Half an hour later, when Zhang Jie pushed the wheelchair to the hotel entrance, a car rental company employee was leaning against a rusty Toyota Corolla, yawning.
"This one?" Veronica raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh my god! I thought you were joking."
John's expression was as if he'd been force-fed a mouthful of lemons, his eyes wide: "You rented a... 1958 model?"
"Fuel-efficient!" Zhang Jie righteously opened the trunk, stuffing the wheelchair inside. "And Japanese cars are cheap to repair."
Veronica insisted on coming along "to watch the show."
So now, the old Corolla was crammed with three people: Zhang Jie, whose palms were sweating from nervousness, in the driver's seat; a pale John in the passenger seat; and Veronica, laughing so hard she was shaking, in the back.
"Buckle up," Zhang Jie started the car, the engine emitting a death rattle-like cough. "This car... uh... has a bit of a temper."
The car lurched violently, and John grunted as the seatbelt tightened on his injury.
Veronica in the back laughed even harder: "God, this is absolutely the funniest thing I've seen all year! Fantastic, little brother~"
Zhang Jie glared at her in the rearview mirror: "Want to drive instead?"
"No thanks, little brother~" She winked. "I just love watching you flustered."
The car bounced along the bumpy road, each brake accompanied by a suspicious metallic screech.
John gripped the door handle the entire time, his knuckles white.
"You know," John suddenly said halfway through the drive, "the last time I was in a car this trashed was chasing a drug dealer in Mexico."
Damn it!
I swear I'll never let him rent a car again, the damn cheapskate!
Veronica collapsed onto the seat, laughing: "And now you're being 'chased' by your own apprentice!"
Zhang Jie didn't dare mention that he'd rented the car using the last bit of credit the original owner had left.
He focused on the road, pretending not to hear the occasional stifled laughter from the back seat.
When the car finally stopped in front of John's villa, Zhang Jie's jaw almost hit the steering wheel.
"This... this is your home?"
The building in front of him was less a villa and more a miniature castle.
A three-story modern-style building, panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows, neatly manicured lawns, and that sparkling swimming pool under the sun—Zhang Jie suddenly felt his leaky rental apartment didn't even qualify as a doghouse.
I know you're rich, but you're too rich!
"Mm." John replied curtly, struggling to get out of the car.
Veronica helped unfold the wheelchair: "Do you want me to stay and help?"
"No need." John glanced at Zhang Jie. "He has the keys."
Zhang Jie was stunned: "Me?"
"In your pocket," John pointed. "I gave them to you three days ago."
Only then did Zhang Jie remember the heavy key.
He had thought it was just for temporary use, never expecting... Before Veronica left, she whispered in Zhang Jie's ear: "Take good care of him, little brother~ And by the way..."
She handed him a business card. "If you need 'special services,' you can find me. I'll give you a 20% discount."
Zhang Jie's face instantly turned red to his ears.
Veronica rolled her eyes at him, thinking, did you get the wrong idea?
The interior of the villa was even more extravagant than its exterior.
As Zhang Jie pushed John through the spacious living room, the marble floor beneath his feet was so polished it reflected like a mirror, and the abstract oil paintings on the walls looked more valuable than his life.
He couldn't even name the equipment in the open-plan kitchen, and that wine cabinet...
My god, the wine bottles inside sparkled like jewels under the lights.
"The guest rooms are on the second floor," John pointed to the elevator. "Pick one yourself."
Zhang Jie swallowed: "Can I... look around first?"
A flicker of surprise crossed John's eyes, then he sighed and nodded his agreement.
For the next half hour, Zhang Jie was like a poor child entering Disneyland, touching and looking at everything in the villa.
John watched his back, lost in thought. He really was like... Zhang Jie carefully poked the smart home control panel, studied the automatic sensing toilet for a long time, and let out a genuine exclamation of awe in the training room, which was comparable to a professional gym.
"Are these dumbbells pure silver?" He weighed a particularly shiny piece of equipment.
"Chrome-plated." John's voice came from downstairs. "Don't touch things randomly."
Zhang Jie noticed a heavy metal door at the end of the hallway, fitted with a biometric lock.
He leaned in to look, and the smell of engine oil wafted from the crack in the door.
Dinner was takeout ordered by John, high-end sashimi, served in exquisite lacquer boxes.
Zhang Jie counted the pieces of sashimi in the box, then looked at the bill, almost choking to death on a piece of fatty tuna.
"This one meal is enough to pay my rent for a month!" He couldn't help but complain.
John unhurriedly picked up a piece of sea urchin: "That's why I said I need to train you."
Just like that guy, both like country bumpkins.
Zhang Jie's chopsticks paused in mid-air: "Huh? Me?"
"Unless you want to continue living on 100 dollars a month."
Zhang Jie put down his chopsticks, suddenly losing his appetite: "Listen, John, I appreciate you... but..."
He racked his brain for a subtle way to put it, "I might really not be cut out to be an assassin."
John put down his chopsticks, his grey-blue eyes looking directly at him: "Do you think you can still turn back now?"
"Why not?" Zhang Jie's voice unconsciously rose. "I haven't killed anyone! I just... saved a dog!"
"Showing up at the Continental Hotel, being publicly provoked by the Professor," John enumerated. "Now the entire underworld will soon know you're with me."
Zhang Jie opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He remembered the lingering gazes at the party, those meaningful smiles, and the cigars with "KH" engraved on them in the Professor's hand... "Fuck."
That was the only word he managed to squeeze out.
Why did he feel like he was born at the wrong time, with the illusion of being pushed into something against his will?
Ever since entering that damn Continental Hotel, it felt like a hand was pushing everything forward.
This feeling made Zhang Jie very uncomfortable.
John pushed the wheelchair to the floor-to-ceiling window.
"Are there really coincidences in the world?"
His voice was barely audible, and the lights of New York in the night were dazzling, like a sea of stars.
"Starting tomorrow," his voice was unmistakable, "six in the morning, at the suburban shooting range."
Zhang Jie looked at the lights outside the window, suddenly realizing he had no way out.
Whether returning to Mrs. Schneider's rental apartment or staying in this luxurious cage, danger would not let him go.
"Can I... sleep until seven?" he asked weakly.
John's answer was a cold stare.
At five forty-five in the morning, Zhang Jie was startled awake by the piercing alarm.
He groggily fumbled for the nightstand but hit a cold, hard object—a Glock 17 lay silently beside the alarm clock.
"Fuck!"
He instantly sobered up, springing out of bed in a single fluid motion. Outside, it was still dim, the New York skyline just beginning to show the first hint of dawn.
[Alertness: Lv0 (12 → 15 / 100)]