Gilan returned to the warehouse. When he came out again, he was wearing a beige flat cap and carrying his shabby briefcase.
He glanced at the two warehouses to his right and farther inside the yard. Their iron doors were tightly shut. The gang members inside were probably still busy brewing moonshine and hadn't heard a thing.
Seeing this, Gilan strode toward the gate.
But the moment he stepped outside, Randolph and the brown-haired man who had delivered the message came walking toward him.
"Hm?" Randolph froze, then furrowed his brows. "Brother Gilan, didn't you have something important to tell us? We told you to wait in the yard. Where are you going?"
"Move. I'm telling the boss myself." Gilan strode forward.
"You remembered where you put that roll of film, right? You can tell me just as easily..."
Randolph's mouth curled into a smile as he reached out to stop him.
Just then, the brown-haired man beside him glanced into the yard and noticed that the burly man who had been standing guard with him was nowhere to be seen. His expression changed.
But before he could warn Randolph, Gilan was already right in front of them.
"Randolph! Watch out!"
Almost as soon as the man shouted, Gilan sprang into action like a tiger!
His face twisted with fury. With the fingers of his bandage-wrapped right hand pressed together, he slashed across Randolph's throat like a cleaver!
Smack!!
"Hrk!" Randolph's smiling face froze in an instant.
His eyes bulged, filled with terror.
Gilan drew back his hand blade, curled his fingers, and shoved forward.
The heel of his palm struck Randolph's jaw like a hammer!
Crack!!
The tremendous impact shattered Randolph's jaw and nose. His teeth scattered from his mouth. His head snapped backward until it pressed against his back, and his whole body flew through the air before crashing to the ground.
His feet twitched twice, then his body went still.
A forensic examiner would have been astonished to find that Randolph's brain had been smashed to pieces.
The brown-haired man was stunned by what he'd just seen. From the moment Gilan struck to Randolph's death, barely a second had passed. The man glanced at the corpse on the ground, then at the blond young man with the expressionless face, and felt a chill run through his entire body.
"D-don't come any closer!"
The brown-haired man shakily pulled the Borchardt Pistol from his waistband. He had just started to raise it and take aim when Gilan was already right in front of him.
The bandage-wrapped fist struck the brown-haired man in the stomach at blinding speed.
Pfft!!
The sudden pain short-circuited his brain. The gun slipped from his hand.
The next second, Gilan swung his right elbow sideways like a demolition hammer, smashing it into the brown-haired man's face.
Crack!!
The sound of a skull breaking rang out. The brown-haired man fell heavily backward, his features caved in and his face a bloody mess.
"If you wanted to hurt me, you deserved to die."
Gilan glanced at the two corpses on the ground and spoke coolly.
He bent down and picked up the Borchardt Pistol the brown-haired man had dropped. He also took all the ammunition and stuffed it into his briefcase.
Then he walked over to Randolph's body and retrieved his own Luger Pistol. He tucked it into his waistband and headed toward the Oak Gang's headquarters without looking back.
The warehouse district wasn't far from the building; the two were practically connected, with only a narrow passage between them.
Gilan walked straight into the courtyard in front of the building. Four or five gang members were still sitting there, drinking and playing cards, having the time of their lives.
"Hm? Gilan?" A man in a straw hat chewed on his tobacco and turned to look at him, his face full of suspicion. "Weren't you hiding in the warehouse? What are you doing here?"
The other men turned to look as well.
Unlike Randolph, they knew nothing of Boss Lucas's plans. They thought Gilan had simply been told to hide in the warehouse to avoid being found by Bobby from the police station.
"I have something important to report to the boss."
Gilan raised his head. Beneath his beige flat cap was a bright smile.
With that, he headed for the building.
"Whoa, something important? Don't tell me those Bobbies at the police station took you from behind!" another man joked, a fat, bearded fellow. "Worried you'll get pregnant? Oh, wait, boys can't get pregnant!"
"Hahaha! Hahahaha!"
The men slapped the table and roared with laughter.
They used to mock Gilan and Momir like this all the time, just for fun.
Tap.
Gilan stopped walking.
He turned around. His smile didn't change, but he suddenly said:
"You didn't have to die."
"Hm? What did you say?" the bearded man, laughing the loudest, shouted.
Bang!
The next second, his expression froze. A hole had appeared between his eyebrows.
His fat body toppled backward. A pool of blood spread beneath his head.
The laughter stopped abruptly.
The other men froze like statues, staring in horror at the gun in the blond young man's hand.
Smoke curled from its muzzle.
"Y-you're crazy!" The straw-hatted man's eyes widened. He instinctively leaned backward. "You dared to kill one of your own! You're dead! The boss won't let you—"
The gun swung toward him.
Bang!
The straw-hatted man was shot in the head, meeting the same fate as the first.
"Don't shoot! Please, don't shoot!" The remaining men hurriedly raised their hands and begged for mercy. "We're sorry, Gilan! We shouldn't have made fun of you!"
Blood speckled Gilan's face, and his smile grew wider.
He strode forward, holding the Luger Pistol, and pressed its muzzle against one man's face. Grinning, he said:
"Laugh. Keep laughing."
"I was wrong! I really was! Please..." The man was terrified. Tears and snot ran down his face.
Bang!
Gilan fired point-blank. The bullet passed through the man's skull.
Half his face burst apart, and he toppled sideways.
"I told you to laugh. Why aren't you laughing?" Gilan pointed the gun at the next man. "Laugh!"
The man in his sights felt as if he'd fallen into an ice cellar. The cold pierced him to the bone. Trembling, he forced out a smile, looking more miserable than if both his parents had died.
Bang!
Gilan pulled the trigger and coldly killed another man, muttering:
"You dared to laugh at me! I hate it when people laugh at me!"
His expression grew more and more deranged as he raised his gun and took aim at the last man.
The buzz-cut man in a tank top suddenly got to his feet and ran desperately toward the building, screaming at the top of his lungs:
"Milo! Folk! Help me!!"
Gilan followed behind him at an unhurried pace, aiming at his back and firing several shots.
Bang, bang, bang, bang—click!
Four bloody holes appeared in the man's back. He pitched forward, spitting blood and twitching uncontrollably.
By then, two lookouts had been drawn by the gunshots and hurried over. They came downstairs and stared in shock at the bodies strewn across the courtyard.
Gilan approached, carrying his briefcase in one hand and his gun in the other, drenched in blood.
"Stop!" The two men raised their pistols and stared nervously at Gilan. "You've gone crazy, Gilan!"
They couldn't believe what they were seeing!
The blond young man before them seemed like a complete stranger. The timid, introverted man he used to be was gone, replaced by an overwhelming air of savagery.
"Stop talking! Shoot!"
One of them roared, then pulled the trigger.
Bang, bang, bang!
But every bullet missed!
Before the men could fire, Gilan had already ducked like a ghost, dodged to either side, and taken two steps forward. In the blink of an eye, he was right in front of them.
He leaped into the air like a falcon swooping down on its prey.
His right leg blurred as it whipped into one man's head.
Bang!!
The man flew backward, his head lolling to the side, and crashed into the wall. His bones shattered, and he collapsed to the ground.
Gilan didn't even look at him. As soon as he landed, he reached out and grabbed the other man by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Then he spun around and slammed him down hard.
Bang!!
Gilan used brute force to flip the man over. His head struck the ground, and his neck bent ninety degrees with a sharp crack. He had been killed by the impact!
Gilan stood in place and let out a long breath. Then he wiped away the blood from the graze on his left shoulder and strode toward the stairs.
"Lucas, boss of the Oak Gang..."
His cold voice echoed through the dim hallway, like the whisper of the Grim Reaper.