shovel clattering to the ground: "I really don't know. Really."

Fulton swung the pipe wrench at his arm: "Did I fucking tell you to stop?!"

Fabio frantically picked up the shovel and continued digging frantically: "I really don't know. Please, let me go. I can give you money. Lots and lots of money."

His voice was filled with desperate sobs, and tears mixed with sweat dripped onto the freshly turned soil.

Beta remained silent, watching with icy eyes as the addict dug his own grave. Every word Fabio uttered was not the answer he wanted to hear.

The entire open space fell silent, with only the sound of shovels scraping against the soil echoing in the night.

Everyone stood in silence, watching as the pit Fabio dug grew larger and larger, yet remained stubbornly shallow. This cowardly bastard was clearly playing tricks, desperately expanding the pit's opening outwards while refusing to dig any deeper.

Beta said, "Dig deeper. Otherwise, if you bury it too shallow, wild dogs will dig it up and gnaw you to pieces. Wouldn't that be a disgrace to the Fabio family? Hmm?"

Fabio mechanically shoveled dirt while sobbing, but refused to dig the hole deeper. His voice trembled with tears as he pleaded, "I'm telling the truth! Really!"

Beta said, "But that's not what I want to hear."

Fabio suddenly froze, hastily wiping away his tears and snot as if grasping at a lifeline: "I can tell you what you want to hear! Really!"

Beta sneered: "What I want to hear is the truth."

Fabio mistakenly thought Beta was implying he was lying, and immediately gave a "I get it" look, nodding hastily: "Yes, yes, the truth is the truth."

Beta lost patience with this spoiled brat whose reason had been corrupted by drugs.

His gaze swept over Fulton, this madman who only knew how to use violence; turned to Foldie, the black kid was too green; swept over Sterling, he was just a technician; and landed on McCree, the old hand but not ruthless enough.

Finally, his gaze settled on the mute man.

The mute man met his gaze and nodded slightly: "Leave it to me."

Beta nodded slightly: "Okay, any means are fine, as long as he tells the truth."

The mute man took a pair of gloves from the Buick, put them on carefully, and then pulled out a shovel: "Understood."

Beta turned and walked toward the Mercedes in the yard, with Katalia following closely behind: "He seems to be telling the truth."

Beta's voice was completely flat: "Everything he says in the last minute before he dies is likely a lie."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a dull thud of a shovel striking flesh came from the direction of the open space, followed by Allen's agonizing screams as he was whipped around on the ground by the shovel.

The mute man remained silent throughout.

Unlike Fulton, who roared and attacked, she silently and persistently chased after Allen, who was rolling on the ground. Every swing of her shovel was precise and powerful, as if she were doing a job that could not afford to make a mistake.

The shovel whistled through the air, each strike landing squarely on flesh, clearly intended to beat Allen to death.

(End of this chapter)