The American TV series "Four-Round Boxing Champion Starts with Shameless"

Page 24

Viktor gritted his teeth, his voice barely audible, "That son of a bitch Mark, how dare he plot against me."

Michael, in the driver's seat, glanced at him through the rearview mirror; his obsidian-like eyes gleamed coldly in the dim light of the car.

“My brother found out that Mark did indeed tip off the cops. That raid was too precise; it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

Jason, in the passenger seat, was wiping a Glock 19 pistol with movements as gentle as if he were caressing a lover's skin.

"If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have needed to spend five thousand dollars to get a gun license!"

"The question is, Viktor, what do you want to do?"

Michael asked without looking up, "Mark is hiding in the college town right now. There are cops everywhere there, and if we want to get revenge, we absolutely can't use gangster methods, or we'll definitely get caught! After all, Mark's father is a multi-millionaire!"

A cold smile tugged at Victor's lips as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled photograph. It showed Mark laughing heartily with his arms around two blonde women in front of a bar.

"Doesn't he like to play dirty tricks? Then let's show him what real 'dirty tricks' are like."

The air inside the car seemed to freeze for a second.

Michael and Jason exchanged a glance and nodded almost simultaneously, but neither of them knew what truly constituted 'yin'.

"You want to abort his penis?"

"The risk is too great! We should take some photos to make it impossible for him to stay at school!"

"Spreading pornography? The police will catch you red-handed every time they investigate!"

Viktor's voice was calm and powerful: "I have a way, with minimal risk!"

"When will we do it?"

Michael asked, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

Victor's voice was low and resolute, "Find him before he becomes suspicious, and give him a gift!"

Jason finally lowered his gun and turned to Victor: "College town is a three-hour drive from here, we need to be well prepared."

Victor pulled a black sports bag from under his seat, unzipped it, and inside were neatly stacked several pairs of gloves, a mask, lock picking tools, and a bundle of cash.

"Everything is ready. We don't need to bring guns; security there is tight. We'll find the 'tools' when we get there."

Michael started the car, the engine roaring like the low growl of some wild beast.

“Let’s go then, let’s give young master Mark a homecoming party he’ll never forget.”

Three hours later, their car stopped in a dilapidated parking lot on the edge of the university town.

This location is some distance from the main campus and has sparse surveillance, making it an ideal base for operations.

The September night wind carried the chill of early winter. Victor turned up the collar of his leather jacket, and his breath appeared briefly under the streetlights before dissipating. He remained in the car and did not get out.

The two who got off the bus were Michael and Keeson, who were thin and wearing hooded clothes, so you couldn't tell who they were at all.

“He’s not at school, his classmates told us. He’s at the Blue Shell Bar right now.”

"The blues shell is three blocks away,"

Jason said in a low voice, glancing around, "Mark usually stays there until around one in the morning. We have forty minutes."

Jason took three baseball caps and several hoodies with skull and crossbones logos from the trunk.

"Wearing this, you'll look like ordinary thugs."

The three changed their clothes and walked to the bar area.

Friday nights in the university town are incredibly lively, with groups of students laughing and playing in the streets, and the air thick with the scent of alcohol and hormones.

They blended into the crowd and went unnoticed.

"Blue Shell" is a semi-underground bar with a long queue outside.

Instead of queuing, Victor led Michael and Jason around to a narrow alley on the side of the building.

The alley was piled high with beer crates and garbage, and the stench was overwhelming.

"There are bodyguards at the back door,"

Michael pointed to a tall figure in the shadows, “But we don’t need to go in. Mark always comes to this alley to throw up or smoke when he’s drunk.”

Victor nodded, took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and the three of them waited at the alley entrance, pretending to be ordinary smokers.

Time ticked by, the music from the bar was deafening, and drunken students stumbled in and out of the alley every now and then.

At 12:45 a.m., the target finally appeared.

Mark Williams—a former student at a school on Chicago's South Side, the second son of the Williams family, and now a college student—staggered out the back door, his blond curly hair looking like a tangled mess in the dim light.

He was dressed in expensive designer jeans and a tight T-shirt, with a thick gold chain around his neck, looking every bit the nouveau riche.

He was also holding a little girl beside him—Michael's ex-girlfriend.

"Damn, he really thinks he's someone important."

Jason scoffed in a low voice.

Victor's eyes turned sharp as knives.

"Wait until he gets deep into the alley before you make your move."

Mark staggered toward the trash can, unzipped his pants, and began to urinate. Michael's ex-girlfriend helped support Mark, humming a tuneless song.

Just then, Viktor gave a hand signal, and the three of them quickly and silently approached their target.

Mark had just zipped up his jacket and turned around when he saw three dark figures surrounding him.

He blinked, his eyes glazed with drunkenness, and said, "Hey guys, this spot's taken—"

His words were interrupted by a precise, powerful punch to the stomach from Michael.

Michael's ex-girlfriend was also in a daze. As soon as she looked up, Victor punched her in the face, sending blood and flesh flying. She fell to the ground and couldn't get up.

"Michael, she'll charge you a maximum of five dollars per time from now on!"

Michael spat: "I'll have Frankie bring a bunch of people to her business."

Mark bent over like a shrimp and began to gag painfully.

Victor grabbed his hair and forced him to lift his head.

"Do you remember me, Mark?"

Viktor's voice was terrifyingly soft.

Mark's eyes, fueled by alcohol and fear, finally focused, and he recognized the person in front of him.

“Victor? Damn, you should be in the police station… It’s a misunderstanding—I know I was wrong!”

"A misunderstanding? You know you were wrong?"

Victor sneered, "You know you're going to suffer a fate worse than death!"

Jason had already moved behind Mark and covered his mouth and nose with a cloth soaked in chloroform.

Mark struggled for a few moments, his eyes gradually lost focus, and his body went limp.

"Quick, before anyone sees us."

Viktor gave the order in a low voice.

Michael and Jason lifted the unconscious Mark and quickly dragged him deeper into the alley.

Victor walked ahead and found a back door leading to the abandoned building next door.

The door lock was rusty, and Jason easily opened it with a crowbar.

The building's interior was dark and damp, reeking of mold and urine.

They went down to the basement, where Michael used his phone as a light to find a relatively clean, empty room.

Victor took out a rope from his sports bag, and the three of them skillfully tied Mark to a broken chair and then taped his mouth shut.

"It's time to wake him up."

As he spoke, Victor took a small bottle of ammonia from his bag and held it under Mark's nose.

Mark woke up with a start, his eyes wide open, looking around in terror.

When he realized his situation, he began to struggle frantically, making muffled noises through his mouth which was sealed with tape.

Victor slowly put on his gloves, then punched Mark in the face.

Blood gushed out immediately from his nose, staining the tape red.

"This punch is for you bullying me!"

Viktor said, throwing another punch, "This is so you can report me!"

Mark's tears mingled with blood as they streamed down his face. He shook his head frantically, his eyes filled with pleading—but he couldn't speak.

"You think I'm going to just kill you?"

Victor leaned down to meet Mark's gaze. "That's too easy for you, Mark. No, I'm going to make you remember tonight, remember the price of offending me, Victor Lee."

He straightened up and turned to Michael and Jason: "Go stand guard at the alley entrance and don't let anyone get close."

The two brothers nodded and left the room.

Victor took out his pager and sent a message. He then walked back to Mark and tore off the tape from his mouth.

Mark immediately began begging for mercy: "Victor, please, I can pay you back, double! I have money! I just—"

Victor calmly gave the order, and Mark immediately fell silent. "Do you know what college town has in abundance? Drug addicts. Especially those addicts who would do anything for their next shot."

Mark's face turned deathly pale. He understood Victor's intention: "No...please, Victor, don't do this...I can leave Chicago and never come back—"

"It's too late, Mark."

Viktor's voice was devoid of warmth. "To keep you quiet, I can only give you a reason you can't refuse: after tonight, you'll want me to kill you."

Twenty minutes later, five gaunt-looking drug addicts—men and women—appeared in the basement.

Their eyes were glazed over, and their bodies were trembling, but their eyes lit up when Victor showed them the stack of cash.

"The rules are simple,"

Victor said, "One hundred dollars each. This guy is yours, do whatever you want with him, but in the end, you have to beat him up like this—"

He took out a photo of a man with disfigured features, saying, "A person in a vegetative state who can't speak, write, or move, understand?"