Chapter 68: Greetings from the Crips

[Chapter 68: Greetings from the Crips]

Today, just like any other day, Ian went to Bronte's. Gaskill was not home today; Ian had actually come to see Lena.

After a long and affectionate goodbye, noticing the time was short, Ian prepared to head home. Lena reluctantly gave him a long kiss, saying, "You can stay here; Gaskill wouldn't mind."

Ian laughed as he wrapped his arms around Lena, replying, "No, Lena, I can't do that, even if he wouldn't mind. I like you, but I also respect Gaskill."

Lena gently replied, "Then come over tomorrow at noon; he won't be home."

"Alright, babe." Ian kissed Lena on her soft, red lips, put on his clothes, and left.

...

As he stepped out of Gaskill's residence, Ian got into his car and drove home. While driving, he suddenly encountered a large truck blocking the road ahead. Simultaneously, a car from behind forced its way up against his bumper, while two other cars came up on either side, completely encircling him.

Understanding that trouble was afoot, Ian hurried to grab the gun from his car. Just as he opened the compartment, several figures jumped from the encroaching cars, one of them aiming a gun at him. "You'd better not touch that thing, man! I know you can shoot, but we're not your typical street thugs."

Ian slowly brought his hands back down, raising them up to show he wasn't armed. A burly man aggressively opened the car door, pulled Ian out, and shoved him into the nearby car.

Once inside, Ian noticed a bald Black man in a black suit sitting before him, holding a friendly-looking cane. The man wore a cold expression and had a bodyguard beside him, pointing a gun straight at Ian.

Ian maintained his calm demeanor, asking, "Mr. Crips? Are you here to see me about Charlie Mills?"

The head of the Crips gang, Crips, smirked, "If I wanted to do something for that asshole, I would have come to you four months ago."

...

With a wave of Crips' hand, the car began to move forward slowly. Ian remained expressionless, watching the other man intently. Crips took out a laptop, opened it, and showed Ian a video of him taking down four gunmen at a motel.

"What are you showing me this for?" Ian wondered, bewildered by Crips' actions.

"You did this, right?" Crips asked.

Ian shrugged, stating, "Everyone knows about it; it's not illegal."

Crips laughed, saying, "Who the hell cares about the law? That's not the point!" He pointed to one of the pictures, showing a body of a gunman.

"His name was Bill, just a nobody, a small-time thug from Oakland. But he had good luck because he had a beautiful sister."

Bill was a common name. Ian silently regarded Crips.

Crips continued, "Three days ago, his sister married Kenwal. Do you know that guy?"

Ian shook his head lightly.

Crips explained, "He's the leader of the Bates Killers gang."

Bates Killers had a silly name, but they were a formidable gang, closely linked with the infamous Hells Angels in Canada. Hearing them mentioned, Ian understood: "That woman probably egged Kenwal on to get revenge on me, and then he came to you?"

Crips laughed, "In our line of work, we may offend many people, but we still have friends."

Ian smiled back, "That's interesting; the media is the same way."

Crips looked surprised, asking, "Aren't you scared?"

Ian sighed, saying, "I'd love to pretend to be someone who's afraid, but that's definitely not me. After all, in the video, I took on four armed men and recently killed two robbers. I can't let my image crumble!"

Looking at Ian in surprise, Crips suddenly burst into laughter, "Funny. Did you hear that, Tyrone? I like this kid. He's perfect for our line of work; he's fearless!"

Tyrone, the bodyguard, chuckled as well, seemingly encouraging the idea that a gangster was a more promising career than working for a news organization.

Afterward, Crips grew serious, turning to Ian. "I also wanted to help because I heard you have a journalist named Butterfly. Is he good? He was at the scene of Danny Koskri incident last time, so he should know about the five kilos of lost powder."

Ian replied, "Just through some rumors; after all, many people know about it."

"But it looks like he's quite skilled at getting information. I'd like to meet him."

Ian was speechless, "For those drugs?"

Crips answered, "No, I won't look for merchandise that's already on the cops' radar; I just want to know what happened that day. What the hell is Bloods up to?"

Ian shook his head, saying, "Butterfly is someone I only have a single line connection with. He hasn't disclosed his identity to me, so I don't know the specifics... journalists chase stories, but they won't pursue everything, especially people like you. We only expect the surface from you."

"But you have his phone number."

"If you're willing to let me go, I wouldn't mind selling him out. The problem is you won't let me go anyway!"

Crips laughed, "No, it's up to Kenwal whether or not to let you go; that has nothing to do with me. His crew is on the way, and I'll hand you over to them. I'm not worried you won't talk since you'll soon find that many things are scarier than death!"

...

By this point, they had already reached Michelle Street. The car stopped at Crips' residence, and Tyrone dragged Ian inside.

Several gunmen pushed Ian down to the basement. Upon arrival, Ian found he was in a torture room. Under the dim light, shelves were lined with various instruments of torture.

Tyrone cheerfully pulled out a iron hook, looking at Ian as he said, "I like hooks; they call me Iron Hook. Do you know why? Because when it cuts open your belly, you don't die right away. You see your insides spill out. The terror in your eyes is beautiful, and the screaming is simply exquisite."

Ian wore an impassive face as he watched the man.

Now, there were three of them in total, two torturers and one at the door. However, they made one critical error: they hadn't tied Ian up. But it wasn't surprising; most people in a situation like this would lack the will and ability to resist.

Ian said, "You won't use that because I'd still die. Your boss said he's handing me over, so... let's switch to a different instrument of torture."

Tyrone looked intrigued, "Ha, now this is interesting."

He picked up a metal pick from a nearby table, stating, "This won't kill you, but I guarantee it'll hurt."

Ian smiled, "How about this -- I'll give you a suggestion."

Tyrone grinned at him, "What?"

Ian suggested, "You kill your partner and let me go; I can give you a million bucks! Take that money and leave Los Angeles, wouldn't that be better than working for the gang?"

Tyrone laughed, "That's not a good idea."

A tear rolled down Ian's eye, "That wasn't for you."

Tyrone paused, suddenly sensing something, he turned around in shock, finding his partner behind him stabbing him in the throat with the pick, his eyes shining with excitement.

Unfortunately, there was no camera to capture the moment. Ian felt a deep sense of regret for having missed an exhilarating moment.

*****

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