Chapter 204 An adult's breakdown often happens in an instant.
Chapter 204 An adult's breakdown often happens in an instant.
Two blocks away, in the back alley of an abandoned laundromat.
The air here was even more stifling than on Fourth Avenue, and the louvers of the exhaust fans were covered in black grease.
Only a dozen minutes had passed since the brief standoff at Ray's barbershop.
Lyon trudged through the mud and puddles, his hands still in the pockets of his gray windbreaker, and slowly walked into the dead-end alley without streetlights.
The black man with the tumor was already leaning against a red brick wall covered in gang graffiti, waiting.
He was mostly hidden in the shadows. Upon hearing the footsteps, his body tensed instantly, and he slightly pulled his left leg back, assuming a posture ready to exert force at any moment.
His right hand was tucked tightly into the pocket of his worn-out hoodie, the veins on the back of his hand bulging from the force, clearly concealing some kind of sharp object for self-defense.
Leon stopped a few steps away from him.
"Take your hands out of your pockets."
Leon lowered his voice, "If I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead in that alleyway near the barbershop."
.
The black cripple stared at Lyon's face, which was hidden by a mask and hat brim, and his eye twitched.
He knew perfectly well that the other party was telling the truth. That brief exchange of less than three seconds had already given him a profound understanding of what monstrous physical abilities truly meant.
He hesitated for two seconds, then slowly pulled his right hand out of his pocket.
With a clang.
A rusty Phillips screwdriver was thrown onto the concrete floor between the two men, splashing a few drops of dirty water.
"What exactly do you want me to do?"
The black cripple swallowed hard, his voice hoarse. "I only have this worthless life left, I have no money to give you."
"Name." Leon didn't waste any words and started questioning directly, "Which unit did you serve in before, and how did you retire?"
The black tumor remained silent for a few seconds.
He leaned against the cold brick wall, looking down at the puddles on the ground, his state completely numb from being repeatedly crushed by life.
"thunder."
He rattled off a name that could be found anywhere on the street: "The 1st Infantry Division, which has been to Iraq."
Lei gave a self-deprecating twitch and patted his left leg, which was clearly weak.
"The convoy planted an improvised explosive device (IED) outside Fallujah. I was lucky; I didn't die, but I suffered extensive nerve damage in my left leg."
"After returning to the United States, the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) said that my injury did not qualify me for total disability and that they would only give me a small amount of money each month."
Lei's voice was calm, as if he were telling someone else's story.
"This amount of money isn't even enough to pay the bill for painkillers. To keep this useless leg from keeping me awake at night due to pain, I have no choice but to buy cheap opioids from the street vendors."
He shrugged.
"Then I went bankrupt, my wife ran away with the kids, and I ended up sleeping on the streets."
Lyon listened quietly, his deep, steel-gray eyes hidden in the shadow of his hat brim.
This guy was just an ordinary army soldier.
He had only received basic infantry training, had no access to military secrets, and knew nothing about aircraft or aircraft carrier parameters.
Sending him to the East through Alex's smuggling route would be a complete waste of resources.
The East does not need an American infantryman who fights for America and ends up crippled.
but.
Ray had received formal military training. Judging from his manner of protecting the injured Martin earlier, he was disciplined and still had a solid foundation in close combat. Moreover, after so long of navigating the streets, he was very familiar with the survival rules of the lower classes.
This kind of person would be perfect staying in Seattle, working as a security guard and handyman for Alex's soon-to-open lamb stand. He could also be called upon whenever needed.
I'll give you a job.
Lyon ended his brief silence and presented his conditions.
"Meals and lodging included, $100 USD in cash per day, paid daily. The condition is absolute obedience to orders."
Lei was stunned.
He looked up at Lyon.
One hundred US dollars a day? And it includes food and lodging?
This earned him dozens of times more than he did rummaging through trash cans on the street looking for plastic bottles, or running errands and keeping watch for drug dealers on street corners.
But his vigilance as a veteran had not completely disappeared.
Ray looked at Leon's shady attire and unconsciously rubbed the hem of his hoodie with his fingers.
"What do you need me to do?"
Ray's voice trembled slightly, and his left hand shuddered uncontrollably—a physical reaction to stress caused by severe post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
"Are you going to help a gang seize territory? Or transport heroin? If it's to kill someone—"
He took a deep breath as he said this, seemingly suppressing some kind of fear.
"I don't kill people."
"I don't need you to kill anyone," Leon shook his head, interrupting him.
"There's a fat guy who's going to set up a charity stall that gives out free mutton soup. Your job is to work as his assistant and keep an eye on things so the homeless people lining up for food don't cause trouble."
Ray was completely dumbfounded.
He stood there blankly, his mouth slightly open, completely unable to process what was happening.
He originally thought that this masked ruthless man who could pin him to the ground and rub him against the ground in three seconds must be a top assassin from some transnational criminal organization.
He was even prepared to be forced to do dirty work and to die a violent death on the street at any time.
The other party recruited me—actually to sell mutton soup? For charity?
This absurd sense of dissonance left Lei momentarily at a loss for what expression to wear.
He suddenly felt a tightness in his throat.
"No—nobody wants to hire me."
He lowered his head, looking at his slightly lame left leg, and his voice became somewhat stammering.
"When they saw my leg, they thought I was a useless piece of trash. After they found out I was a veteran, they thought I was mentally unstable, a madman who would shoot someone at any moment."
"They'd rather hire a car thief just released from juvenile detention than me."
Lei looked up, his eyes already bloodshot.
"Thanks."
Leon then pulled out five crumpled hundred-dollar bills from the pocket of his jacket, stepped forward, and patted them on Ray's chest.
"Use this to buy some clean clothes, take a shower at a cheap motel, and shave your beard. Use the rest of the money to buy an anonymous prepaid phone."
Lyon's tone remained curt. "The day after tomorrow at ten o'clock in the morning, at the same alley entrance, I'll take you to see your boss."
Ray clutched the five hundred dollars tightly.
The rough texture of the banknotes stimulated his palms. He looked down at the money in his hand, repeatedly confirming that the green bills were real and that this was not some gangster money meant to buy his life.
His broad shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably.
He gritted his teeth, trying to maintain the last vestiges of a veteran's dignity, but the warmth in his eyes was impossible to hold back. He suddenly raised his arm and rubbed his eyes hard with the dirty sleeve of his hoodie.
An adult's breakdown often happens in an instant. After enduring countless scornful looks, being driven away, and the torment of drugs, this sudden kindness and a legitimate job easily broke through his psychological defenses.
"Thank you." Lei nodded vigorously, his voice deep and resonant.
Seeing his expression, Lyon swallowed back the warning that was on the tip of his tongue.
He originally intended to tell Ray that if he decided to accept the five hundred dollars and then tried to run away, he would personally come to Ray's door and smash Ray's remaining good leg.
But now it seems unnecessary.
"10 a.m. the day after tomorrow."
Lyon repeated the time one last time, without saying another word.
He turned around and walked straight out of the abandoned alleyway, which reeked of sour stench, his tall figure quickly disappearing into the thick darkness of Seattle's night.
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