Chapter 91: Arthur's Test
The moment Ron shot the gun out of the robber's hand, the man realized he'd seriously messed with the wrong guy. Panicked, he reached for a bag on the table with his uninjured hand, intending to grab a waitress as a hostage—but before he could, his foot slipped.
His head slammed into the corner of a nearby table, and he collapsed—completely unconscious.
"Perfect!" Old Earl, seated behind the cashier counter, couldn't help but applaud.
"Since Eastwood, I haven't seen a quickdraw that slick. I swear, kid, if you'd been born in the frontier days, you'd have had a wagon full of women just from that trick alone."
He was referring to Clint Eastwood, the legendary star of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, whose cowboy image defined a generation.
"Thanks for the compliment," Ron tipped an imaginary hat like a proper gentleman. "But personally, I think the MVP of tonight should go to Miss Caroline. Pulling off a double kill? That's no small feat."
"Eep!" Caroline finally snapped out of her daze, grabbed a tray to cover the stain on her dress, and ran to the changing room in total humiliation. She felt like she had lost every last shred of dignity in a single night.
Even when her father was arrested, it hadn't been this mortifying.
"If you were planning to hook up with her tonight, I'd say that's out the window," Max whispered in Ron's ear.
"She's not gonna show her face for at least three days."
"So, what you're saying is… I still have other options?" Ron grinned, and while Earl was busy putting the cash back into the register, he reached over and gave Max's firm butt a playful squeeze.
Surprisingly, she didn't swat his hand away.
"Normally I'd tell you to buzz off~" Max said with a sigh—part exasperated, part amused.
"But since you did just save my life, I'm feeling generous. You've earned a special reward."
"Oh? What kind of special treatment?" Ron leaned in with a smirk.
Max glanced over to make sure Earl wasn't looking, then gently bit Ron's earlobe.
"You'll find out tonight."
Two nerdy college guys who had just stepped into the diner froze in place, blinking in disbelief, tears of envy welling up in their eyes.
"This is insane! You actually took him down," Rajesh exclaimed. "I thought you guys would have a full-on shootout behind the counter or something! I even called the cops."
Ron sighed.
"Come on. This isn't some Hollywood blockbuster. If it took me that long to deal with a two-bit thug, I might as well quit being an agent."
Still, the incoming police would be a headache. After wrapping things up with them, Ron decided to change locations for dinner. But the good news? He got a text from Max inviting him out.
After sending the two nerds on their way, Ron happily accepted her invitation.
---
The next morning, Ron woke up alone in his hotel bed. Max was long gone, but the mess she left behind was proof enough that last night had been intense. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the robbery, but Max had been unusually fired up. So much so that Ron could barely keep up.
His legs still felt like jelly. Each step felt like walking on clouds.
As he debated calling in sick, his phone buzzed on the bed.
Unknown number.
Still groggy, Ron answered.
"Hello—?"
No response.
But Ron already had a good idea who it was.
"I'm guessing you've made up your mind, haven't you… Arthur?"
A long pause.
Then came Arthur's low, hoarse voice:
"You were right. The company screwed me. And now Harry's son knows I killed his father… I had to take him out. I need help."
As expected, Ron's last stunt—part con, part performance—successfully planted a seed of doubt in Arthur's mind. And that IRS logo on the business card? It gave Arthur a glimmer of hope: the chance at redemption.
If he couldn't fully walk away from the assassin life and live like a normal person, then becoming an agent under the IRS's banner wasn't the worst fate imaginable.
As for doubting Ron's identity? That felt unnecessary. Anyone capable of acquiring such accurate intel (as Arthur assumed), and commanding such an elite combat team (though in truth, Hank was the only one who could actually fight), had to be the real deal. If he joined them, surely it would be smooth sailing from here—right? (Oh Arthur… how wrong you are.)
"No problem," Arthur said cautiously. "But first, how exactly do you plan to pull this off, and more importantly—what's in it for me?"
The moment business came up, Ron was suddenly wide awake. He was in complete control now. Grabbing a bottle of milk from the fridge, he took a long, satisfied sip.
"You know I'm with the IRS," he said. "So you also know I'm here to collect taxes. And when it comes to the assassination industry, I've decided to implement a 100% business tax. How's that sound?"
He paused for dramatic effect, then continued:
"Of course, if you're willing to join us—and help me collect your former company's taxes—then I'm willing to overlook all your previous evasion. I'll even throw in a full amnesty certificate."
Ron knew Arthur must've made a fortune during his years as a hitman—but his company? They had to be swimming in even more illicit profits. So the strategy was clear: let the small fish go to reel in the whale.
If the profit from busting the assassin organization was big enough, even if Mr. Shimo (Ron's mysterious superior) didn't approve Arthur's tax exemption, Ron could just carve out a piece of the takings to cover it.
And on top of all that, he'd gain a deadly asset with serious infiltration and assassination skills.
Win-win.
Ron dangled the bait, and sure enough—Arthur bit.
"I'm in," Arthur said after a moment of thought. "I know for a fact that all of the company's assassination contracts are disguised as security service revenue. If you want solid proof of their real business… only the Boss has it. It's on his private computer."
"And how do I get that computer?" Ron asked.
"You kill him," Arthur replied without hesitation. "He'll never hand it over otherwise."
Ron grinned, intrigued.
"So… what, this is part of your revenge plan?"
"No," Arthur said firmly. "It's part of your cleanup plan. I imagine you don't want to live the rest of your life constantly looking over your shoulder, wondering when someone will try to take you or your family out. On that front, our interests are perfectly aligned."
"Deal," Ron nodded. "Now tell me—where is your old company based?"
"I don't know exactly," Arthur admitted. "But I know someone who does. Want to come with me to find him? We might have to use… coercion, intimidation, maybe even torture. And there's a chance this guy's just an ordinary, innocent person."
Ron chuckled, amused by Arthur's hesitation.
"Arthur, stop testing my limits bit by bit," he said. "You forget—I'm an agent. If it gets the job done, any method is on the table."