Chapter 57: Crash Scene
"If we're talking about large-caliber artillery, then yeah—it's not exactly portable," Ron admitted. "But if we're talking about a medium-caliber, high-explosive, compact, and accurate weapon… one that you can actually carry? Tell me—who could say no to that?"
His voice was as smooth and tempting as a devil luring souls into sin. Hank, who had been so resolute just a moment ago, now looked visibly shaken. He even glanced down at his beloved VSS with the beginnings of disgust.
Was… was he falling out of love?
"But does something like that actually exist?" Hank asked hopefully.
"Of course it does!" Ron's eyes lit up. "Let me introduce you to the pride of the East—infused with the mystery of oriental might—the LG-5 40mm Precision Grenade Launcher."
Ron slipped into full salesman mode, mimicking the pitch-perfect tone of his shady arms-dealer friend, Yuri Orlov.
"Manufactured by Norinco. Max range: 2,200 meters. Effective precision range: 1,000 meters. Total weight: 25 kilograms. Belt-fed drum magazine—15 rounds per load. Trust me, this is the weapon a real sniper deserves."
"But a launcher like that… it must be crazy expensive, right? Can our budget even handle it?" Hank asked, ever the responsible employee—always thinking about the boss's wallet.
Ron grinned internally. Bingo.
Time to show his true capitalist colors.
"Oh, it's pricey all right," Ron said with a dramatic sigh. "But for my dear, loyal subordinates, I'm willing to grit my teeth and shell out the cash. Of course… it might mean your bonus takes a tiny hit. You wouldn't mind that, would you?"
This was America—the bastion of capitalism. And Ron, a budding capitalist himself, couldn't resist the joy of exploiting his employees just a little.
"Mind? Not at all!" Hank blurted out quickly, terrified Ron would change his mind. "If I get that launcher, I'd give up three months' bonuses!"
Ah, how the mighty VSS had fallen. What once seemed like the pinnacle of stealth and firepower now looked like a toy rifle. Now that Hank had tasted the possibility of something bigger and louder, there was no going back.
"One month's bonus will be enough," Ron said with a benevolent pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll see it by tomorrow."
One less performance bonus for Hank—especially from the month with the fattest payout—and thanks to his "friend discount" with Orlov, Ron could snag the LG-5 at a steal. Total savings: at least five grand.
If only he knew what kind of high-end gear Andy wanted for the office. Ron hadn't yet figured out how to convince him to give up his bonus… but when he did, that'd be another pile of cash saved.
Ron silently patted himself on the back for being a frugal genius.
If only Toretto was still in L.A…
He could've helped mod a few of the new vehicles.
Day 41 without Toretto:
Still missing him. Always missing him.
—
After dropping Hank off at home, Ron didn't head back himself. Instead, he drove straight toward Beverly Hills. He was picking up his mom and Big Mike—the towering teen adopted by Mr. Tuohy—from Mr. Tuohy's house.
Originally, Ron had planned to personally take Mike to Texas for football tryouts with his dad. But since his mom was heading back home and had expressed, over the phone, how much she liked Mike, Ron figured—why not? Let her handle it.
But as Ron's car approached Rodeo Drive, he ran into a traffic jam. Up ahead, a truck had T-boned a pickup, crumpling its side. Police had already cordoned off part of the road, and traffic was backing up.
Ron pulled up, flashed his badge, and lifted the tape.
"Hey, buddy—I'm one of you. What's the situation inside?"
"Good evening, sir!" The officer gave him a respectful salute. "You won't believe this, but the guy driving the crashed car? He's this massive kid—nearly two meters tall. Looks older than my dad, but turns out he just got his license… and he's still in high school! The vehicle he crashed? His."
The officer paused, clearly still impressed.
"But here's the craziest part—this kid somehow protected the white boy sitting in the passenger seat during the crash. Not a scratch on him. Can you believe that, sir? Not a single scratch!"
The officer's tone was filled with disbelief, and the more Ron listened, the more familiar it all sounded—a towering Black high schooler who looked older than someone's dad, paired with a little white boy? That couldn't just be a coincidence… could it?
"Mind if I go take a look? I think I might know them," Ron said.
"Of course, sir. They're right over there." The officer casually pointed toward the paramedics.
Near the ambulance, Ron spotted SJ chatting animatedly with a nurse. Knowing that little rascal, Ron figured he was probably boasting about something outrageous.
Just a bit further away, out of SJ's line of sight, Big Mike sat hunched on the steps, his arms wrapped around his head, weeping uncontrollably. He was refusing treatment from a doctor—a pretty female one—who looked utterly helpless.
A good kid, Ron thought. No wonder the Tuohy couple wanted to adopt him.
Shaking his head, Ron walked over to SJ, who was splattered with blood.
"Hey, runt," Ron said. "I was going to ask if you were hurt, but you look… weirdly healthy."
"Of course I'm healthy!" SJ puffed out his chest proudly. "You think blood can just leak out through my clothes or something?"
He lifted his shirt to reveal a completely unscathed torso. Not even a scratch.
"I really thought you were on the verge of dying..." Ron muttered. "Well, go ahead and keep flirting with the nurse. I'm gonna check on Mike."
He turned to leave, and sure enough, the moment Ron walked away, the nurse leaned in closer and whispered, "Hey… who is that guy? Are you two related? Do you have his number?"
SJ pouted and grumbled, "Hey, I'm handsome too, you know. You sure you don't want to be my girlfriend? I'll even share half my candy with you."
The nurse laughed so hard she nearly doubled over, then bent down and kissed SJ on the forehead.
"Maybe when you're a little older," she said sweetly. "But for now? You're just too young."
—
Meanwhile, Ron walked over to Mike and spoke to the doctor. "Mind if I give it a shot?"
He crouched down in front of the sobbing teenager.
"Hey, Mike. Look at me. Do you remember who I am?"
Mike lifted his tear-streaked face.
"I remember… You're Mr. Tuohy's friend's kid. Anne told me your whole family are good people."
Then the tears came again.
"It's all my fault! I'm so sorry! I didn't protect SJ… I should've protected him!"
"Hey!" Ron barked, his tone suddenly sharp and commanding. The sudden shift caught Mike off guard, and he quieted down.
"You listen to me. You did a great job—SJ didn't get a single scratch. You came this close to being an amazing big brother. You know that?"
Mike looked at him, confused and still sniffling, but Ron leaned in and continued:
"But you know what you're still missing?"
Mike shook his head slowly.
"You're not yet a role model. A real big brother should be someone their little brother can look up to. And I've never heard of a role model who bleeds out in front of their kid brother without a second thought. You want SJ to grow up copying this version of you?"
Mike was silent. Then he shook his head again.
The female doctor approached, sensing the moment had passed. Finally, Mike stopped resisting and allowed her to begin treatment.