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"Are you going to meet them?"
"I don't have time, you go to Tulsa!"
A cruel smile curled at the corner of Victor's lips. "Let the Indians do the work. We'll provide the guns and cannons and take down Dwight!"
Chapter 122 King of Talsa
Over the next two days, Frankie and his men drove to Tulsa.
Frankie, meanwhile, was in the car repeatedly considering all the possible scenarios for the meeting.
What was Manfred's "gift"?
Or is it a blatant death warning?
He both craved this enormous opportunity and loathed entrusting his fate to these old-school mafia.
They value loyalty, but also revere betrayal; everything depends on self-interest.
Victor's rise to power was based on ruthlessness and timing, not on red tape and so-called "tradition." Franky, on the other hand, benefited from this—without Victor dealing with the biggest power within the mob, even killing Shree would have been nothing more than a minor incident.
He felt like he was walking a tightrope, with both a mountain of gold and an abyss below.
He inspected the weapons his men had prepared and selected a compact handgun to be carried close to his body and a Remington.
His bodily memory calls for a more primal way—his fist.
In prison and in street fights, his fists were his most reliable companions.
By the time they arrived in Tulsa, the more than 600 Chinese residents on the two farms had already spread the news:
"He has a marijuana plantation with a guard of one and a half men. I didn't see any guns, but they can make more than five thousand dollars in cash a day."
"It seems he's hooked up with a Gypsy at a bar, and the two seem to be working on some kind of collaboration."
"He got very close to a woman from the Fireworks and Fireworks Administration, and the two of them slept together. It seems that this woman was helping him."
"There's a woman from the farm who also has an ambiguous relationship with him... I don't understand, he's already seventy-five!"
Upon hearing this, Franky understood—this was clearly someone who should be valued, but was not valued and was sent here!
Shortly after, Franky had an idea:
"The Indians and our thirty men, come with me to the bar. All of you, bring your gear and get it ready for use!"
"Have two people rob that marijuana dispensary! Oh, and keep the one among them who's laundering money; that's a real talent!"
······
Night at the Iron Fist Bar:
The bar was filled with a mixture of smells of beer, sweat, and cheap cigarettes.
The lighting was dim, and in the corner were old punching bags and posters of some boxing stars.
This place is less of a bar and more of a gathering place for drunks, prostitutes, and the downtrodden.
Franky, wearing a bulletproof vest, went in with two of his two most trusted men, while the others were scattered around the bar's perimeter, controlling all the exits and nearby high points.
Dwight Manfreddy was sitting in the innermost booth.
He was indeed old, with silver hair and deep wrinkles on his face, but he sat upright, wearing a well-tailored dark suit, which made him stand out from his surroundings.
Behind him stood two burly, expressionless young men, their suits bulging with what appeared to be weapons.
Next to him sat an old man.
Manfred saw Frankie, gave him a formulaic smile, and gestured for him to sit down.
"Mr. Franky, you're right on time. Welcome."
Franky sat down, staring intently at the other man: "I am not Victor, and you are not worthy to see Victor."
"you···"
“My name is Frankie, and I’m in charge of our company’s business in Tulsa.”
Franky was ready to make his move: "You and I are both lowlifes, not respectable in America, so why did you come to the farm to find us?"
“Of course, it is you who need us.”
"We need you? Actually, you need us."
Franky grew impatient: "Where's your gift, General? I don't have much time."
Manfred raised his hand slightly, and one of his men took out a small metal box and pushed it in front of Frankie.
Inside was neither money nor drugs, but an old gold pocket watch with a faded badge on the cover.
"This was given to me many years ago by a business friend."
Manfred said slowly, “It represents a commitment, an ancient trust. I hope it can be the beginning of our cooperation.”
Franky picked up the pocket watch; it was cold and heavy.
He realized almost immediately that this was more of a warning—about time, about tradition, about their unquestionable order.
He put down his pocket watch, his voice completely flat: "Very beautiful. But let's talk about business now, Dwight. You're basically doing business with no capital, yet you dare to target us? We can afford to spend thirty million on land, why would we care about you?"
The negotiations instantly became tense.
Manfred's smile vanished, replaced by a cold, authoritative expression.
"Young people, some markets are not just about the numbers in front of you. By cooperating with us, you will gain a future and security."
"I like to create my own future."
Frankie refused to budge an inch.
Suddenly, the "old guy" next to Manfred started coughing violently, his voice hoarse and unpleasant. He stood up unsteadily, as if he wanted to go to the restroom.
Just as he passed by Franky, a startlingly fierce light suddenly burst forth from his seemingly cloudy eyes!
His hunched body straightened like a spring, and with a flash of cold light in his hand, a specially made slender bayonet was thrust straight at Franky's neck!
This wasn't planned!
This isn't even like Manfred's style!
In a flash, almost instinctively, Franky leaned back sharply!
The bayonet grazed his skin, drawing a line of blood.
Manfred stood up abruptly, took a step back, and the two bodyguards behind him instantly drew their guns!
But Franky's men reacted even faster!
Franky kicked over the table, blocking the line of fire, and another henchman drew his gun and fired!
Oh, it's a crude Chicago typewriter.
boom!boom!boom!boom!
The bar erupted into chaos!
Screams, the sound of shattering glass, and gunshots rang out all at once!
The suppression due to firepower superiority is complete!
But the assassin disguised as an old man missed his first attack and immediately pounced again like a leech. His movements were astonishingly fast, not at all like an old man, and he had obviously undergone extremely rigorous training!
Bayonets flashed, each strike deadly!
Franky dodged the fatal stab, and the anger in his heart was completely ignited.
This is not negotiation, this is blatant assassination!
Manfred had no intention of cooperating; he just wanted to get rid of him and then forcibly take over!
Franky abruptly ripped off his cumbersome suit jacket, revealing a tight vest and a well-defined physique underneath.
He stopped trying to draw his gun; at close range, the killer was too fast!
The assassin lunged again, but Franky slid to the side, executing a standard boxing dodge, and simultaneously delivered a heavy left hook to the assassin's arm!
With a crisp crack, the assassin's arm was clearly broken!
But he just grunted and, ignoring his injuries, reached out with his other hand like a venomous snake, grabbing at Franky's eyes!
Franky stepped back, ducked, and dodged the grab, while simultaneously delivering a fierce right hook from below, aimed at the assassin's jaw!
The assassin parried, but Franky's strength far exceeded his expectations!
That's the power forged in life-or-death battles on the streets!
The heavy fist smashed through the blocking arm and landed squarely on the target!
The assassin was knocked off balance, but surprisingly, he didn't fall!
He spat out a mouthful of blood, his eyes growing even more frenzied, and lunged forward again!
The bar has been transformed into a primitive gladiatorial arena.
The people around were still fighting, and gunshots rang out sporadically, but an eerie vacuum had formed between Franky and the assassin.
Frankie got into the zone.
His world consisted only of his current opponent.
He moved nimbly, maintaining his distance, his fists guarding his jaw, his gaze fixed on every subtle twitch of his opponent's muscles.
The assassin charged again, slashing the dagger toward Frankie's abdomen.
Franky seized the opportunity and unleashed a swift right straight punch like a cannonball, striking the assassin directly in the face!
The sound of the collapsed nose bridge was clearly audible!
The assassin screamed in agony, his movements abruptly halting.
Franky won't give him any chance!
The combined punches came down like a storm!
He hit her nose again, which was already bleeding profusely!
Target the liver!