Shards of glass exploded outward, slicing Eric's face, as the heating duct burst open from the small explosion. Hot air blasted Eric's face, burning so fiercely that he couldn't keep his eyes open, making half his face sting with pain.
"Damn, this is messed up..."
When he remembered to check on Ricaldo, he saw that Ricaldo had already fallen to the ground.
The explosion definitely impacted his aim, but it wasn't that far off—it had hit Ricaldo right in the thigh, and blood was gushing out.
"Ahh—you little bastard..." Ricaldo clutched his wound, writhing in pain and disappointment.
"This is your own doing..." Eric looked at the writhing Ricaldo on the floor and chambered another round.
But this last shot wouldn't come. He suddenly recalled the gang's "good stuff" they had given him.
It was a few blue pills. The big boss had patted him on the shoulder when handing them over, speaking earnestly: "This job can get tough. If you feel like you can't go through with it, take one of these. We call them 'Courage Pills'—they're expensive as hell.
And remember, take them one at a time. Even our guys haven't tried taking them all at once."
Without hesitation, Eric popped all the pills into his mouth, and the world spun around him.
He saw naked women surrounding him, he saw the gang bowing to him, and everywhere he looked, there was an endless supply of alcohol.
He saw piles of blue "Courage" pills in front of him, and in his hand was a scoop, like the kind used for ice cream, though he had no idea why he was using it.
He scooped a pill and was about to bring it to his mouth when he suddenly heard Ricaldo's voice.
"Dad?" Eric slurred, "It's so good to see you—you're such a coward, you should take some Courage."
Bang!
Eric handed the pill to Ricaldo, then took one himself.
He just couldn't figure out why his dad made such a big fuss when taking his pill.
"Good stuff, Dad, real good stuff. You should've tried some Courage a long time ago."
Bang!
---
The farce ended in the afternoon.
NYPD finally overturned the case for the homeowner killed by the toothpick killer—surveillance footage caught Bullseye committing the crime in the streets.
Bullseye was a professional criminal who had been bailed out many times, but that also meant he had been caught many times. Now, many cold cases had new leads.
This was all thanks to Leo's surveillance. Without it, the mangled Bullseye beneath the bulldozer would have been unidentifiable. Without the footage, no one could have confirmed the identity of the killer.
This public assassination was eventually classified by the NYPD as part of an organized crime operation. Kingpin's name might not have been uncovered, but everyone knew there had to be someone behind it.
Ironically, the terrifying toothpick assassin, who boldly hunted law-abiding citizens in broad daylight, met his end by being crushed by a Union Construction Company bulldozer for running a red light.
The only parties held responsible were the speeding, overloaded bulldozer and the Union Construction Company behind it.
"That night, NYPD also found several bodies in other locations—these were real gang members.
Car thieves, power thieves... all small-time criminals with records. It looks like they were handled internally by the gang—any thoughts?"
Matt read the report with a light heart—he was bandaged up too, though it was just some minor injuries.
Unlike Leo, who was hooked up to life support, even breathing through an oxygen mask.
"Well, I guess someone ordered them to cut the surveillance power lines, but they didn't realize it wouldn't work."
Leo answered Matt's question—the backup power lines for the surveillance were newly installed by him.
The gang's tech guys were amateurs who didn't account for such contingencies.
"Then I have to say, as a security consulting company, Blume has really made a name for itself. I guess you'll be moving out soon."
Cough cough!
From the other bed in the room, Mr. Ricaldo coughed a few times.
He had narrowly escaped death—shot in the thigh and face, but he was quickly rescued by the tenants who arrived in time.
Eric, however, wasn't so lucky—he died at home. The coroner's report showed he had overdosed on highly potent hallucinogens and committed suicide by shooting himself.
It was incredibly bizarre, but for someone taking ultra-high-stimulation synthetic drugs for the first time, it wasn't impossible. People high on these substances might even strangle themselves, let alone shoot themselves with a gun.
"Don't worry." Leo smiled, "Mr. Ricaldo, I'm not moving out, not until I've at least paid back the money my mom owes you all.
How's John doing?"
Skye quickly answered, "Well, he's not doing great, but thanks to timely treatment, his lungs and throat might have some lasting damage, but he'll live.
Though he might have a raspy voice from now on."
The so-called timely rescue didn't come from the hospital's ambulance, but rather from a passing taxi driver.
Thanks to physically forged reputation, the passing driver had vowed to get John to the hospital on time—that image of that driver making the promise is still fresh in Skye's mind.
According to the doctors, if it was even just a few seconds later, John still might have woken up, but he'd have suffered permanent and severe brain damage from oxygen deprivation.
"But I guess he's not feeling too great right now—Anthony's been taking care of him, singing to him every day, and teaching little John to sing along."
"So he's definitely not feeling great."
The room burst into laughter.
Captain George Stacy, standing nearby, also smiled.
For some reason, there was just a sense of vitality around this kid.
He put on his police cap and said, "Now that the hero of Clinton District is awake, I'll be heading out. On behalf of the entire NYPD, I want to thank you—or rather, all of you.
Lastly, Mr. Ricaldo, we've reviewed your case from years ago. It turns out that guy was indeed connected to the 'Black Street Enforcer' case that's been reopened.
We still can't confirm that your wife's death was linked to him, but your sentence was indeed excessive. The NYPD will be processing compensation for you."
Ricaldo snorted, clearly indifferent to the police—even a captain.
But his increasingly teary eyes showed that he wasn't as calm inside.
"Well, I'll be off then. This case is going to keep us busy for quite some time."
"Take care, Captain Stacy—and thank you for everything you've done for Hell's Kitchen."
"The thanks should go to yourselves."
George gave Leo a long look—his views had shifted slightly because of this young man.
After the captain left, Leo suddenly asked, "So, Mr. Ricaldo, what happened back then?"
Ricaldo closed his eyes and gently shook his head. "Some unimportant old stories. I used to have a bad temper, always ready to go up against the gang with a gun.
One day, when I wasn't home, some guy broke into the apartment and killed... her.
The tenants didn't want to testify; they all moved out, so I had to take matters into my own hands—that's why I went to prison. Eric, he..."
There was no need for Ricaldo to finish; everyone could guess the rest.
Ricaldo finished speaking and turned over, "I'm going to sleep. Don't disturb me."
The room fell silent, but it was a peaceful silence, not an empty one.
"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."
Leo said, laying in his hospital bed, feeling that this outcome was worth all the effort—if he hadn't intervened, things might have turned out very differently.
A blind NYPD would have let Hell's Kitchen rot, with residents hating both the cops and the gangs, yet too scared of the law and violence to fight back.
Kingpin would have grown stronger by the day, with Hell's Kitchen as his first stepping stone, crushed beneath his criminal empire, never to rise again.
But most importantly, Mr. Ricaldo survived.
Ricaldo had once used that gun to fight the gang, to avenge his wife; now his son wanted to use that same gun to do the gang's bidding, to kill his own father.
Maybe this was a symbolic turning point—the gang kid died, and the one who survived is Ricaldo, who, even after all he'd been through, was still willing to help others.
Even Lady Luck had sided with them—though Leo liked to think he was in control of everything, he admitted that every situation needed a bit of luck.
Leo felt sorry for Mr. Ricaldo, but he had no regrets and no guilt over the kid's death.
After a while, Matt and Skye returned to work, and Mr. Ricaldo quietly fell asleep.
Only Maya stayed by Leo's side—she hadn't said much earlier, sensing that her words didn't quite fit the mood.
"Mom, I know what you want to say, but don't you think all this was worth it?"
Maya smiled softly, stroking Leo's hair, "Son, that's why I didn't say anything. You've grown up."
Leo removed the oxygen mask and sat up, looked at the wrinkles on his mother's face, and said, "Mom, believe me, one day we'll live in a home like a sky garden—everyone will have a place. You should quit your job in Chinatown; I'll find something new for you."
Maya smiled and playfully tapped Leo on the nose. "A sky garden, huh? When I was a child, before I came to America, I thought everyone here had houses like that. Alright, if you say so—I'll quit tomorrow."
"Then you should keep dreaming about it because one day it will become a reality," Leo shrugged. "Mom, can you do me a favor? Go check on John for me?"
"Of course, you rest up."
As the room emptied, Leo pulled back the covers and began detaching the medical equipment from his body.
He had a reason for sending Maya away—his surveillance had picked up something new.
Kingpin's messenger had arrived.
Leo specifically chose an empty hospital room to wait.
The person who came to speak with Leo was a man in a suit, fitting the standard mold of a Wall Street elite—nothing remarkable to Leo, who found the type a bit monotonous.
It was clear this man was just a mouthpiece, not even directly linked to the Union Construction Company.
The suited man got straight to the point: "My boss invites you to join us in building something great. There's no need for us to be at odds."
"Sure," Leo nodded. "From 34th Street south to 57th Street north, and everything east of 8th Avenue—he's already consolidated that. I won't interfere. But within this area, I can repurchase the land from him at 10% above cost to help him recover his investment."
"That's not possible. You misunderstand the situation. You just got lucky this time."
"No, it's you who misunderstand," Leo shook his head. "He won't be able to proceed with any developments in this area anymore."
The man regretfully shook his head. "It seems we have nothing more to discuss—though I believe you'll change your mind soon."
With that, the suited man turned to leave.
Leo stared intently at his retreating figure and said, "No, it's he who will change his mind soon—and you, you're about to experience the only change of your life."
The suited man ignored Leo completely, walking back to his car and signaling the driver to start the engine.
Meanwhile, back at Union Construction Company, reporters surrounded the building, crowding around in rings—after all, this latest incident clearly showed the company's lack of worker protection.
Moreover, the car accident had also drawn a fresh response from the NYPD.
Kingpin was irritated, but he kept his composure as he stepped into his luxury stretch limousine through the back entrance.
"So that's what he said? Interesting," Kingpin's voice was cold—if this kid thought luck would always be on his side...
The car drove into Hell's Kitchen, passing through one intersection after another. Leo's idea of dividing the territory was laughable.
All Kingpin needed to do was find the local gangs and incite them to riot; there would be results soon enough.
But just as the car passed through an intersection, a fully loaded dump truck came barreling toward the stretch limo!
Beep beep beep—
Screeeech—
The ear-piercing horn almost shattered the eardrums, and the brakes left a long, black skid mark on the pavement!
But the truck never stopped!
Bang!
The dump truck didn't quite crush the car like before, but it hit the front half of the stretch limo with enough force to send it spinning nearly 180 degrees!
"Damn it! What kind of driving is this?" Kingpin looked up, only to see his driver pinned inside the twisted and deformed driver's seat, the smell of oil mixed with blood making him nauseous.
The traffic light that had been green was now red!
And when Kingpin looked at the truck that had hit him—it was from Union Construction Company!
Kingpin had no time to worry about his soon-to-be-dead driver; he just stared intently at the distant red light—
He had been warned! Just as he had used Bullseye and toothpicks to warn the homeowners, he had now been given a taste of his own medicine!
No evidence, no hard proof, just the exact same methods, an inexplicable series of events, and, more importantly— The other side knew exactly who he was!
In the noisy intersection, Kingpin suddenly hesitated.
He lit a cigar, took out his phone, and called his assistant, Wesley. "Wesley, that guy who handled the negotiations—take care of him. We need to adjust our strategy."
Yes, he had to back down—at least until he figured out what was going on with Leo's eerie territory before making any rash moves.
Considering the company's high-leverage status and the pile of issues left behind by Bullseye's death that needed urgent resolution, continuing this fight was too risky. He had no choice but to start liquidating the territory he had swallowed.
As for that guy who handled the negotiations—no one could know that Kingpin had backed down.
Publicly—it would just be a strategic business adjustment.
In the hospital, moonlight filtered through the windows, casting a soft glow on Leo.
"Technology is the Achilles' heel of people like him."
A new message appeared before his eyes.
[Imminent explosion of unstable energy]
[Please prepare]