American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 29 Leaving
Doyle's gaze swept across the window, and when he turned back, his face had returned to calm.

He took out his phone and dialed a number.

“Speak.” A deep male voice came from the other end of the phone.

Doyle stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the swarm of cars crawling like ants: "My son was killed by the assassins you hired. MI6 is investigating. I don't understand why my son and that bitch would die at the hands of the same person."

"Your son still has the final payment owed to the hitman in his account," the other party said. "Think about it, what would a hitman who's owed money do? You should think about why your son would owe a hitman a final payment."

Doyle's expression was not good.

"That woman named Medea wants to investigate the flow of funds," the caller continued. "We're prepared to destroy all records and make the case a dead end. What's your opinion?"

Doyle stared at the matchbox-sized vehicle at his feet, his voice hoarse: "Keep the original records, then fabricate more evidence to make people believe that Elliot was caught red-handed by that woman, hired someone to kill him, then tried to renege on the deal, only to be killed by the assassin. This whole thing must be completely severed from our control."

“We will compensate you.” The other party’s tone softened: “You lost a son, but you will receive compensation of equal value.”

Doyle silently gazed at the rolling dark clouds in the sky.

"Okay." He hung up the phone.

Raindrops began to patter against the glass, quickly turning into a torrential downpour.

Doyle's silhouette was reflected on the window, blending into the dark clouds.
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The rain pounded against the black umbrella, making a dull sound.

Beta was the last person to remain at Helen's grave.

The white marble tombstone, shaped like a sunflower, is spotless and without any extra decorations. Only rainwater splashes on the petal-shaped stone surface, making a crisp "pat-pat" sound.

The base is inlaid with a photograph of Helen, below which is engraved her name, dates of birth and death, and a brief epitaph:
I love my husband and son deeply—this was her last message to the world.

Beta closed his black umbrella and tilted his face up to face the torrential rain. The rain soaked him through instantly, but he stood motionless like a statue, closing his eyes to endure the rain's baptism.

Rainwater meandered down the car windows, blurring the view outside. Inside, all was silent except for the rhythmic whirring of the wipers.

Matilda leaned against the window, her breath condensing into a white mist on the glass: "He'll get sick."

In the passenger seat, Leon's eyes were still red, and this usually cold-blooded killer showed a rare vulnerability.

He blew his stuffy nose and said in a low voice, "Let him stay for a while."

John, in the driver's seat, rested his hands on the steering wheel, his gaze never leaving Beta. He pursed his lips, maintaining a statue-like silence.

The rain pattered against Beta's face, initially causing a slight stinging sensation, which gradually turned into a numb, dull feeling. The dense rain seemed to be swallowing him up, making even breathing difficult.

He slowly lowered his head, water droplets rolling down his taut jawline.

With a "bang," the black umbrella opened again, blocking the pouring rain. Beta glanced one last time at the sunflower tombstone, then turned and walked towards Cadillac.

The car door was yanked open, and the soaking wet umbrella was carelessly tossed aside. As the door slammed shut, the rainwater that had dripped from him had already formed puddles on the leather seats.

Matilda silently handed him a tissue. Beta took it, but instead of wiping himself, he gently wiped away the raindrops clinging to the girl's hair.

“Let’s have dinner at home,” Beta said calmly. “There’s steak and vegetables Helen bought in the fridge, and a whole can of Häagen-Dazs.” His tone was as casual as if he were talking about the rain outside.

Leon's eyes reddened again, and he turned his face away, casting his gaze at the blurry rain scene outside the window.

“Alright.” John’s tone was as calm as Beta’s: “If we leave it any longer, it won’t be fresh.”

The Escalade started slowly, its tires making a dull thud as they rolled over the puddles. The car bumped along the gravel road, passed through the rusty subway gates of a cemetery, and left the white marble sunflower forever in the torrential rain.

The Cadillac Escalade slowly drove into the garage of the sky-blue villa. The electric roller shutter door emitted a low hum and finally clicked shut with a perfect seal against the ground.

Beta got out of the car first, her soaked clothes leaving watermarks on the floor, and went straight upstairs.

John locked the car, went into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator.

Under the refrigerator light, Helen's purchased ingredients were neatly arranged: top-quality steak, fresh shrimp, seafood, seasonal vegetables, and an unopened can of Häagen-Dazs.

Leon sat at the counter, arranging the ingredients one by one. Matilda quietly took his trembling fingers in her hand.

“My steak,” John said, unpacking the vacuum-sealed package, “can’t possibly compare to Helen’s.”

Leon's reddened eyes trembled slightly, and he nodded silently.

Footsteps came from the stairs.

Beta changed into a linen gray shirt, paired with casual shorts, and came downstairs in slippers.

He picked up the tub of Häagen-Dazs, the silver ice cream scoop gleaming coldly under the light. He scooped out several perfectly round scoops, poured them into a whiskey glass, and handed it to Matilda, then inserted a delicate coffee spoon into the glass: "Eating ice cream on a rainy day has a special charm."

He made another cup in the same way and pushed it in front of Leon: "Sweets can make you feel better."

Matilda sipped her ice cream, but her eyes kept secretly following Beta's every move.

Beta scooped up a large, irregularly shaped piece of ice cream and poured it into Helen's favorite glass bowl. He grabbed a spoon and wolfed down a mouthful, the milky white ice cream immediately smearing his lips.

In the kitchen, John was frying steak in butter, the oil sizzling in the pan and the aroma gradually spreading.

Beta gulped down the ice cream, finishing the entire bowl in the blink of an eye. He stood there for a few seconds, staring at the glass bowl, then silently washed the bowl and spoon, carefully placing them back in their original places.

Matilda keenly sensed the unusual atmosphere in the room; beneath her seemingly calm demeanor lay a turbulent undercurrent of emotion. This perceptive young girl always seemed to be able to sense the turmoil in others' hearts.

In the frying pan, John flipped the steak over.

The once tender steak was now charred black on both sides. He stared at the failed steak in silence for a moment, then finally put it on his plate and quietly placed a new one on top.

This dinner was hardly delicious: four steaks that were either dry or burnt, a bowl of vegetables that had been blanched in water and then haphazardly mixed with salad dressing, and a few pieces of fruit that had been cut up carelessly.

On John's plate lay the steak he had fried until it was black.

The others weren't much better; the knife sliced ​​through the meat as if cutting a stubborn piece of rubber.

(End of this chapter)