Chapter 100: Crows on a Plane
The heavyset woman glanced sideways at Caroline, her entire body jiggling as she dramatically raised herself up to speak. She feigned exaggerated shock: "Did you just say Channing? Caroline Channing? Wait, are you THE Caroline Channing?"
Everyone within earshot immediately turned to stare, their faces lighting up with that particular schadenfreude expression.
Caroline hunched over even lower, whispering as if that would somehow make her invisible: "Yes, I called the organizers myself. My name should definitely be on there."
She was on the verge of tears.
The woman made a show of scanning the guest list, running her finger down each name while reading aloud: "Channing... Channing... Channing... Nope, I don't see any 'Caroline Channing' here."
Caroline stood there mortified, covering her face with her hands.
"Hey—maybe it's under my name, Max Black. We're together," Max glared at the registration woman, deliberately getting confrontational while pointing at Caroline.
The woman stubbornly continued pronouncing Caroline's surname even louder, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Caroline was dying inside. "It would be amazing if a real Prince Charming showed up right now," she thought desperately. "But seriously, how could that even happen?" Reality isn't some Disney movie—she'd learned that harsh lesson the moment she was kicked out of her own mansion.
Just then, a commanding voice cut through the noise from the entrance: "Shut your mouth! If you say 'Caroline Channing' one more damn time, I'll rip your vocal cords out and use them as a necktie!"
Caroline spun around, crying out "Ron!" and launching herself into his arms. She'd endured enough humiliation for one evening, and now her Prince Charming had finally arrived.
Max added with a smug expression, "And he's a hundred times more dangerous than he sounds."
"Hey, it's alright, I'm here," Ron gently rubbed Caroline's back, his steely gaze boring into the event coordinator's assistant who'd been standing behind the registration woman, orchestrating this harassment.
"If memory serves, the event planner is Paul Stratton, correct?" After receiving a nervous nod from the assistant, Ron continued, "Now get on your radio and tell him that Ron Cooper wants to attend this shindig with two female guests. Move it!"
The assistant, clearly intimidated by Ron's presence, grabbed his earpiece and whispered the name to his boss, mumbling for several moments. Ron watched with satisfaction as the young man's eyes went wide with panic.
"My sincere apologies, Mr. Cooper. We'll get you in immediately. Paul will be out personally to make this right." The assistant quickly escorted Ron toward the security checkpoint.
"Just one small thing—could you please leave any firearms outside? Paul specifically requested no weapons inside the venue."
"Of course, what kind of maniac brings heat to a charity gala?" Ron held his arms out, allowing two security guards to sweep him front and back with metal detector wands.
As expected, they found nothing, which made the assistant look particularly troubled.
His boss had made it crystal clear over the radio that this man was always armed, but under no circumstances could he bring weapons inside. Paul definitely didn't want Ron shoving that thing into any of his bodily orifices again.
"Are we good to go?" Ron asked with a knowing smirk.
"Y-yes, absolutely." Since the metal detectors had come up clean, there was no justification to deny entry. They had no choice but to wave them through. Still worried, the assistant signaled two security guards to shadow Ron closely: "Right this way, please."
"Mwah!"
As he passed through security, Ron was ambushed by kisses on both cheeks. Caroline and Max planted one on his left and right sides respectively, making him feel like he was one step closer to that threesome fantasy.
"If you hadn't shown up, I was about to grab Caroline and try to sneak in disguised as catering staff," Max said admiringly. "Ron, I had no idea you knew Paul 'The Party King' Stratton!"
"Party King?" Ron chuckled and shook his head. "So that's his street name these days. I always thought his main gig was connecting various Wall Street investors. I don't know him socially. I just occasionally drop by to give him friendly reminders when he's behind on his tax obligations."
Of course, Ron only had one method for these "friendly reminders": jamming the barrel of his gun into the person's mouth or rectum and aggressively demanding payment schedules.
This explained why Paul had been so insistent about weapons screening, especially given his recent hemorrhoid issues.
"Ladies," Ron said, gently placing his hands on both women's waists, "I know you're here on business tonight, so don't let me cramp your style. Go do what you came to do. I'm rooting for you."
This gentlemanly gesture earned him another round of passionate kisses. He watched the two women glide into the ballroom, then turned and shot a menacing look at the two security guards who were tailing him like he was some kind of criminal.
He didn't appreciate being shadowed like that. Time to teach them some manners.
Both burly guards felt their sphincters clench involuntarily.
"Whoa, what's your deal?!" Years of security work had taught them to recognize a genuine threat when they saw one, and Ron definitely qualified.
Ron extended a friendly hand: "I may have hit the champagne a little too hard. Need to hit the men's room, if you know what I mean. You gentlemen care to join me?"
The two guards exchanged confused glances. "Dude, you've only been inside for like three minutes. When did you have time to drink champagne?"
"Absolutely, sir." Intimidated by the authority in his voice, they decided to follow protocol.
The charity auction had just begun. Ron entered the empty restroom exactly as he'd planned. When the two security guards followed him inside, Ron didn't head for the urinals. Instead, he turned and grinned at the two men.
That smile made their blood run cold: "What... what are you doing?"
"Ever heard of a murder of crows?" Ron smirked. Without waiting for an answer, he took several steps back and stomped down hard with his back foot.
His entire body instantly exploded into forward motion. In just six strides, Ron had reached maximum velocity, catching both guards completely off-guard.
Under their horrified stares, Ron launched himself airborne, his hands shooting out to gouge at their eyes. Having seized their attention, he immediately used his core strength to whip his torso backward while driving both knees into their solar plexus.
"CRACK!"
Ron was pretty sure he could hear ribs snapping.
Both security guards crumpled to the floor, completely incapacitated. Ron stretched leisurely. "Good thing you reminded me. Looks like Paul was a little light on his tax payments last year. Perfect time to put in some overtime!"
The restroom door opened and a elderly gentleman shuffled in shakily. He was immediately shocked by the carnage inside.
"Careful there, the bathroom floor's pretty slippery. Watch your step. Stan Lee, right? My roommate's a huge fan."
(End of Chapter)
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