115: Chapter 115: Finishing Off the Shot is the First Lesson

The lincoln Navigator, like a wounded rhinoceros, roared as it crashed through a row of dead shrubs and screeched to a halt in front of an abandoned church.

It was less of a church and more of an arms junkyard.

Half of the original spire had collapsed, and where a cross should have been, a massive skull welded from scrap metal now hung.

The yard was piled high with rusty oil drums, tank treads, and even half a helicopter cockpit.

An old man with one eye, wearing a greasy vest, was sitting on a rocking chair by the entrance.

He held a rag in his hand, wiping down an M2 heavy machine gun mounted behind sandbags.

It was an antique from World War II, commonly known as "The Old Godmother," but in his hands, it shone like it had just come off the factory floor.

"Keep your head down. Don't move," Chen Mo said to Ava before pushing the door open and getting out of the car.

Just then, the two jeeps that had been pursuing them also charged into the yard.

Before the kicked-up dust had settled, the gunman leaning out of the first jeep had already raised an Uzi submachine gun and was about to pull the trigger on Chen Mo.

Bang!

A deafening roar, like a thunderclap on flat ground.

That wasn't a gunshot; it was the sound of artillery.

The old man hadn't even stood up from his rocking chair; he simply turned the muzzle casually and pulled the trigger of the M2.

The 12.7mm caliber bullets blew out the jeep's front left tire instantly. The entire front end sank sharply, and then the vehicle flipped over like a drunkard, rolled twice on the ground, and finally slammed heavily into a pile of waste tires.

The gunman with the Uzi was thrown out like a rag doll, landing right at the old man's feet, fainting without even a groan.

"No honking on God's lawn, you ill-bred bastards!" the old man roared, his voice louder than the preceding gunfire.

The second jeep slammed on its brakes and stopped.

Three burly men jumped out of the vehicle, AK47s in hand, but now, none of them dared to move.

That dark, gaping heavy machine gun was pointed right at their crotches.

Chen Mo straightened his suit, stepped over the unconscious gunman, and walked up to the old man.

"Father?"

"Call me Madman." The old man looked Chen Mo up and down with his cloudy, one-eyed gaze, then pulled a bright silver revolver from beneath his seat and tossed it to Chen Mo. "George said you knew how to use this. Catch."

It was a custom Colt Python with an extended barrel and ivory grips.

Chen Mo caught it with one hand; his wrist sank. A fine gun.

The center of gravity was perfect, and it even carried the old man's body heat.

The three burly men with AKs saw Chen Mo had his back to them. The bald leader's eyes hardened, and he just started to raise his rifle.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Chen Mo didn't even turn his head.

He simply turned slightly to the side and raised his right hand; the massive revolver felt like an extension of his arm.

Three gunshots rang out, less than a second apart.

The three burly men's heads exploded like rotten watermelons, spraying red and white matter all over the ground.

Their bodies, still maintaining the posture of aiming, fell straight backward.

Gunsmoke drifted slowly from the muzzle.

The old man—or rather, Madman—whistled.

"That old dog George didn't lie this time." Madman grinned, revealing a mouthful of incomplete, yellow teeth. "You're a killer. You dress like a sissy mortician, but you sure are ruthless."

Only then did Ava dare to poke her head out of the car.

Looking at the corpses on the ground and the overturned jeep, her stomach churned violently, and she covered her mouth, retching.

"This chick's not bad—big hips, can bear sons." Madman glanced at Ava. "Just a bit timid."

"She's here to pay." Chen Mo tucked the gun into his waistband, walked over, and opened Ava's car door. "Get out, and bring the checkbook."

Entering the interior of the church, Ava was completely dumbfounded.

Where the choir should have been, the space was now filled with green ammunition crates.

The pews had been dismantled and stacked with bundles of C4 explosives; hanging on the walls were not icons, but rows of RPG rocket launchers and AT4 anti-tank missiles.

This place was practically a small armory.

"Lone Star Energy is hiring lately." Madman tossed Chen Mo an unlabeled bottle of hard liquor.

"That old bastard McLean has called in half the mercenaries from South America.

Those guys chasing you earlier were just peripheral hunting dogs. They were testing you, seeing if this piece of meat was a tough bone or a soft persimmon."

Chen Mo took a swig of the liquor, the spicy liquid burning as it went down his throat.

"They'll soon find out that not only is this a tough bone, but it will also break their teeth."

He paced around the room, his fingers sliding over the cold steel.

"I want that AA12 shotgun, with the barrel sawed off." Chen Mo pointed to the corner.

"Two cases of fragmentation grenades, and two cases of flashbangs if you have them. And C4, I want as much as you have."

"That won't be cheap." Madman rubbed his fingers together.

"Five hundred thousand dollars." Chen Mo pointed to Ava. "Whether by check or transfer, I can pay right now."

Ava, with trembling hands, took out her checkbook from her bag.

As she signed, her hand shook the entire time, and she almost signed her name wrong.

"Give me another one of those little trinkets." Chen Mo pointed to a Browning M1910 under the counter glass. "I want the one with the mother-of-pearl grips."

Madman raised an eyebrow, took out the small pistol, and slapped it onto the table along with a magazine.

Transaction complete.

Chen Mo took the Browning and walked over to Ava.

"Take it."

"I... I don't know how to use a gun." Ava instinctively recoiled.

"In this place, this is your only bodyguard." Chen Mo forcibly shoved the gun into her hand; the cold metal made her shiver.

"The safety is here. Chamber a round, pull the trigger. It's very simple."

Chen Mo grabbed her shoulders, turned her around, and pushed her toward the doorway.

The gunman who had been thrown out at the beginning had regained consciousness.

His leg was broken, and he was crawling on the ground, inching his way out, dragging a long streak of blood behind him.

"Look at him." Chen Mo's voice sounded in Ava's ear, devoid of any warmth.

"He... he's still alive." Ava's voice was trembling.

"Yes, he's still alive." Chen Mo gripped Ava's hand that held the gun, raised the muzzle, and aimed it at the back of the man's head.

"But he saw our faces. If we let him go back, tomorrow there will be more people here with RPGs to blast down our door."

The gunman heard the voice and turned his head in terror. "No! Don't kill me! I was just taking money to do—"

"Shoot," Chen Mo commanded.

"I can't do it." Ava closed her eyes, tears streaming down.

"Think about the way that fat guy looked at you at the airport earlier." Chen Mo's voice was like a devil's whisper.

"Think about the sound of those bullets hitting the car window earlier. If you don't shoot, the next one lying on the ground will be you, or me."

He let go and took a step back.

"This is Texas, Ava. There is no negotiation here, only the dead and the living."

Chen Mo pointed to the burning wreckage of the jeep in the distance. "The wind and sand here are strong; you don't need to dig a pit to bury someone, but you must ensure he won't crawl back out."

Ava looked at the gunman.

The man's eyes were full of pleading, but his hand was quietly reaching for a dagger at his waist.

In that instant, the image of the spit Big Bob had spat near those red-bottomed shoes flashed through Ava's mind.

Bang!

A crisp gunshot.

The gunman's head slammed violently against the ground and stopped moving.

The recoil made Ava's palm numb; she gasped for air, watching a wisp of blue smoke rise from the muzzle.

"Very good." Chen Mo walked over, took the gun from her hand, engaged the safety for her, and shoved it back into her hand.

"Welcome to Texas, Miss Rockefeller." He patted Ava's stiff shoulder. "Lesson one complete: learn to finish the shot."