Chapter 282: One Shot, One Kill - 6 Seconds, 6 Targets -

As William watched the young woman named Alina get into a taxi, he couldn't help but think to himself how a once-cute girl could grow up with a face that remained fine but a body that had certainly gone downhill. Not only was she short, but she also had a broad, bulky frame. And worst of all, she was overweight—truly a case of "one flaw ruining everything."

After getting a good look at both the black man, McCall, and the young girl, William quickly realized that he was dealing with a righteous, justice-driven, do-gooder—essentially, a black knight in shining armor who loved to meddle in other people's business.

The thought of hiring someone like that as his mother's bodyguard made William frown. McCall was highly skilled, lethal in his actions, but it was almost amusing that someone who was such a ruthless killer, a man who dealt with the darkest of deeds, was also a sort of Robin Hood.

Such a person would be completely unsuitable as a bodyguard. William couldn't help but feel some dissatisfaction toward Winston for introducing such an unreliable candidate. However, while McCall couldn't be hired as a bodyguard, William realized that he could exploit McCall's sense of justice. In special situations, McCall would make an excellent enforcer.

McCall had a unique ability—he could mentally calculate his actions and timing before making a move. This allowed him to stay composed and deliberate in his killings, with every step carefully planned, effortlessly bringing death to his targets.

As William sipped his coffee, thinking about the plot he remembered, a certain scene suddenly came to mind—a cold storage room filled with piles of cash. An entire warehouse stuffed with money. The thought of that much cash made William's heart race.

How much money could be in a warehouse filled with large suitcases of cash? It was unlikely that it was all $100 bills since criminal gangs in the U.S. generally avoided using $100 bills due to the attention they attract. They preferred denominations like $10s and $20s.

However, the denominations and storage didn't matter much. Even if only a portion of it was $100s and $50s, with the rest in $20s and $10s, it would still be an enormous windfall—a conservative estimate would be several hundred million dollars.

As for the possibility of smaller denominations than $10, William thought it unlikely. When sending money to the bosses above, they'd want it to be as discreet and secure as possible.

The thought of several hundred million dollars, possibly even close to a billion, waiting to be claimed made William quite pleased. He glanced at McCall, who was deeply engrossed in his book, and an idea formed in his mind.

McCall was the perfect scapegoat. The black Robin Hood could be the one causing trouble in the front, while William reaped the benefits in the back—a perfect arrangement.

So, instead of immediately calling back the Expendables for a big operation, William calmed his excitement and decided to sit back and watch the show. He gave McCall, who was calmly reading his book, a sly glance, then picked up a few magazines to read.

There was profit to be made, so William wasn't in a hurry to leave. Leaving now would only make McCall, who was already highly vigilant, more suspicious.

After thinking it over, William decided to offer McCall a job as the head of the police department in his small town, using the pretext of protecting the Devonshire family's wealth and his mother. Someone with McCall's extensive experience and meddlesome nature would make an excellent town sheriff. And when things got tricky, McCall could always be called in as an enforcer.

Time passed quickly as William mulled over his plans, and before he knew it, over an hour had gone by. It was now past 11 p.m. He looked out at the dark, quiet street through the restaurant window. After just a few seconds, he noticed five or six shadowy figures sneaking toward his Rolls-Royce convertible.

McCall, having also noticed something unusual, looked at William and then at the Rolls-Royce parked just a short distance from the restaurant.

This was a classic American situation—if you parked a luxury car in a poor neighborhood, the tires would be gone by morning. William chuckled, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number.

The call was quickly answered. "Take care of them."

"Understood."

After hanging up, William returned his attention to the magazine. Sometimes, to win someone over, it wasn't enough just to offer money. Displaying strength could also be a form of intimidation and an assertion of power. A follower needed to know whether their leader was strong and capable or just a hollow figure.

Soon, McCall saw a tall man, over 6'1", wearing a black suit, black tie, and a striking white shirt, with medium-length hair, step out of the shadows from a nearby corner. He walked slowly toward the six thieves who were preparing to steal the tires.

Without looking up, William casually said to McCall, "If it were you, how many seconds would you need to deal with those six punks?"

McCall, who had been watching the tall man in the black suit, was surprised. "Seconds?"

William pointed to his watch, then to the watch on McCall's left wrist. "How about a bet?"

McCall turned back to William, not saying a word. He had a habit of timing his actions before moving, something very few people knew about. Hearing William's words, McCall immediately realized that William had come here specifically to find him.

So, despite not being interested initially, McCall was now intrigued, and his previously gentle and harmless demeanor shifted to one of deep seriousness.

William, seeing McCall's intense expression, knew he wasn't going to refuse.

"I bet that scruffy, long-haired guy will take only 10 seconds to deal with those six punks. What's your guess?"

"What's the wager?"

"Mm!" William was surprised by McCall's quick agreement. He looked up at the black man.

Not only was McCall agreeable, but he also urged William to hurry. "Quickly, he's about to make his move."

"The wager is that if you win, I won't bother you today. But if you lose, you'll have to work for me."

Such an unreasonable proposition made McCall pause for a second, but he quickly recovered. After taking another glance at the tall man in the black suit, he said, "Six seconds."

Then, McCall pressed the timer button on his wristwatch. "Start."

No sooner had he spoken than two soft "pew pew" sounds echoed through the night, and two of the punks on the street dropped dead with headshots.

John Wick, who had received William's call, approached the tire thieves with a face full of murderous intent. Before the two cocky punks who were keeping watch could raise their guns, John pulled out a silenced pistol from under his arm and fired two shots at them.

"Pew pew."

"Thud, thud," were the sounds of the two bodies hitting the ground, startling the remaining four thieves who were now staring in terror at John Wick, who had killed without a word.

Two more of the thieves scrambled to draw their guns but were gunned down by John Wick before they could do so.

"Don't kill..." pleaded the last punk, his words cut short as John Wick rounded the car and put a bullet through his head.

The last thief, who had been crouched down working on the tires, tried to scramble away towards the street corner, but he hadn't made it more than five or six steps before John Wick put a bullet in his back, dropping him to the ground.

After completing the kill, John Wick surveyed the area, ensuring that there were no cameras or witnesses. Once satisfied, he began dragging the bodies into a dark alley, one in each hand.

After completing the cleanup, John Wick made a phone call and then quietly waited in the shadows.

Inside the diner, McCall, still smiling, said to William, "Looks like I won."

William, still glancing at the now-unreadable magazine, silently cursed John Wick.

The bastard had only been out of touch for two months, yet not only had his skills improved, but he had also become colder, killing without hesitation or mercy. It felt as if something had happened to him over the past two months that made him eager to prove something, to get things done as quickly as possible.

Ten minutes later, a Ford Transit van, covered in an advertisement for professional pest control services, arrived and parked behind the Rolls-Royce.

Once the van stopped, three burly men with hardened expressions and a middle-aged man with a pockmarked face and a bowler hat stepped out.

Recognizing the group, John Wick emerged from the shadows and greeted the man, "Good evening, Charlie."

Charlie squinted at John Wick for a moment, then smiled, removed his hat, and placed it over his chest in a slight bow. "Good evening, John."

"I didn't expect to see you in Boston. There are six packages inside that need to be cleaned up."

"Understood," Charlie said, nodding to the three burly men behind him.

The three men grabbed buckets, mops, sprayers, unidentified chemical containers, rolls of plastic sheeting, and body bags and headed into the alley.

It took them only five minutes to clean up the bodies, load them into the van, and gather all the stolen tools, shell casings, and guns. They then sprayed a chemical on the bloodstains and washed down the area, even taking the time to clean and inspect the Rolls-Royce.

After finishing, Charlie nodded to John Wick, accepted six Continental Hotel coins from

 him, and said, "I hope to see you again, John."

"Goodbye, Charlie."

John Wick took a few steps back and disappeared into the shadows. He had no interest in talking to the eccentric Charlie, and if he could, he would prefer never to see him again.

Charlie chuckled, unfazed by John Wick's attitude. He instructed his men to get in the van, then brushed off his hat, though it was spotless, and leisurely walked toward the diner.

As Charlie entered the diner, the bell above the door chimed. He bowed slightly to William, then walked over to the bar and whispered something to the diner owner, Jacob.

As they spoke, Jacob repeatedly nodded. "Yes, sir, don't worry. I didn't see anything earlier. I was busy in the kitchen, preparing food for tomorrow. The diner's cameras broke two days ago. If you don't mind, could you take a look at them? If they can't be fixed, I'll have to buy a new DVR."

Charlie looked as if he understood perfectly. "Sure, I'll take a look. I happen to know a bit about this stuff."

"Thank you, sir. The DVR is in the storage room," Jacob said, pointing to the back room.

A few minutes later, Charlie emerged from the storage room, a surprised expression on his face. He nodded to Jacob. "I'm sorry, the DVR seems to be completely broken. My skills aren't enough to fix it. You'll need to call a professional repairman tomorrow. Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Jacob."

With that, Charlie took out a long business card and a Continental Hotel coin, placing them on the counter. "If you ever need anything, give me a call. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, sir."

Before leaving, Charlie once again bowed slightly to William.

McCall was taken aback, watching Charlie leave the diner and drive away. He had dealt with cleaners many times before his retirement. These people who operated in the shadows only cared about money, never about anything else.

In his experience, cleaners had never shown such respect to anyone. No, it wasn't respect; it was fear, as if they were afraid that one wrong move would result in William killing them.

Damn, McCall thought as this realization hit him. He needed to re-evaluate William and learn more about his past.

Closing his copy of *The Old Man and the Sea*, McCall stood up to say goodnight to Jacob, only to see the diner owner happily examining the business card before carefully placing both the card and the coin in a hidden drawer in the counter.

This... McCall was overwhelmed by the number of surprises tonight. He had always thought of Jacob as a middle-aged cook with passable culinary skills.

But it turned out this cook, who he had known for several years, also had a story. Shaking his head, McCall said, "Good night, Jacob."

"Good night, McCall," Jacob replied without even looking up.

After McCall left, Jacob finally looked up, fearfully staring at William's back.

In Jacob's eyes, Charlie was someone not to be messed with. But William, who could instill fear in Charlie, was on a whole different level—demon-like. And then there was John Wick, who killed with the same ease as slicing meat.

William paid no mind to Jacob's fear. Since entering the diner, he had ordered Sunday to hack into the diner's computer, which explained Charlie's surprise when he emerged from the storage room.

Standing up, William reached into his pocket and took out a Continental Hotel coin from his spatial storage, tossing it to Jacob.

Jacob stared at the coin in shock, stammering as he addressed William's retreating figure, "G-G-Goodbye, sir."

After leaving the diner, William opened his car door, started the engine, lowered the convertible top, and signaled for John Wick, who was still in the shadows, to come over.

John Wick walked up to the car, stopping about two meters away. "Mr. Devonshire."

"Trouble? Being hunted?"

John Wick didn't mince words. "Yes, sir. For some reason, I've been the target of several assassination attempts in the past two weeks."

"Do you know who's behind it or why?"

John Wick shook his head. "Not yet, sir. But I suspect they're not professional hitmen. They seem more like SEALs or Rangers—special forces types. Their tactics are highly professional. If it weren't for the first two-man team, which raised my suspicions and made me more alert, I probably wouldn't have survived the subsequent attempts."

"SEALs?" This answer made William uneasy. Anyone with the power to command SEALs was not a minor player.

"Did you take any assassination jobs recently?"

John Wick shook his head. "No, Mr. Devonshire. Ever since the last job you gave me, which paid very well, I haven't taken any contracts. I've spent most of the past month traveling and on vacation."

"Vacation?" William looked at John Wick in disbelief. "Someone like you takes vacations?"

"For God's sake, don't tell me you got involved with some big-shot's wife during your 'vacation'?"

"No, no," John Wick quickly denied, seeing the skepticism in William's eyes. Surprisingly bashful, he said, "I have Ava. There's no way I'd be with another woman."

"Ava? Who's that?"

John Wick quickly pulled out his phone and showed William a video.

After watching for a moment, William understood where the problem lay. Listening to the woman in the video ask, "What are you looking at, John?"

"Looking at you," John Wick replied sweetly.

"Alright," William interrupted, not bothering to watch the rest.

John Wick put away his phone, confused by William's reaction.

Rolling his eyes, William said with a hint of exasperation, "You really have guts, messing around with an arms dealer's wife. And not just any arms dealer—a guy who might have sold weapons to military bigwigs or even your boss, Benjamin Arthur."

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