As if feeling his gaze, the man in front of him turned his head. It was Beard. He looked at Old Brown, then at the small room next to him, as if he had found something amusing, and showed a disgusting smile.
"Old Man, do you want to buy one? They're all virgins, and the price is very cheap..."
Old Brown stared at him. "Son, do you think that joke is funny?"
Beard's right eyebrow twitched. He was about to say something, but at that moment he felt danger from Old Brown's gaze. He suddenly drew his Colt M1911 pistol and aimed it at Old Brown, his expression instantly turning cold, revealing his viciousness.
"Old Man, I don't like your look!"
Looking at the suddenly deranged Beard, Old Brown didn't raise his hands this time, but instead glanced behind Beard.
Because of this sudden conflict, the few people walking ahead had stopped and looked over. Seeing Felton frowning, Old Brown calmly said to Beard.
"Son, I know you're in a hurry, but I also know your boss doesn't like you doing this."
Sure enough, Felton, who was at the very front, spoke up.
"Beard! Do business properly!"
Looking at the Old Man in front of him and hearing the command from behind, Beard's expression became even more twisted.
He tilted his head, ran the pistol across his neck at Old Brown, then walked past Old Brown and left directly.
Everyone knew what the throat-slitting gesture meant; it was Beard's warning.
Old Brown paid no attention, merely looking at Felton. "I bought your goods, but in the end, am I to be killed by your people?"
Felton's face turned ugly. He waved his hand, assigning someone.
"Go, go watch him. If he dares to lay a hand on a buyer, you kill him."
The assigned subordinate nodded seriously and walked in the direction Beard had left.
"You should be relieved now, right?" Felton said calmly to Old Brown.
Old Brown nodded.
"Then let's continue," Felton immediately turned around, and his two remaining subordinates followed him.
"Three people left…" Old Brown looked back in the direction Beard had left and continued to follow.
He followed the group to the end, then entered a room inside. Looking at everything before him, Old Brown remained silent.
Compared to the chaotic scene outside, this room had everything, like a brand new, dust-free paradise. It was truly one side hell, one side heaven.
Old Brown specifically looked towards the red wine rack on the right, where two more robust men were sitting and drinking wine next to it.
"Russians again," Old Brown noted mentally.
"Two on the right plus three in front, a total of five people…"
At this moment, Felton was already sitting on the central sofa in front, gesturing with his hand.
"Sit!"
Feeling the gaze of the two Russians on the right, Old Brown nodded in acknowledgment, walked slowly, and sat on the small sofa in front of Felton.
"Go, get the goods, and have someone check his weapon."
Felton gave an order, telling the subordinate on his left to get the items. Then he picked up a half-finished glass of red wine from the table in front of him, leaned back on the sofa, swirled the wine glass, and stared at Old Brown.
"You know, Old Man, I admire you. Not many people dare to come here alone."
Old Brown's peripheral vision was fixed on the subordinate walking towards a small room. He said in an indifferent tone.
"At my age, what more do I need to care about?"
"Heh heh," Felton chuckled, taking a sip of the red wine in his glass. "Don't worry, we are legitimate businessmen."
Old Brown was expressionless and did not reply. Instead, he thought of what he had seen and heard outside the room. If the person in front of him was doing legitimate business, then there would be no hell.
The scene fell silent for a moment. Everyone looked at Old Brown, who was sitting on the small sofa. At this time, the subordinate responsible for getting the goods also came out of the small room with a pile of goods.
Under everyone's watchful eyes, the subordinate casually placed these items on the coffee table in front of the sofa, then stood behind Felton.
A small, white, square brick, and several pistols.
The items on it perfectly matched Old Brown's needs; the goods and a pistol like Beard's.
Felton straightened up, placed the red wine glass on the coffee table, and at the same time, pushed the white brick in front of him towards Old Brown.
"Your money can probably only buy this much."
As he spoke, under Old Brown's gaze, he picked up one of the pistols from the coffee table, took the magazine handed to him by the subordinate on his left, inserted it into the slot with a few clicks, and calmly said.
"The remaining money can only buy one pistol."
Felton slowly moved the muzzle to point at Old Brown in front of him, and smiled.
"Choose."
Most people, when stared down by a gun, are unable to remain composed. However, Old Brown remained calm, just as he had said before, at his age, what more did he have to care about?
Old Brown silently picked up the white brick in front of him and tucked it into his embrace, then glanced at the pistols on the coffee table, casually picked up one, and its data automatically appeared in his mind.
"Glock 17, one of Austria's standard light weapons, one of the police's preferred pistols, 9mm bullet, overall length 185mm, weight 0.62kg, barrel length 114mm, magazine capacity 17 or 19 rounds…"
Unfortunately, there was no magazine. Old Brown looked at Felton in front of him and said calmly.
"No magazine."
Felton looked at Old Brown intently for several seconds. Perhaps because of his identity as an Old Man, he eventually shook the pistol, indicating.
"Give him a magazine."
The subordinate next to him heard the command, took out a magazine, and placed it in front of Old Brown.
Under everyone's gaze, Old Brown picked up the magazine, glanced at it, then looked at Felton in front of him.
"Only two bullets?"
Felton showed a hint of mockery, tapping his own head with the pistol. "Old Man, one for your child, one for yourself, that's enough."
"Alright," Old Brown said indifferently, slowly inserting the magazine into the Glock 17.
"It is indeed enough."
At this moment, Felton continued, "A perfect business, Old Man. I hope to see you again next time. Come, send this Old Man…"
However, just as Felton's words reached this point, he suddenly realized that the Old Man in front of him had somehow already picked up a pistol and aimed it at him.
"You!!!"
Felton's heart leaped in shock, but Old Brown had already pulled the trigger—unexpected, swift, and accurate.
Bang!!!!!
A bullet hole appeared on Felton's forehead.
The sudden gunshot startled everyone present. They had underestimated Old Brown because of his age and didn't react instantly. But by the time Felton slumped onto the sofa, they suddenly snapped awake and reached for their guns.
In that brief moment, Old Brown had already followed the steps in his mind, shifting the muzzle to the nearest subordinate and pulling the trigger.
Bang!!!!!
The subordinate who had just reached into his embrace also had a bullet hole in his forehead and fell straight to the ground.
Having completed this step, Old Brown's movements did not stop. He very fluidly used all his strength to smash the empty Glock 17 into the face of another subordinate by the sofa.
"Hmph!!"
Stunned by the blow, the subordinate instinctively covered his face in pain. In that instant, Old Brown had already pounced on Felton in front of him, picking up the pistol that had slid from his hand, and then shot this subordinate.
Bang!!!!
The subordinate hadn't even recovered before he was killed by that shot.
Old Brown's entire action was seamless: first, he caught Felton and the subordinate on his left off guard, killing them with two shots. Then, he threw the empty Glock 17 to buy time to pick up a gun, and then shot the subordinate on the right.
However, the time was equal for both sides. By the time Old Brown had killed the three closest people, including Felton, the two Russians from the red wine rack had already drawn their pistols, aimed at the wide-open Old Brown, and pulled the triggers.
Bang bang!!!!