Chapter 82: The Movie King
"There are only fries left—or I can make you a beef burger if you want."
"Fine, that'll do." Ron handed the menu back to Max and quietly fiddled with his phone while waiting for the food.
Although Apple had only just released its very first smartphone, Ron hadn't rushed out to buy one. That didn't mean other phones didn't have decent games to kill time with.
For example, on his Nokia, there was a little game called City Skyscraper. As long as you used the crane to stack floor after floor without toppling them, you could keep building infinitely. When Ron first discovered it, he felt an almost nostalgic thrill, like reliving his youth.
But at the moment, his attention wasn't fully on the game. He was playing absentmindedly, stealing glances from the corner of his eye at the bar across the street.
Over there, Harry's son—the scrawny hitman—was resting his head on the big guy's shoulder, making Ron's scalp prickle with discomfort.
"These assassins really have no bottom line. Just to complete a mission, they'll switch their preferences on a whim! Total bi-directional adapters," Paige's voice crackled in his earpiece, dripping with disdain.
Ron nodded in agreement.
At last, Caroline came clicking in on her high heels—clack, clack, clack—late as ever. Because of the angle, she didn't notice Ron at first. She marched right up to Max, thrust out her hand, and scowled.
"Happy now? I look like a Cambodian stripper!"
All her nails were painted an obnoxious bright red and extended absurdly far with cheap-looking acrylic tips.
"They usually prefer the term 'ping-pong sharpshooter,'" Max said dryly.
"This cost me seventy dollars and forty-three cents!" Caroline was on the verge of meltdown. "She forced me to get fake nails—and then tip her for doing it! And because you didn't show up, I couldn't even get the buy-one-get-one-free discount!"
Max's smile was halfway between sympathetic and amused.
"Look at you—your little boyfriend being here really makes you braver."
"WHAT?!"
Caroline followed Max's gaze and finally spotted Ron. In an instant, she turned into a startled rabbit, crouching behind the counter with her butt in the air, sneaking glances in Ron's direction.
Max's jaw dropped at her theatrical reaction.
"Hey—what is wrong with you? You two literally slept together, and now you're afraid to be seen?"
"I don't want him to see me in this stupid, ugly uniform! I'd rather show up naked in front of him—this is like, on the level of my dad getting arrested. A total catastrophe!"
"You sure you want to say that in front of Oleg?" Max smirked wickedly. "Because FYI—he's staring right up your skirt, living out whatever story you just described."
Caroline turned her head. Sure enough, Oleg was leaning over the pass-through window, ogling her backside with a lecherous squint. One of his hands was doing God-knows-what under the counter, his hips rocking in an unmistakable rhythm.
Caroline let out a shriek and shot upright, both hands clamped over her skirt as she glared furiously at Oleg.
"Um…" Ron, at some point, had already strolled up to the counter. "Sorry to interrupt, but as ridiculous and ugly as these uniforms are, I have to say—you both look absolutely stunning in them."
"Thank you." Caroline turned around, though her hands stayed firmly planted behind her, still gripping her skirt.
If it had been just Ron here, she wouldn't have minded lifting it to show him outright—but Oleg? No way.
"Max, I've left the money for the food and tip on the table," Ron said. "Sorry, something urgent just came up and I have to run. See you next time."
"Goodbye, Ron." x3—Oleg even waved at him cheerfully from the window.
Once Ron was out of sight, Caroline finally calmed down enough to resume bickering with Max.
"Max, I genuinely tried to be your best friend, but clearly there is something deeply wrong with you."
Max didn't bother indulging her tantrum. "Come with me to the walk-in freezer."
---
Ron left early.
Of course, it wasn't because Paige was watching and he was scared to do anything with the two women. Sure, he was a little intimidated by Paige, but she'd known his temperament from day one—it wasn't as if she'd ever expected any different.
Honestly, she'd probably spied on him in the past hooking up with other women.
With her complete lack of scruples, it wouldn't be surprising.
The main reason Ron left was that he'd noticed Harry's son slipping out ahead of time, and the burly guy hesitating briefly before following him.
Naturally, Ron followed too. As he walked, he casually peeled off his expensive suit jacket and tossed it in a trash can, loosening his tie.
Before the big guy could look back suspiciously, Ron ducked into a Chinese convenience store by the street, bought the cheapest bottle of liquor he could find, and emerged again.
When the man turned around and didn't spot anything unusual, he simply continued on.
"Hey, sweetheart," Paige's voice crackled in his earpiece, amused. "I have to point out—you're making a dumb move. From what I can tell, that guy's type is more on the petite side. If you're planning to seduce the rookie hitman to steal his man, you're going to be disappointed."
Ron almost choked on the first swig of liquor.
"I suggest you stop reading trashy novels," he grumbled, swirling the booze in his mouth to saturate his breath with cheap alcohol fumes. He swallowed a bit and spat the rest out, then lifted the bottle over his head and poured it all over himself, slouching forward so he looked a few inches shorter.
In the blink of an eye, he transformed into a glassy-eyed, staggering drunk. Combined with his wrinkled, expensive dress shirt, he now looked exactly like some middle-class loser who'd just gone bankrupt or gotten divorced.
Paige burst out laughing.
"Your acting is phenomenal," she said. "If I hadn't known you for years, I'd swear you just blew your life savings on bad stocks. Honestly, even if you quit intelligence work, you could still make a living in Hollywood. Who knows—you might even take home an Oscar someday. Have you ever thought about switching careers?"
"You know I hate living under the spotlight," Ron declared, his voice booming in a theatrical sing-song. "And besides, everyone knows that little golden statue isn't even solid gold!"
Passing pedestrians caught the reek of alcohol and wrinkled their noses, hurrying by.
"Damn drunk!" one muttered. Another and another, none of them suspected he was talking into a hidden earpiece—they just assumed he was a lunatic ranting in the street.
After a few loops through the block, Paige guided him back onto the target's trail. Even more impressively, his arrival didn't draw the slightest attention from either man.
Ron felt an almost childish glee. His itch to perform surged, and he swaggered forward, abruptly wedging himself between the two. He threw himself against the burly man, locked eyes with him, and blasted him with a breath full of cheap liquor fumes.
"Hey! You! I'm talking to you!" he slurred loudly. "I'm an IRS agent! Have you paid your taxes lately?!"
The big man shoved Ron's face away in disgust.
"Get lost, you stinking drunk!"