Giving Old Master Britain a Shock with a Honey Trap

"Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no!"

"No... no yes..."

"I'll teach you to say no, I'll teach you to say no, I'll teach you to say no!"

"Oh my God, my God, oh my God."

"Yes, yes, yes!"

Listening to the commotion inside, Charlie curled his lip and picked at his ear.

This old geezer looked impotent, yet he loved to put on a show.

He gave a wink to the men behind him.

In the shadows, two youths, both six-foot-three and built like brick walls, immediately understood.

Charlie stepped back, raised the camera in his hand, and aimed it at the door lock.

"Bang!"

The lead youth, Tom, raised a foot and kicked the thin wooden door wide open.

The three of them filed in.

The scene in the room was exactly as Charlie had expected.

A cheap motel, the air thick with a strange stench of alcohol mixed with low-quality perfume.

A middle-aged man was playing cards with a young girl.

The girl's face was streaked with perfectly timed tears of terror.

"Who... who are you people!"

The middle-aged man shuddered at the sudden intrusion, scrambling to get off the bed, but his obesity and panic made his movements look ridiculous and clumsy.

Tom lunged forward, his fan-sized hand grabbing the man by the hair and dragging him off the bed with brute force.

"You dog! How dare you touch my wife!"

Tom's eyes were bloodshot, the veins on his forehead bulging—his acting was nothing short of explosive.

He pulled the young girl behind him, and she immediately cooperated by sobbing softly.

"Wife? It's a misunderstanding, this is absolutely a misunderstanding!"

The middle-aged man scrambled backward, pulling up his pants while waving his hands.

"I was just having a drink and a chat with this young lady."

"She said she was skilled at massage, and seeing how young she was and how hard life is, I just decided to support her business."

"Supporting her business by taking it to the bed, huh?" Tom narrowed his eyes, making a move to strike him.

"An accident, it was absolutely an accident!"

"My key fell into the crack of the bed, and she was just helping me look for it."

"Right, miss? Say something."

The middle-aged man looked toward the girl behind Tom.

The girl's eyes welled with tears as she shook her head. "I don't know anything. He dragged me here."

The middle-aged man was stunned; as a member of the middle class in Britain, he had never seen such a setup.

Charlie continued to hold the camera; it was time to give the British gentlemen a little taste of a honey trap.

That's right, Charlie was a transmigrator. In his past life, he had no parents, and in this life, he had grown up in an Orphanage—a standard setup.

Grandma White at the Orphanage had named him Charlie White. Charlie had originally wanted to give himself a Chinese name.

But after hearing the clumsy pronunciation of the people around him, he decided to forget it; heaven knows what they were actually saying.

Of course, as a transmigrator, he had a system, but this damn system hadn't made a sound since the moment he arrived.

Tom stopped listening to the man and swung his fist, hammering it into the man's stomach.

Every punch landed with a dull, heavy thud, yet they were cleverly aimed to avoid vital organs.

The middle-aged man curled up on the floor like a shrimp, groaning in agony.

"Don't... don't hit me... let's talk this over..."

"Talk your mother!"

Tom kicked him in his fat face, leaving a clear footprint.

"Today, if you don't cough up two thousand Pound Sterling, don't even think about walking out that door!"

The middle-aged man whimpered on the floor for a long time, then suddenly, he stopped screaming.

He lifted his head, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and a flash of shrewdness and mockery appeared in his swollen eyes.

"Heh."

He sneered.

"I see it now, you're all in on this together, aren't you?"

"Nice acting, but unfortunately, you picked the wrong guy."

He wobbled as he steadied himself against the wall, surprisingly regaining a measure of composure.

"Want money? You won't get a single cent."

"Try touching me again and see what happens! I'll call the police right now and we'll see who they arrest—me, or a bunch of extortionists like you!"

Tom and the other Youth exchanged glances, their expressions turning sour.

They hadn't expected this fat, bloated-looking guy to actually catch on.

Just as the atmosphere hit a stalemate, Charlie, who had been standing silently to the side, strolled out slowly.

He toyed with a video camera in his hands, the lens pointed directly at the middle-aged man.

"Sir, no need to be so agitated."

Charlie's voice was crisp and pleasant, and paired with his excessively handsome face, it was enough to make anyone feel a sense of goodwill.

But the words he spoke caused the middle-aged man's heart to sink.

"This machine of mine has high-definition night vision and excellent audio recording."

The middle-aged man's complexion turned ghastly in an instant.

"You wouldn't want this footage to be seen by your wife, would you?"

Charlie asked with a beaming smile.

"Oh, right, I think I heard you say earlier that you're a department manager at some company?"

"If your boss and all your subordinates were to get a good look at your 'style'..."

Charlie didn't finish his sentence, merely giving the camera in his hand a little shake.

A threat—a silent threat—was the most lethal kind.

Beads of sweat the size of peas seeped from the middle-aged man's forehead as he stared daggers at Charlie.

This kid, who looked no more than ten years old, was the most ruthless one of the bunch!

Beneath that angelic face hid the heart of a devil.

"I'll pay."

The man squeezed the words out through his teeth.

"I'll give you the money."

Half an hour later.

In a dark, damp alleyway in London.

The middle-aged man drove off in his Ford, cursing under his breath.

Charlie and the other three scrambled to this secluded alley to avoid being tracked down; they wouldn't be returning to that motel for at least a few months.

"Charlie, you're a genius, bluffing him with a piece of junk like that."

Tom patted Charlie on the shoulder in excitement.

They were a bunch of petty scammers; they had no money to buy a real camera.

It was just a piece of trash Charlie had picked up from a dumpster.

Tom excitedly pulled a thick stack of banknotes from his jacket, slapping them against his palm with a thwack.

"We're rich, we're rich! That fat guy actually had some cash."

It was two thousand Pound Sterling in total. Although the Pound Sterling had lost its purchasing power from the days of the British Empire as Britain declined, in the 90s, 2,000 was still enough to feed a family of four for half a year.

The other Youth and the girl crowded around, their eyes gleaming.

"Tom, it's all thanks to your fists."

"And it was all thanks to Lisa's acting!"

"Our first operation as the Dragon Gang is a complete success."

Tom laughed triumphantly, pulling out a few bills to hand to the other two.

In the alley, only Charlie was left standing to the side.

He leaned against the cold brick wall, hands in his pockets, watching them divide the money with an expressionless face.

"What about my share?"

Charlie spoke up, his voice flat.

The entire plan had been Charlie's idea, and it had been agreed from the start that they would split the extortion money equally.

However, looking at them now, they had no intention of keeping their promise.

The laughter in the alley came to an abrupt halt.

Tom turned his head, looking at Charlie with a strange expression, as if he were looking at an ignorant younger brother.

"What 'your share'?"

He stuffed the money into his own pocket, patted it, and said as if it were only natural.

"What would a kid do with so much money? I'll treat you to McDonald's later."

The other Youth chimed in as well.

"Exactly, Charlie. You're still young; leave the money with us, we'll keep it safe for you!"

They all felt that Charlie was just a kid who had come up with an idea.

The idea was good, but it was they who had done the real work.

They were the ones who did the hitting, they were the ones who put on the act, and they were the ones taking the risks.

Split a large sum of money with a kid?

What a joke.

Charlie didn't smile; not even the curve of his lips changed.

In those pitch-black eyes, the usual laziness and playfulness were gone, leaving only a bottomless, icy indifference.

"I'll say it one more time."

Charlie's voice wasn't loud, yet it reached everyone's ears with perfect clarity.

"Give me."

"My share of the money."