America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

The other accomplice on the water tower spat out his chewing gum and pulled a pistol from his back.

"What are you daydreaming about? If the other gangs find out that our boss can't even outrun a fried rice delivery truck, how are we supposed to survive in the underworld?"

He pulled the slide to chamber a round, aiming one eye at the rapidly spinning right front wheel of the dining car.

"Let's see how a tin box with a flat tire can still run..."

boom!

The gunshot instantly pierced through the country music playing on the radio.

Chen Ming felt the steering wheel suddenly lurch to the right, and the right front wheel exploded with a loud bang and went flat instantly. The massive vehicle, weighing several tons, lost its balance and tilted violently on the sand.

"Shooting in the back? That's truly authentic California street style..." Chen Ming's eyes turned cold.

For an ordinary person, they might have slammed on the brakes out of fear at this point, causing the car to overturn.

But Chen Ming didn't brake. Instead, he downshifted and floored the accelerator, turning the steering wheel sharply with the force of the blown tire!

Instead of tipping over, the food cart, having lost traction on one side, used the violent eccentric force to hurtle straight toward the load-bearing iron frame at the bottom of the water tower like a mad bull.

"Shit, he's coming for us!"

The henchman who fired the shot was so frightened that his voice cracked, and he retreated repeatedly.

Clang!

The sturdy, reinforced safety bar of the food cart slammed into the supporting pillar of the water tower, causing the long-neglected, abandoned water tower to creak and shake violently under the strain.

Rust and dust rained down, and the two gang members at the top of the tower screamed as they clung to each other, their pistols falling directly into the sand below...

Chen Ming skillfully shifted into reverse, and the rear of the car swung out in a beautiful semi-circle before completing the U-turn.

He rolled down the car window, leaned out, and shouted at the two terrified men above.

"The tire change and labor cost five hundred dollars in total. Remember to have your boss settle the payment later, otherwise I'll have to do it again!"

After saying that, Chen Ming stepped on the gas.

The food cart, with its right front tire blowout, limped back towards the starting line amidst sparks and the screeching of metal scraping against metal.

……

Half an hour later.

At the starting line, Chen Ming had already used a hydraulic jack to lift the heavy food truck and started removing the tires when the pickup truck finally arrived and stopped in the messy sand.

The burly man pushed open the car door and jumped out, his face and head covered in mud mixed with sweat, his eyebrows almost completely covered by sand.

Old Joe gripped his shotgun tightly, worried that the guy might pull out his gun in a fit of anger.

Chen Ming didn't even lift his eyelids.

"I won, so Old Joe's money is wiped clean, with interest, plus I'll give you five hundred dollars for the scrapped tire... cash or card?"

Old Qiao, standing nearby, swallowed hard, feeling that Chen Ming was simply adding fuel to the fire.

Unexpectedly, the burly man did not fly into a rage; instead, he tore off his leather gloves and vigorously patted the dust off his thighs.

"Yes, a loss is a loss." The burly man spat.

"I've never been overtaken so thoroughly before, let alone by a food truck..."

He strode up to Chen Ming, pulled out a roll of sweaty US dollars from his pocket, counted out ten hundred-dollar bills, and slapped them onto the hood of the food truck.

"I'll pay you double the money." The burly man gritted his teeth, then turned around and glared fiercely at the water tower in the distance.

"That idiot who shot at the water tower broke the rules of the underground car race. I'll break his nose for you myself later and then kick him out of the gang."

"Your driving skills deserve respect."

Old Joe stared in disbelief at the scene, forgetting to put down his gun. Chen Ming picked up the banknotes, dusted them off, and put them in his pocket, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

In California, a place rife with scoundrels and freebies, it's amazing to actually run into a gang member who adheres to old-fashioned underworld rules...

That's quite a rare thing.

"I thought you were going to pull out the gun on your waist and cheat." Chen Ming leaned against the food cart and looked at the guy who was a head taller than him again.

"What's your name?"

"Mike, the second-in-command of the Iron Horse Gang." Mike snorted coldly.

"We may be loan sharks, but we're not those untrustworthy politicians in Washington... We've been taken down today. Old Joe's debt is wiped clean, and the Iron Horse Gang will never set foot on this land again."

"People who stick to old-fashioned rules like you are indeed rare these days," Chen Ming asked casually.

"I heard your Iron Horse Gang started out by organizing underground car races. How's business now?"

Mike hadn't expected this Asian man who had beaten him to be interested in the gang's business, but he still pulled out a flattened Marlboro, lit it, and answered truthfully.

"In the early days, it really was... Back then, this desert was packed with pickup trucks and muscle cars every weekend, it was quite lively."

He exhaled a smoke ring, his tone tinged with frustration.

"But with the economy so bad, factory workers and dockworkers can't even afford the damn property taxes and health insurance, so where would they get the spare money to gamble?"

"This place is too remote. We can't compete with those underground car races in downtown Los Angeles that are only for the rich... Nobody's interested, so the gang simply stopped doing it in the last two years and can only make a living by lending money at high interest rates."

"Can't compete?" Chen Ming raised an eyebrow.

"Which of those rich kids in the city who drive supercars would want to come to the Mojave Desert to eat sand?" Mike shrugged, then changed the subject, a hint of schadenfreude appearing on his rugged face.

"However... the Russian who crushed us a while ago must have offended some ruthless person. His house was blown up, and all his elite troops were wiped out."

"That's really scary... and then?" The ruthless Chen Ming asked calmly.

"The city's racing scene has been in complete chaos since that Russian died," Mike grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

"Our boss is also thinking of taking advantage of this lull to get the desert racing business back up and running... Oh, you're such a good driver, want to ask around and maybe try making some extra money here?"

"Making extra money? That's no small matter." Chen Ming patted the engine oil off his hands.

"I have a big deal."

"What do you mean?"

"What if I told you I had a way to get those rich kids from Beverly Hills and Santa Monica who drive McLarens and Porsches to willingly come to the desert and eat sand?" Chen Ming asked bluntly.

Mike thought he'd heard the biggest joke in the world.

"What a joke, you expect those rich young men to come to a place like this... unless you can prepare dozens of naked Hollywood actresses."

"I'll handle the people, and I've already prepared the land... I can even get a big-name reporter to help with the publicity." Chen Ming ignored his mockery.

"Are you serious?" Mike frowned, seeing that Chen Ming didn't seem to be joking.

"What do you want us to do?"

"I'm short of people, I'm short of real experts, someone who has organized underground car races." Chen Ming stared into Mike's eyes.

"Border blocking, on-site security, radio frequency monitoring, odds calculation at the betting market... including accident towing and unlicensed emergency medical services, your Iron Horse Gang has done all of this before, right?"