After finishing his business with Cook, Hardy walked along the path that ran parallel to the Los Angeles River. He removed his gun from his coat, expertly disassembled it into several pieces, and tossed them one by one into the river's dark waters.
This would make sure there was no trace left behind.
Even if someone accused him of murder later, without the weapon, it would be much harder to prove his guilt, and he might even walk free.
Hardy then took out a small watch box. He slipped the Rolex onto his wrist and flung the empty box far into the river, watching it disappear with a splash.
Satisfied with his precautions, he returned to Bill's place. As soon as he stepped inside, Hardy went straight to the kitchen. He threw his bloodstained clothes into the stove, lighting them on fire. It was a shame about the suit and the wool coat—he had just bought them a few days ago for over seventy dollars.
Once his clothes were reduced to ashes, Hardy headed to the bathroom to wash away any lingering blood. The warm water relaxed him, and as he dried off, he felt a rare sense of calm. In the trenches, he never had time to relax after a fight; it was always straight from one battle into another. But now, he had a moment to catch his breath.
Hardy couldn't help but worry about Bill. He decided he'd check on him as soon as daylight broke, hoping his friend would pull through. Whatever the outcome, at least he had avenged Bill.
After his shower, Hardy laid down and quickly fell into a deep sleep. When he woke up, it was already around nine in the morning.
He got up, washed his face, and left for a nearby diner. He ordered a hearty breakfast and picked up a newspaper while he waited for his food.
As he flipped open the paper, a bold headline immediately grabbed his attention.
"Deadly Shootout on Brown Street Leaves Six Dead!"
The article was accompanied by photos of the police loading bodies into their vehicles. The report speculated that the victims, all identified as members of a local Spanish gang, had likely been caught up in gang warfare. It warned that this could trigger a new wave of violence in Los Angeles, urging citizens to be on high alert.
The police chief was quoted, promising that they would find the person responsible and ensure public safety.
Hardy moved over to the newsstand and browsed through several other papers. They all reported on the same incident, but none of them provided much in the way of useful information. However, a few mentioned that the FBI was considering the possibility that a lone individual was responsible.
As Hardy scanned the articles, he overheard a conversation nearby.
"Did you catch the news this morning? Six guys from that Spanish gang got wiped out," one man said.
"Yeah, it's all over the front pages," another replied. "I knew Cook from that crew. Tough guy. He used to be with the Red Dani gang. Never thought he'd go down like this. Wonder who he crossed."
"Must be another gang looking to start a turf war. This city's always gonna have trouble. The cops are just in it for the kickbacks."
Meanwhile, Bill slowly opened his eyes.
Sean and Ried, standing nearby, noticed and immediately perked up. Ried burst out, "Boss, you're awake! I thought we lost you for good."
Sean cuffed him on the head. "Show some tact, will you?"
Ried rubbed the back of his head, but Bill chuckled weakly. "Guess the Grim Reaper isn't ready for me yet."
Sean sent Ried off to fetch the doctor. A few minutes later, Dr. Murphy arrived, examined Bill, and nodded approvingly. "You're one tough man, Bill. Wasn't sure you'd pull through, but your resilience saved you."
"Take it easy for the next three to four months, and you should recover just fine. But don't push your luck in the future."
Once the doctor left, Bill looked over at Sean and whispered, "Alright, the doc's gone. How about that smoke?"
"Boss, you know the doctor said no smoking," Sean replied.
"To hell with that," Bill growled. "If I can't enjoy a cigarette, I might as well be dead."
Relenting, Sean handed him a cigarette. Bill took a drag, only to cough violently, clutching his side in pain. "Damn that Cook," he muttered. "I swear, once I'm back on my feet, I'll make him regret ever crossing me."
"Boss, Cook's already dead," Ried interjected.
Bill's eyes widened. "Cook's dead? How?"
Sean pulled a newspaper from his pocket and handed it to Bill. The article described how Cook and five of his men were found dead, believed to be victims of gang rivalry.
After reading, Bill looked up, puzzled. "Did our guys do this?"
Sean shook his head. "Doesn't seem like it. The higher-ups were asking around this morning, wondering if it was us. But we still don't know who did it. Whoever it was, they were damn good—taking out Cook and his crew on their own."
Hardy returned to the clinic after breakfast and quietly entered the ward. Seeing Bill talking to Sean and Ried, he felt a wave of relief.
"Bill, you're awake," Hardy said, walking over.
"Jon, good to see you," Bill replied, smiling weakly.
Hardy inspected Bill's condition; despite his pale complexion, he seemed to be in good spirits. It looked like he would make it.
"I was worried about you last night," Hardy admitted, placing a hand on Bill's shoulder. Then, he pulled an envelope from his pocket.
"I brought you a little something," he said.
"What's in it?" Bill asked, eyeing the envelope.
"Money," Hardy replied. "Cook's cash. Thought you'd want it back."
Bill took the envelope and opened it, revealing a stack of bills—tens, twenties, and hundreds. His expression shifted as he processed what Hardy had done.
"Jon... was it you?" Bill asked quietly, his voice filled with disbelief.
Hardy didn't deny it. "He hurt my brother. I couldn't let that stand. Besides, I took care of your business for you."
Bill's eyes filled with gratitude. Despite his injuries, he felt a swell of pride. This was what true loyalty looked like.
Sean and Ried, still in the room, stared at Hardy in awe. It was clear now—Hardy had been the one to take down Cook. They'd known he was tough, but this... this was something else. No wonder he had survived the war.
Bill grinned at Hardy. "You thought I was a goner, didn't you? That's why you went after Cook?"
"The doc said you had a thirty percent chance," Hardy replied, his voice steady.
"If I'd died, the money wouldn't have done me any good," Bill chuckled. "I guess you'd have given it to my family."
Hardy nodded. "That was the plan."
Bill tried to sit up but winced in pain. Sean and Ried quickly helped him into a more comfortable position.
"Alright, you two, give us a moment," Bill instructed. "And remember, no word about Cook to anyone. Understood?"
Sean and Ried nodded and left the room.
"What's on your mind?" Hardy asked once they were alone.
Bill looked Hardy in the eye. "Jon, I need a favor."
"What kind of favor?" Hardy asked.
"The doctor says I'll be out of action for three to four months. I need someone I can trust to look after my interests. I want you to handle things for me."
"You want me to join the gang?" Hardy was taken aback. This was not what he had expected.
"Just temporarily," Bill said. "Until I'm back on my feet. If you don't, I might lose everything before I recover."
"What about Sean and Ried?" Hardy asked.
"They're good, but not great," Bill replied. "Sean's smart but lacks guts. Ried's brave but doesn't think things through. They need someone like you to guide them. Plus, if my operation goes under, my family is left with nothing."
Hardy considered Bill's words. He hadn't found steady work yet, and Bill was a friend. "Alright, I'll do it—for a while. But what about the higher-ups? Will they go along with it?"
Bill smiled. "Leave that to me."
As they spoke, a group of men entered the clinic. Fred, the head of the Austrian gang, came in with his right-hand man, Alan Payne.
Sean and Ried, loitering in the hallway, quickly straightened up and stubbed out their cigarettes.
"How's Bill?" Fred asked.
"He's awake now," Sean replied. "Doc says he'll need a few months to fully recover, but he's going to be okay."
Fred nodded and led his group into the ward. He spotted Hardy and sized him up.
Bill quickly introduced, "Mr. Fred, Mr. Payne, this is my close friend, Jon Hardy."
He gestured to the envelope of cash. "We got the money back from Cook, thanks to Jon here."
Fred's eyes narrowed with interest as he looked at Hardy. So, this was the man who had taken down Cook. Young, fit, and exuding a calm, confident demeanor. The fact that he had single handedly dealt with Cook and his men was impressive.
"I like your style, Hardy," Fred said. "You've got the kind of guts we need in this business. How about joining us? There's always room for someone like you in the Austrian gang."