America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

Chapter 100 64%

A thunderous roar came from the RV door.

A fat white man with a mohawk and a beer belly walked out, wearing an exaggerated wolf tooth necklace around his neck and holding a half-empty can of Budweiser beer in his hand.

Hearing the roar, the thugs around him, though clearly annoyed, all tucked their guns back into their waistbands.

"Since they are distinguished guests here to discuss business, what's wrong with bringing a couple of small self-defense toys?"

The fat man strode down the steps of the RV, his face beaming with smiles.

"I'm Danny, the boss of the Iron Horse Gang—kids, don't mind if you're young and don't know any better. Come on in, Asian brothers, we've prepared some top-quality Texas barbecue and ice-cold beer."

Chen Ming looked at Danny's peacemaker-like demeanor, but inwardly he sneered.

First, the subordinates use force to exert pressure, and then the boss steps in at the right time to defuse the situation and establish his persona—a classic street gang tactic of intimidation.

Chen Ming didn't shake hands, but simply brushed past him and got into the RV. Old Joe followed closely behind with his gun, while Sophia jogged in as if she had been granted a pardon.

The interior of the RV was much larger than it appeared from the outside, and the air was filled with the mixed smells of cheap cigars and barbecue.

The long table in the center was piled high with greasy roasted ribs, several bottles of cheap whiskey, and scattered account books.

Danny sat back in the main seat, legs spread wide, while Mike stood behind him like a gatekeeper.

"Have a seat," Danny said, gesturing to the folding chair opposite him.

"You want to borrow our manpower to set up a high-end racing tournament in the desert?"

"It's not a loan, it's a collaboration." Chen Ming pulled out a chair and sat down.

"I'll provide the customers, I'll get sponsorships—I can even borrow helicopters for a God's-eye view of the race from the air. You just need to be responsible for the perimeter security, track cleaning, and the after-sales towing service—"

"A helicopter live stream?" Danny squinted.

"You're quite capable—but since it's a collaboration, with our Iron Horse Gang contributing so much manpower and resources, taking only 50% of the profits is more than enough, isn't it?"

He took a swig of beer, his face darkening.

"You're a smart man—but you don't seem to know the rules here." Danny's large belly pressed against the edge of the table.

"In this area, you can't make a profit just by thinking—without the help of our Iron Horse Gang, you wouldn't be able to organize this car race, and you wouldn't even be able to get into the outer desert."

"So what do you mean?" Chen Ming raised an eyebrow.

"At least a 30/70 split, we want 70%, or —"

He sneered and clapped his hands.

The partition door at the back of the RV was pulled open instantly, and four members of the Iron Horse Gang, each carrying a submachine gun, rushed out, their dark muzzles pointed directly at Chen Ming and his two companions.

"Let's settle this right here today. You hand over the contact information for your wealthy friends, and we, the Iron Horse Gang, will handle it ourselves. You can take your 1,000 dollar delivery fee and get lost, or you can stay here forever and feed my pit bulls."

Old Joe instantly picked up his shotgun, but the enemy's submachine gun fire completely suppressed him.

"Fuck you—I knew you bunch of bastards wouldn't keep your word!" Old Joe gritted his teeth.

Sofia was so frightened that she immediately crawled under the table.

But Chen Ming didn't even change his posture, remaining firmly seated in the chair.

"You want me to hand over the resources?"

Chen Ming laughed out loud.

He slowly pulled a black remote control from inside his bulletproof vest and gently pressed it on the table.

"Danny—have you heard about the explosion at that Russian guy named Victor's ranch a while back?"

Danny was taken aback, and his expression changed slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"I went to see him that day, and I happened to leave a small gift at his estate —"

Chen Ming gently stroked the red button on the remote control with his fingertips.

"I have a habit of making some preparations before discussing big business deals—for example, by stuffing high explosives used in quarries into my food cart."

Chen Ming stared directly into Danny's increasingly terrified eyes.

"My vehicle is parked right in the middle of your campsite—with just the touch of my thumb, this RV, along with all that junk outside and your brothers, will explode like fireworks in the desert."

"Can we talk properly now?"

The air inside the RV felt as if it had been sucked out.

The four members of the Iron Horse Gang, each holding a submachine gun, looked at each other, their gun barrels involuntarily lowering slightly.

The bombing of Victor Manor had already become a hot topic in Los Angeles' underworld—

A powerful figure who had dominated Los Angeles for years, commanding several teams of bodyguards and veterans, and had connections in both the legal and illegal worlds, was suddenly killed, his manor was blown up, and not a single survivor was left—everyone was speculating about who was responsible.

If this Asian man was the murderer, and he had planted an equivalent amount of explosives in the food truck—this camp would have been razed to the ground, leaving not even a single piece of metal intact.

"Are you kidding me?"

Cold sweat slid down Danny's forehead along his fat, but he still stared intently at Chen Ming.

"You can take a gamble, Boss Danny."

Chen Ming spoke as if he were having a casual chat.

"Let's see if your bullets are faster or my thumb is faster—I'm all alone, but I can drag the entire Iron Horse Gang down with me. No matter how you look at it, it's a win-win situation. But your entire fortune will be gone."

Danny swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with difficulty.

He couldn't see any trace of bluffing in Chen Ming's eyes—this guy was like a pure antisocial madman!

"Put the gun down!" Danny slammed his hand on the table and roared at his men behind him.

"Get out of here, all of you!"

The four gunmen, feeling as if they had been granted a pardon, immediately put away their weapons and left through the partition door.

"That's right."

Chen Ming put away the remote control with satisfaction and kicked the area under the table with his toe.

"Sophia, get to work. Don't let Boss Danny think we lack professionalism."

Sofia crawled out from under the table, shivering, dusted off her pencil skirt, and slammed the reports from her briefcase onto the table, trying to appear calm.

"Ahem—I've roughly calculated it." Sophia didn't even dare to look Danny in the eye, only staring at the calculator in her hand.

"Your equipment, radio interference, track cleaning, and hush money for the quack doctor—after deducting these costs, it's most reasonable for us to take 60% of the final profit and for your Iron Horse Gang to take 40%."

"Forty percent?"

Danny gritted his teeth, but under the threat of the bomb, he didn't dare slam his fist on the table again.

"You think it's not enough? Use your brain." Chen Ming tapped the table.

"This is a high-society event in Los Angeles; any Ferrari in the race could buy your entire campsite."

Forty percent of the profits are more than you could collect in a year's worth of debt.

"If you disagree, it's not like I have to come after you—there are plenty of other biker gangs or mobsters in Los Angeles. If you don't do it, there are plenty of others who will."

Danny stared at Chen Ming for a full ten seconds before finally grabbing his beer and downing it in one gulp.