"Smashing good whiskey is overkill. If you don't want it, I'll drink it," Johnny joked.
He liked Emily too—but unlike Carlo, who yearned for her heart, Johnny was purely driven by lust. He also had a disturbing kink: watching beautiful things fall into filth at his hands.
"The plan moves up. Hope that outsider you found is reliable. Get going, Johnny."
Carlo's grim voice snapped Johnny out of his fantasy. He laughed it off with a "Sure," but his face darkened as he turned away.
Johnny resented Carlo. They'd built this whole operation together—why should Carlo give orders?
If it weren't for the powerful backers Carlo kept hidden, Johnny would've punched that skinny little snake into the ground.
Johnny made a brief trip to a motel in town before returning to the hideout to report.
Back in the office, Johnny asked:
"You really gonna do this? Frame Ricardo as a criminal? That'll drive Leo's whole family out of Lynchburg."
"Don't pretend you care," Carlo replied. "You've hated him ever since he beat you as a kid. Admit it—you'd love to see him fall."
Johnny shrugged, conceding the point. Then he thought of the veterans from the noodle restaurant.
"Those ex-soldiers—think they'll be trouble?"
It was a concern for Carlo, but his gaze shifted to the office's iron shelf. He smirked.
He pointed to the row of "Chicago typewriters"—Thompson submachine guns.
"With those, they won't cause a stir."
"Turner's solid, right?" Carlo asked.
"Best thief in Campbell County," Johnny replied with full confidence.
Then he glanced at Carlo, trying to sound casual:
"Did you clear the early move with the boss?"
Carlo's gaze turned venomous.
"That's not your business. Don't ask."
Meanwhile, Leo was oblivious to the scheme unfolding.
He was out having dinner with Billy and Aldo. With the lumberyard shut down, the two boys looked malnourished. Leo treated them to a good meal and asked about the current state of the Lynchburg Gang.
Apparently, the gang had quietly disbanded after Leo joined the army.
When they brought up reviving it, Leo showed no interest. David might've been rude, but he wasn't wrong—those were childhood games.
Still, Billy and Aldo had grown up with Leo. With proper grooming, they might prove useful. In this world, there was no shortage of talent—just a lack of loyalty.
By the time Leo returned home, the moon hung high in the sky.
Inside, Ricardo was struggling with the lopsided coffee table. Maria cooked in the kitchen. Youngest siblings Marty (short for Matthias) and Yetta wrestled with homework at the table.
Leo set a box of takeout fried chicken on the table. The smell had the kids cheering instantly.
Maria grumbled about wasting money, but soon joined them in devouring the feast.
After dinner, the family gathered. Leo asked Ricardo about the Brown Lumberyard.
After all, he needed to understand his girlfriend's family background—romance worked better with fewer landmines.
But the more he heard, the more suspicious he became. The shutdown didn't sound like a simple policy issue.
He'd need to talk to Billy and Aldo again tomorrow.
As moonlight bathed the quiet town, a shadow darted silently through Lynchburg's alleys.
Slender, nimble, and fast despite short strides, he moved like a whisper beneath the cover of buildings.
Reaching a house, he lightly tapped the ground and flipped mid-air, landing with barely a sound.
Turner was pleased. No footprints on the lawn—his thieving skills had improved.
He crept around the house, ears twitching with every step, listening for breaths and snores.
He whispered to himself: "One, two, three, four, five. All asleep."
With a flick of his wrist, a wire shot into the lock and retracted just as fast.
Click.
The door opened.
Turner nodded with satisfaction. His lockpicking was flawless too.
"Do you always reflect on life in the moonlight after breaking and entering, Mr. Thief?"
A voice spoke calmly from behind. Male. Close enough for Turner to feel the speaker's breath.
Impossible. How could anyone in Lynchburg get so close to me without me noticing?
That was Turner's final thought before he blacked out.
The moon filtered through the trees, casting dappled light on Turner's face as he woke up—confused.
Where am I? Wasn't I supposed to plant that money at Ricardo's house for Johnny?
His neck throbbed with pain.
"Ouch!" he hissed. Shit, someone knocked me out!
"Awake?" said a voice from above.
He looked up slightly. A handsome man stood over him, fiddling with a small box that gleamed with silver.
Inside were sharp, metallic points.
If Turner knew Chinese medicine, he'd recognize them as acupuncture needles. Leo was the one playing with them.
Leo had woken the moment Turner flipped into the yard. Years of war had made his senses razor-sharp.
Enhanced hearing let him pinpoint sounds instinctively—a skill honed further during tunnel-hunting missions in the Pacific.
Turner thought he was silent. To Leo, he was louder than a bomb.
"So, you're an early Christmas elf here to deliver a gift?"
Leo tapped the parcel beside him—$10,000 in cash. In this era, a fortune.
A thief breaking in to leave money? Might as well call it a mouse volunteering as a bridesmaid to a cat.
Turner glanced at Leo's build and despaired. No chance in a fight.
But he also feared Johnny, the notorious thug who'd hired him.
Maybe, just maybe, he could bluff his way out. After all, his silver tongue ranked just below his thieving skills.
If I talk fast enough, maybe he'll let me go...