Chapter 81 — Six Grand Recovered & New Weapons Unlocked
"Hey! That's my money!"
Frank stared in horror as T-Bag pocketed the cash. His voice cracked with panic.
T-Bag let out a soft, mocking laugh.
"Your money?
Frankie, Frankie… do you even hear yourself when you talk?"
He crouched down in front of Frank and patted his cheek twice—almost affectionate—before his expression suddenly iced over.
"You think the whole calling-the-cops thing is water under the bridge?"
The grin vanished.
T-Bag's fist snapped forward—crack—turning Frank's left eye into a black-and-blue mess instantly.
"Let me make somethin' real clear.
We're way past that little six-thousand-dollar tab now."
Before Frank could even whimper a response, T-Bag yanked him upright and shoved him toward the car.
It was broad daylight, and plenty of people were around—
but in this part of town, no one meddled in the business of a bum and a crazy man.
Not a single hand reached for a phone.
Door slam.
T-Bag tossed Frank into the backseat like a dead dog and drove off.
William watched the taillights fade and muttered:
"Unbelievable. This clown show never ends."
He started the Civic and followed.
---
Inside T-Bag's car
Frank lay across the backseat, half-conscious, groaning incoherently.
T-Bag drove one-handed, humming to himself.
"Y'know, Frankie…
you actually did me a favor.
Had my partner thrown in jail.
Poor bastard won't see daylight for… what? Ten years?"
He licked his lips, pleased with himself.
"Which means—these bills are all mine now.
Good news, right?"
Frank didn't respond—he was too busy leaking misery onto the upholstery.
But T-Bag's eyes suddenly narrowed—
a silver Civic had been trailing him since the real estate office.
"Well, well, well…
and what little mouse do we have here?"
Most people would be alarmed.
T-Bag?
He was excited.
He opened the glove compartment, pulling out a battered .50-cal revolver—hand-forged junk, but the stopping power was the real deal.
Left hand on the wheel, right hand stretched back—
BANG!
The rear windshield blew out.
Frank jolted awake with a scream.
"FUCK!"
Pedestrians barely flinched—just ducked behind mailboxes and trash cans.
A true American instinct: hear gunfire, find cover, keep walking.
The same round punched straight through William's Civic windshield, showering him in glass.
"For fuck's sake—this car's rented."
William's patience finally snapped.
If the cops rolled up now, six grand would disappear into an evidence locker—
and good luck prying it back out.
He floored the accelerator, jerked the wheel, and pulled up beside T-Bag—
window to window.
For a split second, their eyes met.
Recognition sparked in T-Bag's face.
"Ohh… look who it is.
The boy who pawned me dear ol' Frankie."
The smile he gave was rotten to the bone—equal parts greeting and threat.
Given his preferences, it wasn't surprising he had an eye on William.
William didn't bother responding.
He just jerked the wheel hard—
BANG!
Both vehicles slammed together.
The rented Civic shoved T-Bag's old Ford straight into the roadside greenery—
CRASH!
Another violent jolt as the Ford smashed into a large boulder.
William braked early, letting the chaos settle, then quickly checked his mirrors.
No pedestrians close enough to see inside the car.
Good.
He reached into the storage space and pulled out an M4A1, but before stepping out, he scanned the street—
no traffic cameras.
Only then did he get out, rifle in hand.
He reached the driver's door of the Ford, yanked it open, and leveled the barrel straight at T-Bag's forehead—
blood already trickling from a cut on his scalp.
He'd been this close to pulling the trigger.
But then he glanced back at his Civic.
Right.
Rented car.
Paper trail.
Murder charge with a bow on top.
"Fuck! If this wasn't a goddamn rental, I'd blow your sick, motherfucking brains out right now!"
William growled.
T-Bag let out a raspy chuckle.
"Heh… boy… I thought we agreed to mind our own business.
Changed your mind already?"
And before William could respond, T-Bag suddenly snapped his arm up—
that shiny, modified .50 revolver back in his hand—
trying to shoot him at point-blank.
But he underestimated William.
The moment T-Bag's muscles twitched, William already saw it coming—
he sidestepped and smashed the rifle butt into T-Bag's face.
"A sneak attack? Fuck you!"
He wanted to kill him right there.
He felt it.
But instead, William's gaze slid to the revolver.
"Nice gun. I'll be taking that."
While T-Bag reeled from the hit, William snatched the weapon cleanly.
[New weapon detected. Add to armory?]
The system prompt flickered, but William ignored it for now.
The revolver was small enough to disappear quickly.
With the street nearly empty—everyone had run at the first gunshot—
William pretended to slip it into his pocket…
…and instead dropped it into the storage space.
T-Bag, dazed, didn't notice a thing.
He barked out a laugh anyway:
"HAHA—boy, you won't dare kill me!
Cops'll be here any second—
and that assault rifle of yours?
Automatic, right?
Wanna guess how many years that'll get you?"
Sirens wailed in the distance.
William cracked his neck.
"Relax, T-Bag.
You'll be rotting in prison long after I'm free and having the time of my life."
THUNK!
Another rifle-butt to the skull silenced him.
Once T-Bag was fully out cold, William opened the back door and dragged Frank out.
The crash had knocked him unconscious again.
He slapped him hard—just to make sure it wasn't an act.
No reaction.
Good.
William leaned back inside, grabbed the bag of $60,000 and the M4, and stashed both in storage space.
He also lifted the mark he'd placed on Frank earlier.
When everything traceable was cleared, he calmly walked back to his own car, leaned against the hood, and waited.
---
Thirty Minutes Later — South Side Police Station
Tony stared at William, unimpressed.
"So let me get this straight:
you saw someone kidnapping Frank,
so you rammed his car off the road to rescue him?"
William looked like a man discussing the weather.
Before he could answer, a firm, elegant voice cut in:
"Apologies for the interruption.
I'm Veronica Donovan, legal counsel representing Mr. William Blake.
Here's my card."
She stepped inside wearing a perfectly tailored suit, carrying a briefcase, confidence radiating off her.
Tony accepted the card with a nod.
"Officer Tony Markovich."
Once Tony stepped out, Veronica took a seat across from William.
"Mr. Blake…
start from the beginning.
What exactly happened?"